Chapter152 – My boyfriend
Without invitation, she leaned in close to Atticus. Her fingers trailed slowly across his chest, then up to cup his jaw, her movements as deliberate as they were provocative.
“This your boyfriend, sweetheart?” she purred, turning her eyes to Clarissa with an impish smile. “What a handsome face... I’ve never seen such a stunning man from S Country. I must admit, I’m tempted.”
Atticus caught the overwhelming scent of her perfume and instinctively leaned back, about to brush her off—but then paused, glancing at Clarissa.
Clarissa was staring, lips slightly parted, cheeks tinged pink. Without thinking, she reached out and seized Mrs. Rose’s hand—just as it slid toward Atticus’s firm abdomen.
Her voice was ice. “Madam, please respect yourself.”
Mrs. Rose turned to her, blinking innocently. “Excuse me... and what exactly is your relationship?”
“He... he’s my boyfriend. So please—back off.”
Mrs. Rose gave a dramatic sigh. “Alright, alright. I’ll return him to you, then.”
As she stood, she leaned in, her painted lips grazing Clarissa’s ear. Her voice dropped to a wicked whisper. “He’s younger than you, isn’t he? I like younger men too. That body… I bet he’s amazing in bed, isn’t he?”
Clarissa’s entire face turned crimson. “Madam—please, don’t say such indecent things.”
But Mrs. Rose just laughed, shameless and pleased. “Oh, darling. We’re all adults here. No need to be so bashful.”
With a wink, she gave Clarissa a gentle push back into Atticus’s arms, then floated to the opposite sofa and waved to her bodyguard.
A moment later, he was at her side with a crystal wine glass.
She took a delicate sip, fanning herself again with a smug smile.
Atticus, meanwhile, was reclining comfortably with Clarissa still pressed against him. His voice dropped, husky with curiosity.
“So tell me, Madam... what’s this about the Cursed House?”
Mrs. Rose’s fan fluttered closed with a snap.
“You’ve never heard the legend?” she said, tilting her head. “The story of the Vampire Countess?”
"Back then," Mrs. Rose began, her voice low and dramatic, "the Loxley family fell in love with this land. When they began construction, they unearthed thousands of skeletons—every last one of them young."
Clarissa’s eyes widened, but Mrs. Rose only smiled, stepping closer.
"The head of the family still insisted on building here. As for why..." Her gaze sparkled with a wicked glint. "Haven’t you noticed how vibrant the flowers are outside the castle?"
Clarissa blinked. “What do you mean?”
"Ashes make the best fertilizer—when they're from the dead."
A cold shiver ran down Clarissa’s spine.
Mrs. Rose’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Out there, when the wind blows, the flowers rustle… and if you listen closely, you’ll hear them crying. Have you heard it yet?”
Clarissa instinctively pulled her arms around herself, goosebumps breaking out across her skin. “No… no, I haven’t…”
The performance on stage came to an end just then.
Mrs. Rose flicked her fan shut with a graceful snap and smiled. “Such a pleasure talking to you both. Alas, delightful moments always end too soon.”
She leaned in close to Clarissa one last time, her breath warm against her ear. “Keep a close eye on that boy. You’re not the only woman who’ll be after him.”
Clarissa stared after her in stunned silence.
“What did she say to you just now?” Atticus asked, raising a brow. He reached out to touch Clarissa’s cheek, but she flinched.
“What are you doing!” she snapped.
Atticus pulled his hand back slightly, surprised. “You’ve been jumpy all night. Don’t tell me… are you scared of ghosts?”
“I—I’m not! Why would I be afraid of ghosts?”
Atticus chuckled softly, rubbing his chin. “Now that I think of it… you’ve never been able to sit through a single horror movie. How about we watch one together next time?”
Clarissa straightened in defiance. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
Amused by her bravado, Atticus leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed her ear. “Maybe what Mrs. Rose said is true…”
“What?”
“When the wind blows... the flowers rustle... and you hear people crying…”
“Atticus!” Clarissa’s voice shot up an octave. “Don’t say that—!”
“Oh? You’re not scared?”
“I… I’m not scared!” she insisted, but she started to stand.
Atticus caught her wrist before she could leave. His voice dropped into something darker, teasing. “I’ve heard... the closer you are to corpses, the closer you are to hell. Demons… ghosts… They like to hide in the bathroom…”
“Ahhh!” Clarissa shrieked, her face ghost-pale. She shoved Atticus hard. “You bastard! Quit it!”
Her scream, fortunately, was drowned out by the singer hitting a high note on stage.
Atticus burst into laughter and caught her as she tried to scramble away, wrapping his arms around her. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”
His grin faded into something softer. His voice dipped, low and hoarse. “Then… can I ask? Why did you say I’m your boyfriend earlier?”
Clarissa froze. She bit her lip and looked away.
Atticus’s voice turned velvety and slow. “Clarissa, that’s not like you. Not answering me?”
She whipped around. “Then let me ask *you*! Why didn’t you push her away? Or... did you actually *enjoy* it?”
The corners of Atticus’s mouth curled upward. “Clarissa, are you... jealous?”
She opened her mouth, but the words never came. Her expression froze.
Before she could deny it, Atticus reached up and gently pressed a finger against her lips.
“I didn’t push her away,” he whispered, “because I wanted to see if you cared. I wanted to know if I mattered to you.” His eyes burned into hers. “And now I know.”
Clarissa's heart thudded in her chest.
“You think I only like older women?” he murmured, inching closer. “That’s not it. I like you. You just happen to be older.”
“I…”
Atticus let out a soft sigh, no longer patient. He leaned in and caught her lips with his own.
“W-Wait… this is…” Clarissa stammered, trying to push him away, but he cupped her face firmly.
“No waiting.”
His voice was rough, commanding—and then he kissed her again, swallowing her protests whole.
......
At that moment, Dorian was in conversation with Gabriel, though his gaze kept drifting restlessly across the room, subconsciously searching for one person—Lawrence.
The Whitmore and Harrington families had long been locked in cutthroat business competition, their interests overlapping more with each passing year.
If he could earn Mr. Gabriel’s trust before Lawrence did, Dorian would finally have the leverage he needed to crush the Whitmores.
But no matter how carefully he scanned the crowd, Lawrence was nowhere to be seen. Instead, what caught his eye was Clarissa—sitting not far away, tightly nestled in Atticus's arms. Their bodies fit together like they were made for each other, intimate in a way.
His expression darkened, jaw clenching, fists curling at his sides.
“Do you know Mr. Atticus?” Gabriel’s voice came from beside him, breaking his stormy thoughts.
Dorian blinked, trying to mask the sudden chill in his demeanor. “You know him?”
Gabriel nodded with a faint smile. “Atticus is… fascinating. Mysterious. I like men like that. He’s helped me quite a bit.”
Dorian’s eyes narrowed to slits. “He seems to be enjoying himself.”
“I invited him, but he declined at first. Later he said his fiancée loved this place and wanted to vacation here. So, of course, I extended the invitation.”
“…Fiancée?” Dorian echoed, certain he’d misheard.
“Yes. She's an extraordinary woman—beautiful, poised, with the elegance of royalty. She reminds me of my own mother. They’re quite the loving couple.”
The rest of Gabriel’s words blurred into meaningless static. All Dorian could hear was the word fiancée, echoing through his skull.
Fiancée?
Atticus dared to go around calling Clarissa his fiancée?
That bastard. He wasn’t worthy to even touch the hem of her dress.
If this weren’t the Loxley estate—if he weren’t bound by etiquette—he would’ve stormed over and torn them apart.