Chapter129 – I want yours
Clarissa blinked. Her face went hot.
“What nonsense are you spouting now?” she muttered, flustered.
“It’s not nonsense,” Atticus murmured, his fingertips brushing her cheek. “My Clarissa… you’re adorable.”
His voice was low, reverent. He leaned closer, his lips slowly descending toward hers.
Clarissa stared at him, dazed and breathless. She didn’t pull away.
His eyes darkened, and his breath came rougher, heavier, filled with restrained longing.
Their lips were just a breath apart—
Riiing.
The phone buzzed loudly from the coffee table. The moment shattered.
Clarissa jolted back like she’d been burned, pushing him away and scrambling to put space between them. Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and she refused to meet his eyes.
“I-it’s getting late. I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”
Atticus’s expression didn’t falter, but behind the softness in his gaze was a dark storm brewing.
Still, he spoke gently. “Alright. I’ll carry you back.”
He scooped her up effortlessly and carried her to her room. As soon as her body hit the bed, Clarissa buried herself in the quilt, hiding from him.
Atticus stood for a moment, staring at the crown of her head poking out from the blanket.
He let out a quiet sigh. “Good night.”
Then he turned and left.
Back in the living room, his expression darkened as he picked up the phone. A dangerous coldness radiated from him as he hit redial.
The line barely rang twice before connecting.
“You better have a damn good reason for calling,” he said, voice deadly low. “Or I’m coming over there to kill you myself.”
.......
The next morning, Clarissa’s ankle still throbbed, but that wasn’t what had her wrapped up in her blankets like a burrito, refusing to move.
She felt awkward. She didn’t know how to face Atticus again after last night. She’d been so close to letting him kiss her.
At that moment, a knock came from the door.
“Clarissa,” came his voice, smooth and quiet, “can I come in?”
“No!” she shouted instinctively.
Atticus chuckled lightly from the other side. “You can’t even walk. Let me help take care of you. If you get hurt again—”
“I said no! I’m fine. Really. Actually…” she said quickly, trying to divert him, “I’ve suddenly got a craving. I want La Perle’s Wagyu Ribeye. The one with truffle butter.”
She knew it was practically impossible. That dish was a signature limited edition—only 20 served daily, and only for dine-in customers. No deliveries. No takeout. The line for it wrapped around the block every morning.
Atticus knew exactly what she was doing—but he didn’t say a word.
Instead, he smiled to himself. “Alright. I’ll go get it for you. Wait for me at home, sweetheart.”
Clarissa didn’t breathe until she heard the front door close behind him.
Only then did she peek out of the blanket, limp-hop her way to the bathroom on one foot, and freshen up.
After washing, she jumped back into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, out of breath from hopping all the way. She stared at the ceiling, her thoughts spiraling again.
She was still pondering that when the sound of the front door opening cut through her thoughts.
She sat up quickly. “Atticus?”
He stood at the door, calm and composed. “It was sold out,” he said.
Clarissa had expected that and wasn’t too disappointed. She was about to say it didn’t matter—until he lifted a bag in one hand.
“But,” he added, “I bought their ingredients. I’ll make it myself.”
Without waiting for her reaction, he headed straight for the kitchen.
Clarissa scrambled up and hopped after him. “Wait! Atticus, stop!”
He turned and glanced at her with a raised brow. “What’s wrong? Hungry? I can whip something up quickly to tide you over.”
“No, that’s not it.” Clarissa’s voice was tight. “I didn’t mean for you to go through all this trouble. It’s just… too much.”
She reached out to take the utensils from his hands, but he smoothly dodged her.
Looking down at her with a soft smile, he said, “Clarissa… I want to do this for you. It makes me happy. You don’t need to do anything in return. Just… don’t push me away.”
Clarissa stared at him, stunned into silence.
Atticus gently set the utensils down, then leaned in and scooped her up once more, carrying her out of the kitchen before she could protest.
“Atticus!”
He sat her down at the dining table and handed her the iPad.
“If you’re bored, watch something. I’ll have dinner ready soon.”
Clarissa sat curled up on the sofa, a glass of lemonade in her hand. She took slow sips, her eyes repeatedly drifting toward the kitchen—toward Atticus.
Her mind kept replaying the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d said those words.
Clarissa had always prided herself on being rational. She wasn’t the type to act cute or clingy around men. But with Atticus… every part of her control unraveled.
Half an hour later, Atticus emerged from the kitchen, holding a perfectly plated Wagyu ribeye glistening with truffle butter. He placed it gently in front of her.
“This is my first time making it,” he said, voice a little nervous, a little hopeful. “Tell me how it tastes.”
Clarissa picked up the knife and fork, cut off a small piece, and took a bite.
It was tender and rich, the truffle butter melting across her tongue like velvet. But more than the taste, it was the effort, the care.
“It’s delicious,” she murmured, lifting her gaze to him with a soft smile. “Better than I’ve ever had it.”
She lowered her eyes quickly, inhaling deeply as a sharp emotion stung behind them. She blinked fast, willing away the warmth gathering in her eyes.
Atticus’s smile lit up immediately—dazzling, boyish, and blinding in its brightness. “If you like it, I’ll make it for you next time too.”
Clarissa gave a small hum of acknowledgment, then reached for the plate beside her. She scooped half of her portion onto it and pushed it across the table toward him.
“Eat with me.”
Atticus glanced down at the plate, then looked back at her with a teasing glint in his eyes. He leaned in slowly, voice low and mischievous.
“Alright,” he said, smirking, “but I want yours.”
And just like that, he picked up his fork and ate directly from her half. The same half she had already eaten.
Clarissa's eyes widened. “Atticus!”
Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, burning hot, but the man in front of her only licked his lips and gave her a wicked grin. “Mmm. Tastes even better now.”
Clarissa's face went even redder. Whatever fluttery feeling she’d had moments ago vanished, replaced by flustered indignation.
“Sit down and eat your own food!” she huffed, stabbing another piece with unnecessary force.
She lowered her head and ate in silence, refusing to look at him. But Atticus’s gaze never left her face.
Later, as they cleared the plates, he spoke up with a casual drawl. “Clarissa, just so you know… The fork you were using was the one I used earlier.”
“Atticus!”
...........
Two months passed.
Dorian’s injuries had mostly healed. He now sat alone in his office, flipping through a thick stack of documents his assistant had delivered.
But the deeper he read, the darker his expression became.
The report detailed nearly every major award Atticus had earned since childhood—chess championships, science competitions, prestigious scholarships. The file read like the life summary of a prodigy.
“I told you to investigate him,” Dorian snapped, eyes flashing with impatience. “Who asked you to include all this crap?”
“You said to be thorough, Mr. Dorian…” the assistant replied meekly.
Dorian scowled and tossed half the stack aside. He too had once been labeled a ‘genius’—but even he couldn’t compare to this kid.