Chapter133 – I can’t repay you
“I think it’s fascinating,” Clarissa replied. “You made all these?”
He nodded. “I started young. Just a few pieces at first, but they added up. Now they’ve kind of taken over the space.”
Clarissa gave him a look that lingered a second too long. “They’re beautiful. Like little secrets with lives of their own.”
He moved to his desk and held out a file. “Here. Take a look.”
Clarissa opened it. Inside were several documents and a small USB drive. She had already obtained a copy of the footage herself—but that version had been altered.
Before she could speak, William said, “The original surveillance footage had signs of tampering. I had someone try to restore it. Want to see it now?”
Clarissa hesitated, eyes flicking to the USB drive.
“Yes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s see it.”
William’s slender fingers glided across the keyboard, then stopped at the twenty-minute mark on the video. His voice was quiet but firm. “Watch this.”
Clarissa leaned in. As the footage played, her eyes widened. “…Ivy?”
“You know her?” William asked, his eyes flicking toward her.
Clarissa nodded slowly. “She joined our office about three months ago. I barely know her, though.”
“Did you offend her in any way?”
“No. Never.”
She frowned and began rifling through the folder. She flipped the pages—until she paused at a blurry image. It was grainy and low-light, taken from an exterior camera.
“This is all the footage we could recover,” William said. “The lighting was poor, but based on the uniform… it looks like one of the Harrington family’s male servants.”
Clarissa fell silent, her gaze fixed on the photo as her thoughts raced. If it wasn’t Ivy, then who…?
William watched her carefully. “Clarissa,” he said softly, “think carefully. Have you upset anyone else in the Harrington family?”
“I don’t think so.” Her voice was distracted. “Whenever I visit, I’m either with Mrs. Kira or playing chess with Mr. Drake. I rarely speak to anyone else—especially not the men.”
William’s jaw tightened slightly. “This is all I’ve managed to dig up so far. I’m sorry… it’s not much.”
“No—thank you. You’ve done more than enough.”
“For your safety,” William added, “we should notify the police.”
Clarissa nodded. “Yes. That’s the best option for now. I’ll stop by the station later and explain everything.”
As she spoke, her gaze dropped back to Ivy’s file. The details were sparse—education, employment. But one thing stood out: a past record of visiting a foreign cosmetic surgery clinic.
Clarissa’s shoulders sagged slightly, frustration flickering in her eyes, though she masked it well in front of William.
“Thank you again, William,” she said gently.
“Clarissa.”
She turned. “Hmm? What is it?”
He was looking at her. His eyes deeped, smoldering like embers against ice.
“William…?” she asked, unsure, her heart thudding.
“Clarissa…” His voice was low, a little rough, vulnerable in a way. “I know this might be sudden. But if I don’t say it now… I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
Clarissa froze. “William, I—”
“Please,” he said softly, “just let me say it. Just listen.”
She hesitated, then slowly sank back into the chair, her fingers knotting the hem of her skirt, knuckles white. She couldn’t meet his gaze.
William noticed. A flicker of pain crossed his expression.
“I know you once told me you couldn’t accept me… because of your own reasons. But still—I feel like maybe I failed you somehow. I’m not good with feelings. I don’t know how to say the right things, or what women want to hear. I never knew how to…”
“Don’t,” Clarissa said quietly. “Please don’t blame yourself. It was never your fault.”
She looked up at him, and her throat caught at the softness in his eyes.
He reached out slowly, fingers brushing against hers, then taking her hand fully in his.
“Clarissa…”
She tensed. Her instinct was to pull away, but his touch was a plea.
“I’m not asking you to love me. Just… don’t push me away. Let me stay in your life. Even if it’s only as a friend. As long as I can be near you, that’s enough.”
“William…” Her voice was barely audible, tangled with guilt and confusion.
Two men. Two confessions.
Atticus, the dangerous, twisted villain she’d raised with her own hands.
And William, the gentle, selfless second lead who was never meant to win.
Their hearts had both turned toward her—and none of this was in the script. The story had already veered off course, and Clarissa felt herself spiraling, unable to stop it.
No. It’s not supposed to be like this.
Clarissa abruptly pulled her hand away and stood, clutching the documents to her chest. Her voice trembled as she said, “I’m sorry, William. I can’t do this. It’s late… I should go.”
She turned toward the door, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor in haste—but before she could take more than a few steps, a hand reached out and seized her wrist.
“Clarissa!”
William’s grip was firm, urgent—his fingers wrapped around hers like a man clutching at the edge of a cliff. His voice, usually so calm and steady, quivered with a trace of desperation.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes with something vulnerable. “I didn’t mean to scare you…”
Clarissa paused, the conflict in her heart tightening like a noose. She bit her lip and tried to twist free from his grasp.
“William… I’m overwhelmed right now. Please. I really have to go.”
“Can we still go back to how we were?” His voice cracked slightly. “If anything ever happens, I want to be the first person you call. I want to protect you, to do something—anything—for you…”
“William!” Clarissa snapped. “You can’t keep doing this. I can’t repay you—”
“I don’t want repayment,” he cut in, eyes locked onto hers. “I just don’t want you to push me away.”
Clarissa’s head throbbed. She knew all too well what men meant when they said things like that. And even if William didn’t expect anything in return… She couldn't accept his devotion.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak—bang!
The door suddenly burst open, shattered into splinters with a deafening crash.
“Ah! My door!” Hannah’s horrified cry rang out.
Standing in the wreckage was Atticus.
Fresh from training, a black sports headband pushed his tousled hair back, boxing wraps still on his hands. His dark T-shirt clung to his body, the fabric slightly damp from sweat, paired with low-slung, fitted trousers. Simple—yet impossibly, dangerously attractive. And with that devastatingly handsome face set in a cold expression.
His boot slowly lowered from the broken doorframe.
His voice was low. “So this is where you’ve been, sis.”
“A-Atticus…” Clarissa stammered, guilt rising unbidden in her chest. Why did she feel like she'd been caught cheating?
She couldn’t meet his eyes.
Atticus gave a little smile and stepped forward, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist and pulling her firmly into his chest.
“Had your fun?” he whispered into her ear. “Good. Now you’re coming with me.”
Before she could protest, he was already dragging her out of the room.
It wasn’t until they reached the stairs that she snapped out of her daze—her gaze landing on the door he’d obliterated. Shock and disbelief flooded her expression.
“Let me go!” she hissed, twisting in his grip.
Atticus halted, turning his head to look at her, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement and something darker.
“Why?” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Is there something here you can’t bear to leave behind? Hmm? Someone, perhaps?”
“Atticus, what the hell are you saying?” Clarissa spat, fury bubbling up. “You’re insane! Do you even realize what you just did?!”
Her voice shook with rage and embarrassment as she turned to see Hannah’s stunned face—and William’s, full of something unreadable.