Chapter186 – The graduation party
Clarissa had just walked through the door when her phone rang—it was William.
The moment she heard that Delilah had been injured, she rushed straight to the hospital.
When she stepped into the ward, she saw Delilah sitting up in bed with a bandage wrapped around her head. “Delilah? Are you okay? Where’s Phoenix? Wasn’t she with you?”
“Clarissa…” Delilah’s face crumpled. She had been smiling just moments ago, but now tears streamed down her cheeks as she threw her arms around Clarissa.
“Wah—Clarissa, Phoenix bullied me…”
Later that night, Clarissa helped discharge Delilah from the hospital. She turned to William to thank him and offered to cover the medical expenses, but he refused.
“This was my fault,” he said flatly. “I should be the one to pay for it.”
Clarissa didn’t argue. She gave a small nod.
From the car, Delilah’s voice piped up, “Clarissa! Can we go now?”
“Coming.”
Clarissa gave William one last look of gratitude, then turned and walked toward the car.
By the time they made it home, it was already nine in the evening. Delilah was exhausted—her eyes half-closed, yawning nonstop. Clarissa didn’t bother setting up the guest room and simply let her sleep in her own bed for the night.
After making sure she was tucked in, Clarissa glanced at the clock. Atticus still hadn’t come back. She didn’t think too much about it, instead opening her laptop to organize some project files.
......
Meanwhile, at Atticus’s side of the evening...
The graduation party was in full swing. The venue was packed, buzzing with music and laughter—just about everyone from the college had shown up.
Ronan draped an arm over Atticus’s shoulder, swaying slightly with a drink in hand. “Come on, man, have a drink! It’s your night!”
Atticus waved him off, but Ronan grinned wider. “What? Maybe this is your chance to get your sis to fuss over you again.”
Before Ronan could finish laughing, Atticus snatched the cup from his hand and tossed it back.
Ronan whooped, already pouring another. “That’s more like it!”
Atticus sat quietly with his glass, the light glinting off the rim as it caught in his eyes, which remained cool and unreadable.
Then, someone slid into the seat next to him.
“Atticus,” a silky voice said, “congrats on graduating top of the class.”
He turned, expression unchanged, and saw Helena sitting beside him. Her makeup was flawless, her outfit perfectly tailored to show just enough skin to spark imagination.
“Yeah,” Atticus replied, uninterested.
Helena’s smile faltered slightly, but she wasn’t giving up that easily. She crossed one long leg over the other, angling her body to show off the best of her curves, and picked up a glass from the table.
“We’re classmates, right? One drink at least.” She winked and brought the glass to her lips, her red lipstick contrasting temptingly against the gold of the champagne.
Helena had been chasing him since high school—and college had only made it worse. Even though Helena was undeniably attractive, being around her only ever made him feel one thing: annoyed.
He turned away from Helena and locked eyes with someone across the room—Remington. Without a word, Atticus gave him a look.
Remington got the message immediately and swooped in like a pro, sliding between Atticus and Helena with a loud chuckle, drink in hand.
“Helena! Come on, forget him. Drink with me instead!”
Helena nearly choked on her champagne. This asshole again?
Every time she tried to get close to Atticus, this guy showed up like a goddamn cockroach.
She glanced back at Atticus—who was now lounging against the back of the couch, glass in one hand, his long fingers tracing the rim slowly. The dim light threw shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones. He looked maddeningly relaxed. Effortlessly seductive.
Her pulse spiked. She hated how much power he had over her without even trying.
“I’m not dancing,” Helena said flatly when Remington tried pulling her toward the dance floor. “Go by yourself.”
......
Atticus had drunk a little too much. He got up from his seat and headed for the restroom.
As he stepped out of the men's room, he caught sight of Helena coming out of the women’s next door.
He didn’t spare her a glance. He turned and walked off.
But Helena wasn’t about to let him slip away. She rushed after him, one hand awkwardly clutching her skirt.
“Wait—wait a minute!”
Atticus kept walking.
“Please! Atticus, just one sentence—just listen to me!”
Still, he didn’t stop. He never wasted time on people who didn’t matter.
Helena’s eyes welled with tears. In a sudden burst of courage, she threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.
“I like you!” she cried. “I’ve liked you since the first moment I saw you. I studied, worked hard, got my degree—all for you. Just look at me once. One glance—please…”
But Atticus didn’t even flinch.
The next second, Helena was shoved off him, her body hitting the cold marble floor with a painful thud.
“Ah!” she cried out, her knees scraped and burning.
Atticus turned back to look at her, his expression sharp, eyes void of any softness.
“I don’t like being touched by insignificant people,” he said coldly. “Do it again, and I’ll cut off your hand.”
Helena’s face turned a ghostly white.
Atticus stepped closer. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not interested in you. If Remington doesn’t want you, what makes you think *I* would waste a second on you?”
She looked shattered—pale, shaking, speechless.
“For Remington’s sake, I’ll let this go. I’ll pretend none of this happened. But if you ever try something like this again, I won’t be so polite.”
And with that, he turned and walked away without hesitation.
Not far off, Remington had been watching the whole thing. When Atticus left, he rushed over, crouching beside her.
“Helena, are you okay?”
“Get away from me!” she screamed, shoving him hard.
Remington stumbled backward and hit the floor, pain flickering in his eyes.
“It’s your fault!” Helena sobbed. “All of it! If it weren’t for you, Atticus wouldn’t hate me! You worthless bastard, why won’t you just disappear?!”
She curled up and cried harder, her makeup running in dark streaks down her face.
Remington sat there, silent, until finally he reached out and gently patted her back.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “It’s my fault… I’ll call Atticus right now.”
......
Back at the party, Atticus sat alone at the edge of the crowd. The music was loud, the drinks stronger now, but nothing interested him.
He glanced at his phone and finally called Clarissa.
By the time she arrived, half a dozen empty glasses sat in front of him. She spotted him immediately and rushed over.
“Atticus! How much did you drink?” she frowned, steadying him as he swayed.
He leaned in, voice low and hoarse, “Clarissa…”
She caught his arm. “Come on, let’s go home.”
“Mmh,” he nodded, his arm wrapping around her waist. “I waited so long... then drank too much… Why’d you take so long?”
“I had the volume off—I was working. Don't do this next time.”
He followed her obediently down the corridor. His breath fanned against her neck, warm and tingling, making her skin prickle.
Clarissa tried to distract him. “What’d you do today?”
“Nothing fun. Just drinking. Honestly... only thing worth seeing tonight is you.”
His words made her heart flutter involuntarily.
“D-Don’t talk nonsense…”
“I’m not,” he murmured, leaning in.
And before she could react, his lips caught hers in a sudden, heated kiss.
Startled, she pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge. His arm held her firmly, the kiss deepening until she couldn’t breathe, her knees nearly giving out.
He caught her before she collapsed completely, one hand on her waist.
As she gasped for air, he chuckled softly. “Still can’t breathe? After all this time? You’re such a soft sis…”
“Let me go…” her voice trembled.
He leaned close, lips brushing her ear, “Are you sure you want that now?”
And then, he kissed her again—this time softer, more possessive.