Chapter140 – If I say yes to him
The fact that she was still defending Atticus only made Dorian’s anger boil.
“You are protecting him?” he asked, voice dropping into something darker. “You know that bastard has feelings for you, Clarissa. Don’t tell me… you’ve actually fallen for him?”
Her breath caught. Her lips parted, then closed again, and her heart gave a sharp, chaotic beat. She met his gaze coldly. “Who I fall in love with has nothing to do with you.”
Dorian’s pupils shrank. His jaw tightened. He looked stunned for a second—then furious.
“Clarissa,” he said quickly, his voice cracking, “you’re making a mistake. Atticus isn’t good for you. There’s no future there—”
“Enough, Dorian.” Her voice was hard now, final. “My life is none of your business. I raised him. I know who he is and what he’s like. I don’t need your judgment.”
She turned sharply, meaning to walk away.
But then she felt it—a brutal grip on her shoulder. Dorian’s hand.
“Clarissa,” he said, “I know you hate me. But don’t throw your whole life away just to get back at me. Don’t ruin your happiness because of me.”
He was gripping her so tightly it felt like he might crush her bones. Her eyes widened, she looked at him like he was someone she didn’t recognize.
“Dorian… what the hell is wrong with you?! Let go of me!”
She twisted to pull free, and in the scuffle, her silk scarf slipped from her shoulders. The camellia brooch clattered against the pavement and rolled into the grass.
Dorian’s eyes landed on the fresh, faint marks on her neck—his face went stone cold.
Clarissa’s cheeks drained of color. She reached down quickly, trying to retrieve the brooch, but Dorian seized her wrist before she could touch it.
“You—” His voice broke into a growl. “You let him mark you? You’re humiliating yourself, Clarissa!”
“Let me go! Atticus!” The name left her lips before she could think.
A blur moved between them—then Dorian staggered back, clutching his face. Atticus’ fist still hung in the air, and his eyes burning with fury.
He immediately turned to Clarissa, scanning her quickly with a gentleness. “Did he hurt you?”
“My brooch,” she whispered, still holding the scarf tightly over her neck, her body trembling.
He glanced around—and spotted the brooch glinting in the grass nearby. In one fluid motion, he retrieved it and re-fastened it gently to her scarf.
Clarissa looked around anxiously. “Where are my parents?”
Atticus rubbed her back comfortingly. “Don’t worry. Uncle’s on the phone—he walked off somewhere. Aunt Ophelia’s still at the grave. They didn’t see anything. But—”
Before he could finish, Dorian’s voice ripped through the air again.
“Atticus!”
Atticus turned just in time, pulling Clarissa out of the way as Dorian lunged forward.
The second punch never landed. He saw Clarissa in Atticus’ arms, clinging to him. That look in her eyes—cold, disgusted—was like a dagger to his chest.
The Clarissa who once smiled only for him, was gone. And in his angry, he shouted, “Give her back to me, Atticus! Give Clarissa back to me!”
Dorian lunged forward in a blur of rage.
With a mocking smile, Atticus pulled Clarissa behind him and caught Dorian’s fist mid-air—effortlessly.
“You—” But before he could say another word, Atticus cut in with a lazy drawl. “Mr. Dorian… are you sure this is the best time?” He smirked. “Especially in front of your wife?”
“What the hell..?” Dorian barked.
Atticus tilted his head toward the shadows. “Look behind you.”
Dorian turned—and froze. Lyra stood just a few yards away, tears brimming in her wide, disbelieving eyes.
“Lyra…” For once, Dorian looked completely unprepared.
Lyra stepped back from his gaze, then turned and ran without saying a word.
“Lyra!” he called out after her, but she didn’t even hesitate.
Behind him, Atticus’s voice floated through the silence. “What are you waiting for? Go after her.”
Dorian hesitated just a beat too long, then finally took off after his wife.
Clarissa stood in stunned silence, then turned to Atticus, narrowing her eyes.
“Why was Lyra here? Atticus… you didn’t plan this, did you?”
“Me?” Atticus arched a brow with practiced innocence. “How would I know what’s going on between them?”
Atticus sighed, caught in the heat of her gaze. He gave her a smile. “Why are you looking at me like that, Sister?”
He stepped forward slowly, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Clarissa’s heart gave a quiet, confused flutter. Maybe she was overthinking it.
She exhaled, letting it go. “Forget it. It’s getting late—we should go see Mom.”
She turned away, her voice gentler now. Atticus watched her go, something unreadable glinting in his eyes.
She was sharper than he’d thought.
It was him who had called Lyra, using a payphone and an untraceable landline—just in case. Even Lyra hadn’t known who tipped her off.
He was careful. Clarissa wouldn’t find proof no matter how hard she looked.
Atticus’s lips curled at the thought as he bent to pick up a few fallen things, then quickly followed after her.
Clarissa reached Clementine’s grave to find Ophelia already there, seated in front of the tombstone, speaking softly.
“…Clarissa’s grown up so beautifully. She’s kind, responsible. But she’s never had a boyfriend. But don’t worry, I promise she’ll be happy. I’ll make sure of it…”
Ophelia’s voice carried a quiet warmth that made Clarissa pause. Her heart softened. The Lancaster family had given her more love than she ever expected.
She took a breath, then stepped forward. “Mom.”
Ophelia stood up quickly, half-reproachful. “Clarissa! What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you. And your father—he wandered off after a phone call and never came back.”
Clarissa smiled. “I got held up by something stupid. Don’t be upset.”
She lowered herself gently before the grave, gazing at Clementine’s photo with eyes full of quiet affection.
Her fingers traced the cold marble. “Mom,” she whispered, “I’m here to see you.”
Just then, Atticus arrived. He knelt beside her, placing a small bundle beside the grave—white lilies, chocolate, a bottle of wine.
All of Clementine’s favorites. Clarissa accepted the bouquet of lilies from his outstretched hand.
“Sis…” he said gently.
She blinked away the sting in her eyes and looked away, fighting the lump in her throat.
“I want a moment alone to talk to her. Is that okay?”
Ophelia touched her shoulder softly. “Of course. Atticus, let’s give her some time.”
He nodded and gave Ophelia a small smile. “Sure.”
The two of them stepped back, leaving Clarissa kneeling quietly before the grave.
“Mom… so much has happened lately,” Clarissa murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
She brushed her fingers along the edge of the tombstone, her expression a bittersweet blend of tenderness and confusion.
“Atticus and I…” Her lips curled into a faint, helpless smile. “He’s changed. He’s not that quiet, sad boy anymore. He smiles more now—he’s stronger, bolder. If you were still here, you’d probably be scared to death.”
A soft laugh escaped her, but it faded just as quickly as it came.
“But… you don’t need to worry. I’m okay. He takes care of me—sometimes too well. But Mom, I’m so much older than him. He’s just eighteen. He might not even understand what real love is yet…”
Her voice wavered.
“If I say yes to him, if I let myself fall... would that be selfish? Irresponsible? What if I’m just a phase to him?”
She paused, her heart tightening.
“Mom, do we even have a future? Can something like this… ever really work?”