Chapter153 – Why did it ache?
Across the room, Atticus felt it—a sharp, icy gaze cutting across the crowd, slicing into him like a dagger.
He pulled away slightly from Clarissa, who was breathless and blushing, her lips slightly parted and her chest rising and falling with each shaky inhale. He turned his head casually and let his eyes scan the room.
When he spotted the source of that poisonous stare, a slow, mocking smile curled on his lips.
Clarissa, limp and flushed in his arms, tried to collect herself. “Atticus… I’m serious… If you keep teasing me, I’m really going to get mad…”
He leaned in, his tone feather-light but wicked, “But what exactly are you mad about, sis?”
“You—” Clarissa gritted her teeth.
Before her frustration could boil over, Atticus wrapped his arms around her again, whispering into her hair. “Alright, alright. Don’t get angry. It’s bad for your sleep. Besides, we’re going horseback riding tomorrow, remember? And after that… I’ll take you to Butterfly Valley.”
Clarissa paused. “Butterfly Valley?”
The name echoed in her mind like a bell—and suddenly, a string of plot details snapped into place.
An ancient castle. A wealthy, powerful family. The secluded, otherworldly Butterfly Valley...
That valley belonged to the Loxleys and had been closed off to the public for decades. Its waters were crystal clear and safe to drink, its flora rare and intoxicating.
It was home to endangered animals, protected species... and during one season of the year, when the flowers were in bloom, a dazzling cloud of butterflies would rise into the air—some of them so rare and prized they could be sold for millions.
Of course, that season was also when the story's heroine and hero fell deeply in love.
Clarissa’s heart twisted. She did want to see it. She wanted to witness something that magical with her own eyes—but if she had known she’d meet Dorian and Lyra, she would’ve booked a different vacation entirely.
Her strange expression didn’t go unnoticed.
“What’s wrong?” Atticus asked, watching her carefully. “You don’t want to go?”
“No,” she shook her head. “I just thought… is it open to everyone here?”
“Mr. Gabriel is giving us exclusive access. And I’m allowed to take three things from the valley.”
Clarissa blinked. “Even the butterflies?”
Atticus smirked. “Of course. You can pick whichever one you like. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll spot that butterfly you love so much—the ‘Goddess of Light,’ right?”
Clarissa stared at him. “Wait… what kind of deal did you make with Gabriel to get that kind of privilege?”
Atticus only grinned, brushing his fingers over her cheek. “I’ll tell you when the time is right.”
......
After the banquet, Clarissa finally returned to her room.
The moment she loosened the corset around her waist, her stomach gave a low, pitiful growl—aching for real food.
The dishes served at the banquet, elegant as they were, had felt more like ornamentation than sustenance. Clarissa simply couldn’t get used to the local flavors—be it the entrees or the overly saccharine desserts.
With a sigh, she wrapped a shawl loosely around herself and stepped out into the corridor to ask for some hot water.
But the hallway was eerily silent. Not a soul in sight.
Only the echo of her own footsteps followed her as she walked.
A chill crept up her spine, and her mind flashed back to what Atticus had said earlier. Shadows seemed to thicken around her, and when she glanced toward the beast-head sculpture on the wall, she was struck with a wave of dread.
The blood-red eyes carved into the stone seemed... wet. Alive.
Frozen in place, her breath caught.
Outside, the wind kicked up, rustling the leaves. The whisper of branches scraping against the windows sounded too much like soft, pained crying.
Clarissa’s nerves snapped. She turned and bolted back toward her room.
As she rounded the corner, she saw a familiar figure.
Atticus.
Relief surged through her so fast she nearly laughed. She opened her mouth to speak—but before she could, a soft, feminine voice drifted over.
“Excuse me… may I come with you?”
Clarissa’s smile faltered.
Atticus answered without emotion, “Suit yourself.”
From the light overhead, Clarissa saw the girl clearly now.
Yuriko Nomiya.
Dressed in an exquisite floral-patterned kimono, she stood quietly beside Atticus, her gaze lowered and her cheeks tinged with a soft pink. Delicate. Polished. Submissive.
The two of them were young and striking, well-matched—a picture of grace and harmony.
To anyone else, it would’ve been a beautiful sight.
To Clarissa, it was unbearable. It was late. Where were they going?
She didn’t follow. She turned and returned to her room in silence.
Once inside, her appetite had completely vanished. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, her thoughts tangled.
If Atticus could truly fall for someone his own age, someone sweet and proper like Yuriko, she ought to feel happy for him.
She should be relieved.
But… why did her chest feel so tight? Why did it ache?
.......
Meanwhile, in the castle’s expansive kitchen, Atticus rolled up his sleeves as David handed him a key.
“Mr. Atticus, this unlocks the food storage. Feel free to use it as you like. But are you sure you want to cook yourself? Our chef is trained in S-country cuisine.”
Atticus gave a polite nod. “No need. I’ll handle it. Thank you.”
“You’re too kind. We should’ve been more considerate of your preferences.”
With that, David left, and the kitchen quieted.
Atticus set to work.
The ingredients were already laid out: fresh vegetables, glistening slices of marbled beef, hand-ground spices. He moved quickly and with precision, slicing, seasoning, marinating. The aroma of garlic and chili oil soon filled the room.
He was halfway through preparing the broth when a voice interrupted him.
“You’re making ramen?”
Atticus turned—and found Yuriko Nomiya standing just behind him, her eyes wide with fascination.
“You’re still here?” he asked, surprised.
Yuriko gave a small smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with practiced grace. “I smelled something delicious and followed it here…”
Atticus gave a noncommittal hum, returning to his task.
“You cook, too? That’s incredible,” she added shyly. “My father always praised your medical skills. And now, seeing you like this… so young, so talented…”
She let her voice trail off meaningfully.
Atticus kept his eyes on the dough he was kneading, unfazed.
“You’re very different from most men,” she murmured, stepping closer. “So calm. So focused. It’s… admirable.”
Atticus didn’t respond. At the moment, her voice felt like background noise. Still, he held his tongue. This was the Loxley estate, and Yuriko was a guest. He couldn’t simply tell her to leave.
So he focused.
Before long, the noodles were pulled, the broth was simmering, and two steaming bowls of hot-and-sour beef ramen sat on the counter—one large, one small.
The scent wafted up like a promise—rich, savory, impossible to ignore.
Yuriko Nomiya’s eyes sparkled as she caught sight of the two bowls Atticus had just finished preparing.
Two?
Her heart fluttered. She hadn’t expected that he… might have cooked one for her.
She hesitated, feigning modesty, her voice soft and fluttering. “Thank you, Atticus. But I’m… not really hungry.”
Atticus didn’t respond. He placed both bowls neatly on a tray and, without so much as a glance, turned and started toward the door.
Halfway out, he paused. His voice was casual, even cool. “If you’re staying, make sure you turn off the lights when you leave.”
Yuriko froze, the blush on her face draining into pale confusion.
“You… you’re going to eat both?”
Atticus looked over his shoulder, the dim kitchen light catching the hard line of his jaw. “One’s for my fiancée. Any problem?”
Fiancée?
Yuriko blinked, stunned. Her mind flicked to the elegant, impossibly alluring woman she’d seen beside him earlier.
She’s older than him… and they’re engaged?
The disappointment stung more than she expected. Her hands curled into small fists at her sides, and her delicate features tightened, pride turning her embarrassment into a brittle kind of cold.