Chapter175 – Becoming a doctor?
She didn’t wait for a reply, just turned and walked away, holding the eagle.
Atticus grabbed his crutches and hobbled after her obediently, without a single complaint.
Gone was the cocky, smug bastard. At Clarissa’s side, he was like a loyal dog—following her steps.
Dorian’s hand clenched into a tight fist, the veins bulging so hard it made a creaking sound as his knuckles strained under the pressure.
Beside him, Lyra let out a quiet breath of relief as Clarissa disappeared from view. She instinctively reached out to pull Dorian back—but he jerked his arm away, violently shaking her off.
She gasped, stumbling. If not for the tree she caught hold of just in time, she would have hit the ground.
He had never treated her so harshly—not even once since they were married. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Dorian, you—”
“Why the hell did you pull me just now!” Dorian snapped, turning on her with fury in his eyes.
Lyra’s eyes filled with tears. “I—I was worried about you. You were pointing a gun at someone’s head… that’s dangerous...”
“I had it under control!” he barked. “Why can’t you be smarter, Lyra? You’ve been with me long enough to know that!”
At that moment, whatever trace of gentleness he used to have with her evaporated. His patience for Lyra was wearing thin. The sight of her crying no longer moved him. And all he could feel was irritation.
She was timid. Always holding him back. Always in the way.
And for what? Why had he ever thought that was endearing?
Meanwhile, Clarissa—sharp, confident, capable—he used to think she was manipulative.
“You really are nothing like Clarissa,” he muttered. “I was wrong. If only I had—”
He stopped, pressing a hand to his forehead. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Lyra standing there.
Lyra burst into tears and stumbled after him. “Dorian! Dorian!”
She ran blindly, voice trembling, calling his name again and again. But halfway down the path, she caught her foot on a jagged stone.
With a cry, she fell forward, scraping her arms and knees against the dirt and gravel. Bright blood stained her white skin, trickling down her legs.
But the pain in her body couldn’t compare to the agony in her heart.
He really did regret it…
All because of Clarissa.
Atticus, William, her parents—and now even Dorian…
Why was Clarissa taking everything from her? Piece by piece?
She was the daughter of the Lancaster family! She had always been the one everyone loved. Clarissa was the unwanted one. The shadow.
How had everything changed?
She was supposed to be the special one.
Could it be—was June right?
Was all of this… part of Clarissa’s plan?
Lyra gritted her teeth and clenched her bleeding palms into the earth. She didn’t even notice the cuts from the grass or the sting of blood.
.....
Meanwhile, Clarissa walked to the riverbank, cradling the wounded young eagle gently in her arms.
Atticus followed close behind and stood beside her. “Clarissa,” he said softly. “He didn’t mean to....”
“I know. I saw it,” she replied, turning to glare at him. “But he pointed a gun at your head! And you still tried to provoke him. Are you an idiot?”
Atticus smiled, unfazed. “He wasn’t actually going to pull the trigger.”
“That’s not the point!”
“You’re right, you’re right,” he said immediately, holding up his hands. “I was wrong.”
Clarissa huffed and looked back down at the tiny creature in her arms. “Let’s bury it.”
Atticus leaned in and looked closer. “It’s not dead.”
“What?” she blinked.
Without answering, Atticus pulled a small pill from his pocket and slipped it between the eagle’s beak.
Clarissa watched as its chest slowly began to rise and fall again. Its breathing returned—faint, but steady.
“Will it survive?” Clarissa asked quietly.
“The wing’s punctured,” Atticus replied. “It’ll need a minor procedure. The pill just stabilized it for now.”
In truth, he hadn’t cared enough to bother—until he saw Clarissa’s face. The sadness in her eyes made him relent.
He slid the backpack off his shoulders and unzipped it. “Lay it down. I’ll handle it.”
Clarissa quickly pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and laid it carefully on the ground. She gently placed the injured bird on it, then squatted beside him, watching attentively.
Atticus knelt and began treating the eagle’s wound with practiced precision. His long fingers, usually so clean and graceful, were soon stained with blood—but to Clarissa, he looked inexplicably handsome in that moment.
Something about his calm, focused expression pulled at her heart.
Without thinking, she murmured, “Atticus… have you ever thought about becoming a doctor?”
He didn’t glance up. “Where’d that come from?”
“I just think it’s… admirable. Doctors save lives. They do good..”
She was sincere, but the words barely left her mouth before she heard Atticus let out a low chuckle.
Clarissa turned toward him, confused. “What’s so funny?”
“I just never pegged you as the superstitious type,” he said, giving her a side glance. He stared at her, quiet and intense, like he could see right through her skin and into whatever she was hiding.
Her breath caught in her throat. For a second, she couldn’t hold that gaze.
“I wasn’t,” she admitted, eyes lowering. “But....”
“But what?”
She didn’t answer. How was she supposed to explain it?
That ever since she had traveled here—ever since those strange, vivid dreams began—something inside her shifted. That she’d started to believe in things she couldn’t explain. In fate. In curses. In redemption.
Looking at the young eagle—its feathers barely grown in—Clarissa couldn’t help but be reminded of the Atticus in her dreams.
That boy had taken his life at twenty. Alone. Drenched in darkness and despair.
She didn’t want that for him.
She wanted this Atticus to walk in the sun, free from shadow. She wanted him to shine.
He was brilliant—dangerously so. He had the kind of talent that could soar far beyond this place, far beyond all the brokenness of the past.
She just didn’t know how to say it out loud.
So instead, she smiled faintly and said, “I was just rambling. Whatever you choose to be… I know you’ll succeed. You’re that kind of person.”
Atticus paused mid-motion, he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he dipped his head again and returned to treating the eagle, working in silence.
Clarissa sat beside him, the hush between them warm and unspoken.
Thirty minutes passed like that, quiet and companionable, until finally Atticus spoke again.
“If Clarissa wants me to be a doctor, then I’ll be one.”
“Huh?” Her brows lifted in surprise.
She stared as he tied the final bandage with expert ease and trimmed the damaged feathers.
The bird that had looked like it was moments from death now blinked up at them. Its chest rose and fell steadily.
Clarissa had insisted on carrying the backpack earlier, worried that Atticus would reopen his wound—but it ended up saving the little creature’s life.
Atticus lifted the eagle in one hand, brushing his thumb along its beak. “Lucky bastard,” he said with a smirk.
Then he turned to Clarissa. “It’s stable now.”
The young eagle, now roughly the size of a small dog, blinked again—its sharp eyes suddenly filled with energy. Clarissa reached forward to hold it, but the creature snapped its beak at her.
It jabbed her arm, drawing blood in a quick strike.
Clarissa winced, pulling back in pain. A thin red line appeared on her skin.
Atticus’s eyes darkened instantly.
That look—the sudden edge in his expression—was sharp and lethal. He turned those eyes on the eagle, and something in his aura changed. The bird, sensing danger, immediately flinched and huddled into itself like a terrified child.
Atticus set it aside with a scowl and turned back to Clarissa.
“Let me see.” His voice was low, commanding—but there was concern underneath it, plain as day.