Chapter142 – Farfadat…
The first rule of being the “vicious supporting female” was knowing your place—never fight the heroine for anything. It would only end in loss, in humiliation.
That was why she’d never seriously considered returning to the Lancaster family. Why she always kept a polite but deliberate distance from her adoptive parents.
And yet... people were greedy. No matter how hard she tried not to care, a bitter taste still crept into her throat.
Atticus, watching from her side, caught the shift in her expression.
“Why’s sis suddenly frowning?” he asked softly.
“I’m not,” she replied quickly, shaking her head. “Let’s just go home.”
She turned and began walking, but Atticus easily fell into step beside her.
“Are you still mad about Dorian?” he asked. “Don’t worry, he won’t say anything. He’s not stupid.”
“You idiot, it’s not about him.” Clarissa shot him a glare. “And don’t keep bringing him up.”
“You don’t like him?” Atticus stepped closer, voice casual. Before she could react, he reached out, took her hand—and in a swift motion, pulled her into his arms.
Clarissa stumbled, her cheek brushing against the warmth of his chest. She looked up—and suddenly their eyes locked.
Her breath caught. Her pulse stuttered.
Flustered, she quickly looked away. “We’re outside—let me go.”
She twisted her wrist, trying to wriggle free, but his grip only tightened slightly—firm but gentle, commanding without force.
“Answer my question first,” Atticus said, lips quirking up in a smirk. “Then I’ll let you go.”
“I...” Clarissa paused, exhaled, and reluctantly nodded.
Seeing her agreement, Atticus’s expression softened. His fingers brushed lightly against her skin, and he leaned down, planting a tender kiss on her forehead.
His voice was low, husky. “Good girl.”
“You—” Clarissa’s eyes flashed with both irritation. She glared at him—but before she could finish, he wrapped his arms around her again, drawing her closer.
“Dorian’s obsessed with you,” he said bluntly. “That’s why I hate him. Every time he looks at you, it makes me want to break his fingers. So let’s just avoid him next time, yeah?”
Clarissa scoffed. “You’re imagining things. He hates me. That’s why he broke off the engagement and married Lyra.”
“He’s blind. And I’m grateful for it.” The more time passed, the more he saw it: Clarissa was done with Dorian.
He reached for her hand again. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
Without waiting for her response, he took her hand and led her down the road, fingers laced with hers.
......
Later that night, the kitchen was filled with the soft sound of chopping. Atticus stood at the counter, knife moving fluidly through vegetables. Behind him, soft footsteps approached.
“Atticus,” Clarissa said. “Let me help.”
She reached for the basket of produce, but he turned, blocking her hand with his own.
“Nope. I’ve got this. Wait outside and enjoy.”
Clarissa arched a brow. “I’m bored out there. Just let me help, will you?”
She never could sit still. And every time she tried to lift a finger around the house, Atticus would swoop in and take over like some territorial cat.
She’s being soft with me. And damn if it didn’t send a thrill through him.
“Alright,” he said at last, lips tugging into a smirk. “You can wash the vegetables. Then I’ll cut them. Deal?”
“Deal.” Her eyes sparkled, and her smile bloomed instantly.
He turned back to the counter, but not before sneaking one last glance at her over his shoulder. Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
Can a person really change this much overnight?
“Atticus? Atticus?”
Clarissa’s voice called softly, pulling him back from his thoughts. He tilted his head and saw her standing in the doorway, clad in an apron, her eyes searching his. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Atticus replied, quickly lowering her eyes. “I was just wondering what dessert I should make for you tonight.”
“I finished cutting the vegetables. Is there anything else you need me to do?”
Glancing over at the neatly arranged bowl filled with colorful vegetables—each piece expertly chopped, the board dusted with finely minced green onions, ginger, and garlic.
“No, that’s more than enough. I’ll handle the rest. Now go rest,” he said, his voice laced with affection.
Clarissa nodded, carefully slipping off her apron before heading out of the kitchen.
......
Later, after their light meal, Clarissa sank into the sofa and turned on the TV. With a warm cup of lemon tea in hand, she sipped slowly.
Atticus soon joined her, carrying a small booklet. He sat beside her and said, “Sister, I’ve compiled some travel ideas. Take a look.”
Curious, Clarissa set her tea aside and took the booklet. Every page was handwritten by Atticus, accompanied by neatly printed pictures and detailed explanations of various tourist destinations. His penmanship was elegant—wild yet precise.
Touched, Clarissa looked at him. “Thank you for all your hard work.”
“Hard work?” Atticus chuckled, moving closer. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. His voice dropped to a low, magnetic murmur, “I’m really looking forward to this trip with you, sis.”
Clarissa’s heart skipped a beat. She tightened her grasp on the booklet, choosing not to push him away as he lingered so intimately behind her. Instead, she lowered her eyes and began reading.
Atticus had noted four potential destinations: a pristine beach, an ancient castle, a holiday villa, and a luxurious resort. Clarissa’s gaze soon lingered on the castle’s image—a fairy-tale structure perched halfway up a misty mountain, its base flanked by lush redwoods.
The exterior boasted a regal royal blue color, interwoven with delicate thorned blue roses reminiscent of the famed Neuschwanstein Castle.
“It’s like it belongs in a fairy tale,” she whispered, entranced.
Atticus’s eyes lit up, a conspiratorial smile playing on his lips. “Sis, how about we go here?”
Clarissa blinked and then nodded slowly. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”
She read the caption beneath the photo carefully. Farfadat.
“Farfadat…” she murmured.
“It means ‘fairy’ or ‘elf,’” Atticus supplied, his voice warm against her skin.
A satisfied smile curled on Atticus’s lips as he confirmed her choice. Clarissa flipped through the additional pages, noting that no interior photos were included.
“Why are there no photos of the inside?” she asked, a trace of curiosity in her tone.
Atticus replied matter-of-factly, “The owner—he’s a man of peculiar tastes—only opens the castle once a year for twelve selected guests. Interior photos are strictly forbidden.”
Atticus leaned in, resting his chin on her shoulder as he said softly, “Don’t worry. The key is, Clarissa—do you want to go?”
A small smile tugged at Clarissa’s lips. “I do. But if I can’t get into the castle, the resort will do.”
Atticus’s smile deepened mischievously. “Don’t worry,” he teased, leaning in to plant a few playful kisses on her lips. “Clarissa, if I can’t make it happen for us, then I’m clearly not Atticus.”
He was always like this—unapologetically radiant. Atticus burned with confidence, sharp and brilliant, like sunlight you couldn’t stare at for too long without going blind.
And somehow, Clarissa’s heart was no longer hers.
She took a shaky breath, gaze falling to the floor. She didn’t dare look at him. But her slender, pale fingers crept up to her chest, pressing over her wildly beating heart—afraid that he might hear it.
She couldn’t keep being around him like this.
Flustered, Clarissa quickly dropped the booklet on the coffee table and stood up, stumbling over her words. “Then... that one, I guess. It’s getting late. I need to rest.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and practically fled toward the bedroom.
Atticus watched her go, a slow, irrepressible smile curving at the corners of his mouth.
Let her run—for now.