Chapter150 – You’re so tempting…
She turned to the dresses—exquisite creations with layers of silk and lace. One was a striking crimson, embroidered with gold thread. The bodice was tight, the skirt voluminous, unmistakably made for drama.
Clarissa eyed the narrow waistline doubtfully. “This looks... small.”
One of the maids smiled. “Don’t worry, Miss. Leave it to us. We’ll make sure you’re the most stunning woman at the ball.”
Before Clarissa could protest, the maids moved toward her.
“I—I can change by myself—”
But it was too late.
One maid held her steady, while the other began pulling the corset strings tight.
Clarissa’s breath hitched.
“Wait—wait, that’s enough—I can’t—breathe—”
“Just one more breath, Miss! This is how it’s meant to fit,” one of them chirped cheerfully.
“Miss, your figure is exquisite. You’ll be the star of the evening.”
Clarissa didn’t feel like a star. She felt like she was being squeezed to death.
“I don’t want to be the star,” she gasped. “I just want to survive!”
Thankfully, the two maids finally stopped.
Clarissa let out a long breath of relief, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She felt like she’d just escaped a slow, elegant execution.
The women moved on to her hair, styling her long dark locks into soft waves and twists before adorning them with delicate pearls. Ruby and diamond earrings followed, along with a necklace that gleamed with the same precious stones. The jewelry wasn’t trendy or modern—it had a vintage flair, deeply romantic and timeless.
Clarissa didn’t dare move. She simply stood still and allowed them to finish.
When they slid the final petticoats into place and zipped up the back of the gown, one of the maids knelt to adjust the hem, smoothing every fold with care.
And then... it was done.
Clarissa turned toward the full-length mirror and froze.
The gown was fiery red, with a bodice that clung to her like liquid silk, pushing her curves upward and inward in a way that made her blush just looking at herself. The waist was impossibly narrow, and the structured skirt flared out around her hips like the bloom of a rose in full heat.
She looked like a siren sculpted for seduction.
“You’re stunning, miss,” one of the maids whispered in awe.
“Even more beautiful than the mistress,” the other added. “You're the most exquisite woman from S Country I’ve ever seen.”
Clarissa blinked. “The mistress… was also from S Country?”
“Yes,” one maid nodded, her expression softening. “The master loved her dearly. They were inseparable.”
“But he was sickly. He passed many years ago... and the mistress, she followed him soon after. She couldn’t bear to live without him.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s alright,” they both said gently, waving off her apology.
A knock echoed at the door just then.
“Sis, are you ready?” Atticus’s voice was muffled but unmistakable.
Before she could reply, the maids had already opened the door.
When he stepped inside and caught sight of her, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Atticus had always thought Clarissa looked best in red. But he hadn’t expected this.
She turned to face him—and in that moment, the air between them crackled. His gaze locked on her, dark and intense, and the fire behind his eyes made her take a cautious step back.
“Att... Atticus…” she began nervously.
But the weight of the gown, paired with the towering lace-embellished heels, made her wobble.
Before she could hit the floor, Atticus was there, sweeping her into his arms.
“Clarissa…”
Her face was burning. “Why were you looking at me like that?”
Atticus’s voice dropped, thick with desire. “Because you’re... breathtaking.”
He took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. His mouth was warm, and the gesture sent a shiver up her spine.
Clarissa tugged her hand back, flustered. “Don’t… don’t be so dramatic. You have no idea how many layers are under this skirt—I nearly fall over every time I take a step. And this corset? It’s killing me.”
Atticus chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You don’t have to worry. I’m right here. I won’t let you fall.”
His hand slipped slightly lower, molding to her slender waist. His eyes trailed down with unfiltered hunger.
“You’re so tempting... especially right here…”
Clarissa frowned in confusion and glanced down—then instantly covered her chest with both hands, cheeks flaming.
“What are you staring at, you pervert! Stop looking!”
The corset had pushed her already full breasts up and together, creating a generous swell that left little to the imagination.
Atticus smirked, utterly unrepentant. “How could I not look? You’re the most beautiful thing in this castle, Clarissa.”
“You—!” she sputtered, but before she could say more, he caught her hand again and pressed her gently against the wall.
Then his lips were on hers.
The kiss was hot, sudden, and possessive. Clarissa’s thoughts scattered like falling petals.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she slapped him, hard.
Atticus pulled back slightly, eyes still smoldering. “What is it?”
"I'm suffocating. Let me go..." Clarissa took a deep breath, her voice a little hoarse.
Atticus realized why. “Maybe I should help you out of that dress.”
“No!” Clarissa shoved at his chest. “Everyone else is wearing corsets too. It would be weird if I didn’t.”
She turned, flustered, and tried to walk toward the door—but he caught her hand again.
She looked back, confused.
Atticus offered his arm. “You’re my dance partner tonight..”
Clarissa hesitated—then slowly placed her hand in the crook of his arm.
.......
Dorian was in the middle of changing when Lyra stepped aside and picked up her phone, dialing a familiar number.
The line rang several times before a groggy voice finally answered. “Hello?”
“June…” Lyra’s voice was already thick with tears. “It’s bad. I saw Clarissa.”
A pause. Then the voice sharpened. “Why is she still hanging around? I thought you were traveling with Dorian.”
“I am… but Clarissa’s here too…” Lyra choked back a sob. If not for the layers of makeup holding it together, her mascara would have run by now.
“June, what should I do?”
“Don’t panic,” June’s tone turned cold, razor-sharp. “I won’t let that bitch ruin your happiness. Keep your eyes on Dorian. Don’t let Clarissa get anywhere near him.”
Lyra clung to those words like a lifeline, her grip on the phone tightening. “Thank you, June.”
“If it weren’t for you and Dorian, I might have… I might not have made it this far.”
After hanging up, June's eyes snapped open, and she grabbed her phone again.
Photos filled her screen—pictures of William.
Snapshots of him delivering lectures, accepting awards, shaking hands with world-renowned scientists. Headlines. Magazine covers. All meticulously saved. Hundreds of them.
She pressed the screen to her chest and closed her eyes. These images—these memories—were the only reason she’d kept going all these years.
Her mother had died rushing home after hearing gossip about her in the market—hit by a truck that never even braked. Gone in an instant.
And just like that, June had lost everything: her reputation, her innocence, her money, and her only family.
That night, she’d sat in the bathtub with a razor in her hand, ready to end it all.
It was Lyra who broke in and stopped her.
Lyra begged Dorian to help. And Dorian had sent her abroad. She’d undergone surgery, erased her face, her past, and her identity. Adopted by a childless couple, she’d lived in silence for six long years before she could even begin to smile again.
June exhaled slowly, then opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, her gaze cold and venomous.
“Clarissa, I didn’t drag you to hell with me back then. But this time, I’ll make you pay. Twice over—for every humiliation, every scar, every loss.”
She unlocked her phone, went to her contacts, and placed a call.