Chapter173 – Butterfly Valley
She was enchanted. Then, turning around, she spotted Atticus still standing by the tree.
She quickly walked over. “Why are you just standing there?”
Atticus glanced away. “No reason.”
Her eyes flicked to the crutches lying nearby, abandoned in the grass. It clicked instantly.
“Oh… you don’t want to be seen with those?” she said, her voice soft and teasing.
Atticus said nothing. She stifled a giggle.
Atticus’s eyes snapped to her, and for a moment, he just stared.
Clarissa was glowing—dressed in a light blue sundress that fluttered around her legs, her long braid laced with pearls. Her smile lit up her whole face, her skin soft and flushed from the fresh mountain air.
She looked breathtaking. It brought him back to when they first met.
She had always been like this—graceful and poised, yet filled with warmth. She never raised her voice but always made herself heard. Even when angry, she remained calm. Confident. Kind.
When Atticus had first met Clarissa, her wardrobe had been filled with miniskirts and plunging necklines. Over the years, though, she’d grown more reserved—her clothing choices more conservative, her temperament more composed.
In fact, the contrast only added to her allure.
Her stunning face—sharp yet graceful—paired with her cool, collected demeanor created a striking presence. Even standing still, Clarissa was magnetic. People couldn’t help but be drawn to her.
Even Dorian, who once sneered at and disliked her, now found himself thinking about her—maybe even longing for her.
Atticus narrowed his eyes slightly. Then, without a word, he reached out and pulled Clarissa into his arms.
She gasped at the sudden motion, slightly startled. When she looked up, she found Atticus staring down at her with a searching expression in his eyes.
“Atticus?” she asked softly.
He held her close. “I heard about the night you got into it with Lyra… and that you hit your head because of Dorian.”
Clarissa’s heartbeat skipped. “Y-yeah… why bring that up now?”
Atticus’s gaze darkened slightly. “Did anything else happen that night?”
Her heart jumped again.
“No… nothing happened. Why?”
She tried to keep her voice calm, but her chest was tightening. Had he figured something out?
No way. Even Atticus couldn’t possibly guess what had really happened.
Then he spoke again, voice low. “Nothing, really. I guess it just bothers me a little. If you had met me first, there wouldn’t have been a Dorian. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt because of some asshole. Did you get it checked out at the hospital?”
Clarissa’s nerves softened, and her heart warmed. “I’m fine. Honestly… I’m grateful that it happened. If I hadn’t hit my head, I probably wouldn’t have come to my senses. And then we never would’ve met… right?”
She wasn’t sure anymore how the original story was supposed to go. Somewhere along the way, it had already veered off course.
But she didn’t care. Right now, she was happy. Being beside the person she loved, imagining a future together—a home of their own, maybe even a family—that was enough.
Atticus held her tighter, and from where she couldn’t see, something flickered in his eyes—something deeper, unreadable.
They stayed in each other’s arms for a while before Clarissa finally looked off into the distance.
“So this is Butterfly Valley?” she asked. “I haven’t seen a single butterfly since we got here.”
Atticus chuckled, then casually picked a leaf from a branch and held it to his lips.
He blew gently.
A soft, melodic sound emerged—light and airy, almost ethereal. Clarissa didn’t even know you could make music like that with a leaf. The tune was faint but oddly purifying, like it reached somewhere deep inside her chest and soothed everything there.
She watched in awe as the music seemed to ripple through the trees.
And then… the air shifted.
There was a flurry of movement—first the flutter of wings, then a chorus of birdsong. Within moments, the sky above them filled with butterflies of every color imaginable. They circled the couple, graceful and shimmering.
Dozens of birds perched in the nearby branches—some even landed on Atticus’s shoulders, undisturbed by his presence. It was like they had all been summoned by the song, compelled by something only they could feel.
Clarissa had never seen anything like it.
By the time Atticus stopped playing, she was completely entranced.
“How did you learn to do that?” she finally asked, eyes wide with wonder.
Atticus smiled and lifted a hand. A brilliant bird—its feathers shining with red, gold, and violet—fluttered down and landed on his fingers.
“I learned from Delilah,” he said simply. “Her flute can control tigers and wild bears. You’ve forgotten?”
Clarissa blinked. “Delilah… Oh right, the only girl in Phoenix’s crew.”
Atticus grinned, amused by her reaction.
Just how many secrets was he still keeping?
Before she could ask, he gently reached for her hand and entwined their fingers.
“Clarissa,” he murmured, “which one do you want? Pick one.”
She looked around them at the cloud of butterflies. They were all dazzling, but one stood out.
A single butterfly floated closer—larger than the rest, about the size of Atticus’s palm. Its wings shimmered like polished gemstones—sunlight catching on vibrant hues of gold, silver, and indigo. It was a Goddess of Light butterfly, one of the rarest and most magnificent species known.
Atticus smiled faintly and raised a hand toward the butterfly.
The stunning creature, as if understanding his gesture, fluttered gracefully before landing obediently in his palm.
A cold gleam flashed in Atticus’s eyes. “This one? If we preserved this one, turned it into a specimen, it’d easily be worth tens of millions. Rare. Highly collectible.”
Just as he subtly moved to take out a small vial of toxin, Clarissa suddenly reached out and stopped him.
“Don’t…” she said, her voice soft but firm.
Atticus glanced at her, his expression puzzled. “What’s wrong? You don’t like this one? We can pick another.”
Clarissa shook her head. “No. I don’t want to take it. Let it stay here—alive. A butterfly trapped in a glass case is beautiful, sure, but it’s also dead.”
Atticus raised an eyebrow. “Then what’s the point of coming here?”
“There is a point,” Clarissa said, looking up at him with a gentle smile. “I loved it. Seeing this… all of it. It’s beautiful here. And I got to share it with you. That makes it mean something.”
She meant every word. Her voice was calm, but filled with sincerity.
Atticus looked at her in silence. And then, for the first time, he saw it—his own reflection in her eyes.
In that reflection, he wasn’t the usual guarded version of himself. His expression was softened, calm, warm.
He stared at her, stunned by the look on his own face.
That’s… me?
He felt his heart jolt unexpectedly.
Atticus had always prided himself on control. Even when he called her “sist” even when he acted like a spoiled brat around her, he believed he was the one pulling the strings.
But in that brief moment, something shifted.
He felt his heartbeat slip from his grasp—something unfamiliar, something unnerving.
That loss of control rattled him.
“Atticus?”
Clarissa’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
He blinked, refocused, and looked at her again. “Sorry. You called me?”
“You zoned out.” She frowned slightly. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Atticus’s lips curled into a charming smile. He reached out and took her hand. “You’re just too beautiful, Clarissa. I got distracted.”
Her cheeks flushed instantly, and her gaze dropped.
Over the years, Atticus had never once complimented her appearance—not seriously. It caught her off guard, but the quiet thrill that bloomed in her chest was undeniable.
She looked back at him, her curiosity piqued. “Atticus… What do you think of Lyra?”
In the original novel, Atticus clearly has a crush on Lyra.
“Lyra?” he repeated, completely blank.
Clarissa stared at him. “My sister.”
“Oh. Right.” He snapped his fingers. “The one who slapped me in the hospital. Dorian’s wife.”
“Yes. That’s her.”
Atticus shrugged. “She’s… average-looking. Kinda dumb. Actually, really dumb.”