Chapter143 – “A”
He picked up the discarded booklet and got up, heading back to his own room. The phone on his desk lit up with three missed calls, all marked by a single letter: A.
Atticus tapped to call back. The line connected immediately.
“Took you long enough,” a casual voice drawled on the other end. “What’ve you been up to?”
Atticus’s voice was flat, cold. “Skip the bullshit. Say what you want.”
“Alright, alright. Same old Atticus.” The voice chuckled. “The mafia from Country B reached out. They want to work with us. If it goes well, they’ll hand us their foreign operations. We’re talking serious profit—black and white markets both. But there's one catch.”
Atticus’s gaze didn’t change. His tone didn’t flicker. “Speak.”
“They want to conduct the trade inside country.”
At that, a shadow passed over Atticus’s face. The air around him dropped a degree.
“I’ve said it before—I don’t run dirty deals in the country.”
“Oh, come on,” the other man whined. “With your skill, what’s the risk? If it goes sideways, we pin it on them.”
Atticus’s voice sharpened. Icy. Final. “Don’t call me again with this kind of garbage.”
“Hey! Don’t hang up—Atticus! You—!”
But the call was already dead.
Without hesitation, Atticus swiped through his contacts and blocked the number. He tossed the phone onto the desk, then lay back on the bed with one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling with a distant look in his eyes.
They weren’t ordinary people. Each one was a monster dressed as a man. Brilliant, capable... and utterly uncontrollable.
Especially him—"A." Two years younger than Atticus, a purebred killer. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. Obsessed with money, chaos, and power. He was a beautifully packaged lunatic.
And it had taken everything Atticus had to bring them all together... and keep them in line.
Atticus reached for the photo album lying beside him and opened it slowly. A delicate portrait of Clarissa stared back at him.
......
"I just hope you grow up healthy and happy, like an ordinary little boy..."
"Atticus, if you ever feel down, you can come talk to me, okay? You still have your sis."
"If someone bullies you, promise me you'll tell me—I’ll protect you."
"Atticus... the world is still beautiful, isn't it?"
.....
Her voice echoed in his memory, light and gentle, clinging to the corners of his mind like sunlight through a dusty window. In the painting, she was smiling—but the real Clarissa, in his memory, had smiled even more brilliantly.
Every time A tried to drag him back into that dark underworld, Clarissa's face would flash in his mind—so he would coldly refuse.
Atticus reached out, brushing his slender fingers over her drawn eyebrows, tracing the lines as if he could feel the warmth of her skin through the page.
After a long pause, his voice was soft, almost inaudible, but threaded with something deeper.
“What a foolish woman…”
......
Elsewhere, Lyra had locked herself in her room, refusing to come out. Dorian stood outside in the courtyard, facing the anxious expressions of Nathaniel and Ophelia.
“Dorian,” Nathaniel said, frowning, “tell me the truth—did you and Lyra have a fight?”
Dorian lowered his eyes, knowing there was no hiding it anymore. “…Yes.”
Nathaniel let out a long sigh. “I thought something was off. Lyra’s been acting strange for days now.”
Ophelia’s tone was sharper, disappointment lacing her voice. “Dorian, we entrusted Lyra to you because we believed you'd care for her. And now you’re telling us she’s locked herself away, crying? ”
Dorian had no excuse. He lowered his head further and said nothing.
Nathaniel rested a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “It’s done. But listen, Dorian—we just want the two of you to be happy.”
“I understand. Mom, Dad… go back for now. I’ll take care of Lyra.”
Ophelia gave him one last stern look. “Bring her to dinner. Don’t let her hide away like this.”
“I will,” Dorian replied quietly. After they left, he turned and entered the house.
Inside, Dominic and his wife sat on the sofa. They looked up the moment Dorian stepped in, but he walked straight to the stairs, heading for Lyra’s room.
But just as he reached the first step, Dominic rose and blocked his way. “Mr. Dorian… Lyra said she doesn’t want to see anyone. We think it’s best if you give her space.”
Dorian stopped cold, and a chill passed through the air around him. He glanced at the man, his eyes sharp and glacial.
Dominic trembled beneath the weight of that gaze, but he didn’t step aside. “She’s our daughter, too. We don’t want her to suffer. We hope you understand.”
Dorian exhaled slowly. “She’s also my wife,” he said coolly. “You don’t want us to keep fighting, do you?”
He leaned forward, his voice a touch lower. “She’ll have to return to the Harrington estate eventually. If my mother finds out she’s been staying here for so long… what do you think she’ll assume about Lyra?”
That made both Dominic and his wife freeze. In the silence that followed, they finally moved aside.
Dorian ascended the stairs and stopped in front of Lyra’s door. He knocked gently.
“Lyra? It’s me.”
A beat of silence. Then a sudden, anguished cry from inside—
“Get out! I don’t want to see you! Fuc*king out!”
Dorian’s face darkened.
He inhaled deeply, then stepped forward and unlocked the door—he’d already asked Dominic and his wife for the key earlier.
As soon as he entered, Lyra’s eyes widened with shock.
But before she could react, Dorian had already crossed the room toward her. She snapped out of it just in time to shove at his chest with both hands, her face twisted in hurt and rage.
“Don’t touch me! You want Clarissa so badly? Then go marry her! Don’t care about me!”
“Lyra, listen to me. This is all just a misunderstanding,” Dorian said, grabbing her and pulling her tightly into his arms despite her struggling.
She thrashed against him, but his grip was too strong, too firm—like steel wrapped in silk. No matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t break free.
Tears poured down her cheeks as she cried, her voice broken. “A misunderstanding? You were furious the moment you saw Clarissa with another man.”
Dorian’s brow furrowed, his voice tense. “You don’t get it. That boy—Atticus—he’s dangerous. She’ll never be happy with him.”
“That’s her choice,” Lyra snapped, eyes blazing. “What does it have to do with you?”
Dorian’s face darkened. “What do you mean? We grew up together. I’m supposed to stand by and watch her walk into hell?”
Lyra turned her face away. “You don’t want her to suffer, or you can’t stand seeing her with someone else? Just admit it, Dorian. You regret marrying me, don’t you?”
Something inside Dorian snapped. His voice dropped, colder than before. “Just a misunderstanding. Why do you keep twisting it into something else? Can’t you stop imagining things for one second?”
“Dorian!” Lyra screamed, her fists clenched. “If you really don’t have feelings for her—then stay the hell out of her life!”
“You’re completely irrational!” he shot back, the tenderness in his eyes now gone. “You were never like this. I remember a Lyra who was gentle, kind—loving. Not… not this insecure, jealous woman. What happened to you?”
Her breath hitched in her throat. She wanted to say something, anything—but nothing came out.
“I never intended to leave you for Clarissa,” he said. “But now? Now I see it clearly. At least Clarissa knows how to carry herself. She knows when to speak, when to stay silent.”
He turned sharply, eyes like flint. “If you don’t want to come home with me, fine. Stay here. But when my mother and grandfather find out? That’s on you.”
“Dorian…” Lyra’s voice cracked as she reached out instinctively to grab his hand.