Chapter155 – I fu*ked him
“I know exactly who he is,” she snapped. “Dorian, we’re nothing now. I’ve already accepted your money. You don’t owe me a thing.”
“But we grew up together. I don’t want to watch you walk into a damn fire.”
His hand reached out, gripping her shoulder. “I’m saying this because I care.”
Clarissa’s lips curled into a cold smile. “‘Care’?” she repeated mockingly. “You broke off our engagement, and when I woke up from that fall, you had me kneel and apologize to your wife. And now you want to talk about care?”
Dorian froze. His usual self-assurance evaporated, replaced by awkward silence. “I...”
She laughed softly, the sound like broken glass beneath velvet. The moon lit her face, casting a glow that made her seem ethereal—beautiful, distant, untouchable.
“You want to compensate me?” she said sweetly. “Then divorce Lyra. Can you do that?”
Dorian’s body tensed like stone. He didn’t answer.
Clarissa tilted her head and smiled wider. “You can’t, can you?”
She let out a quiet scoff. “Relax, I’m joking. The Clarissa you once knew died a long time ago.”
“What do you mean?” Dorian asked hoarsely.
“Exactly what I said. I never loved you. Never. I was grateful—you saved me once as a kid. That’s all.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Believe what you want. But let me spell it out for you,” Clarissa said, stepping close. “You and I? Never going to happen. Not now, not ever. And if you must know… I did sleep with Atticus.”
Dorian’s face contorted. “What?”
“I said I fucked him.” She looked him dead in the eye. “I like him. I want to be with him.”
“You’ve lost your mind. You like him? That boy—”
“Why the hell not?” Clarissa cut in, voice sharp. “We’re not blood. And I’m just a regular woman, Dorian. I get lonely. And he’s actually there for me.”
“He takes care of me, loves me, sees me. He’s talented, young, beautiful, and has a future so bright it blinds. And the best part?” She leaned in. “He’s only ever had me.”
She stepped back and smiled cruelly. “You? You can’t even remember the names of all the women you’ve fucked.”
“Shut up!” Dorian roared, his voice cracking with rage. “Clarissa, shut the fuck up!”
Exactly what she wanted. She hoped he hated her now. Because she never wanted anything to do with Dorian again.
"You don’t need to worry about me," Clarissa said calmly, voice cold as glass. "I’m already his woman—and it was my choice. The only reason we haven’t gone public is because he’s still young. Once his career is stable, I’ll tell my parents myself."
Dorian stared at her, motionless. After a long silence, he ground out the words through clenched teeth. "You’ll regret this. You don’t understand him at all."
"Thanks for the concern," Clarissa replied with a slight smile. "Even if I do regret it, that’s my burden to carry. It has nothing to do with you. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now."
She turned to leave, but then paused. Without looking back, she added,
"I already have someone in my heart. I hope you’ll recognize the reality of our relationship from now on, Mr. Dorian."
And with that, she walked away—never once glancing back.
Dorian stood there, fists slowly clenching at his sides, his knuckles whitening with pressure.
Unbeknownst to either of them, a pair of eyes had been watching. Not far away, Lyra had seen everything.
She hadn’t heard the full conversation. Tears were already streaking down her face. Her chest heaved. Her steps faltered. Then she turned—and ran.
Down the castle corridor, her vision blurred, heart breaking, Lyra ran blindly, tears spilling freely. He went to see Clarissa? In the middle of the night?
Clarissa asked him to divorce me?
So it was true… she really wanted to steal Dorian from me.
She choked back a sob and kept running. And then—
"Ah!"
She collided head-on with someone carrying a silver tray.
Both women screamed as the tray clattered to the floor, the contents—thick, dark, red—splattering across their clothes and faces.
The woman immediately reached out to help. "Miss, are you all right?"
Lyra looked up—and froze.
The woman wore a white maid’s uniform. But blood streaked her face, hands, and apron. In the dim corridor light, her pale skin and crimson stains made her look like something out of a gothic nightmare.
"Ah! A ghost!" Lyra shrieked.
The maid panicked and clumsily covered her mouth, voice trembling. "Please—please don’t scream!"
But it was too late. Footsteps echoed down the hall.
David appeared. His sharp eyes, colder than ever, landed on both women.
The maid immediately collapsed to her knees, head bowed low to the floor, trembling violently. "Forgive me, sir! This young lady ran out so suddenly—I didn’t mean to—please spare me!"
David raised a hand, calm but commanding. "Clean it up. I’ll handle it from here."
"Y-Yes…" The maid scrambled away, still stained in blood, not even daring to wipe her face.
Lyra stared at her vanishing figure, heart still pounding.
David stepped forward and offered his hand, gentlemanly as ever. "Miss, allow me to escort you back to your room."
Lyra stood on shaky legs, using the wall for support. Her wide eyes flicked up at him. "Who… who are you? What’s going on here? Why all the blood?"
David’s gaze locked onto hers, sharp and icy. "This matter concerns the privacy of the Loxley family. You must forget everything you saw tonight. And you must not speak of it—to anyone."
His voice dropped, deadly quiet.
"If you leak anything… you’ll bear the consequences alone. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want your husband caught in the fallout."
Lyra froze. The blood drained from her face. Her knees buckled slightly.
David’s expression shifted, the sharpness receding as he returned to his usual, cold composure. "I’ll take you back now. Please remember what I’ve said tonight."
.....
Clarissa walked briskly down the corridor, pressing her fingers to her temple. Will Dorian keep bothering me like this?
The thought alone made her head ache. Just then, she heard footsteps echoing from the adjacent hallway.
Curious, she turned her head—only to freeze. Not far away stood a tall figure in a long white gown... soaked in blood.
Though the distance and angle made it hard to see clearly, the pale skin, the red-smeared face, and that eerie stillness were unmistakable.
A chill shot down her spine.
All thoughts dissolved, replaced by a cold wave of fear that surged from deep inside her. Atticus’s warning rang out in her mind: "Where corpses gather... is the closest place to hell."
Her breath hitched. Clarissa's face went bone white, and before she could think, she screamed—then bolted for her room.
She threw herself onto the bed, diving beneath the covers like a terrified child and curling up tight, her body trembling.
Was that really… a ghost? Is there something truly wrong with this castle?
As her thoughts spiraled into panic, the covers were suddenly ripped away by a pair of strong hands.
"Ah!" Clarissa cried, thrashing wildly. "Let go of me!"
"Hey, it’s me! Sis?" Atticus’s voice broke through, confused.
Clarissa blinked, staring at the figure now beside her. Her heart was pounding, but the second she recognized his face—those familiar eyes, that warm expression—tears poured down her cheeks without warning.
"Atticus..." she choked, and in the next breath, threw herself into his arms.
He caught her immediately, wrapping his arms around her trembling body and gently stroking her back. "Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. Did someone hurt you?"
Clarissa clung to him tightly, her voice muffled against his chest. "I saw a ghost... Madam Rose was right—there really *are* ghosts in this place!"