Chapter206 – Atticus… not here…
Clarissa’s delicate figure was wrapped in a striking red-and-cream dress, her makeup perfect, her smile faint but radiant. Atticus’s hand rested with casual authority on her slim waist, his attention fixed entirely on her as they debated over bedding. He leaned down now and then to hear her opinion, his gaze never straying from her face.
Together, they looked like a couple in the flush of new marriage, glowing with intimacy and ease. A golden pair. People passing by couldn’t help but turn to look.
Dorian’s hand tightened into a fist at his side.
Lyra followed his gaze, momentarily stunned when she spotted Clarissa too. Then relief flickered in her chest. Clarissa was with another man—good. That meant… less of a threat.
But the relief was short-lived. A thought cut through her.
Didn’t June say Clarissa’s days were numbered? That she’d be ruined, destroyed, left with nothing?
Yet looking at her now, Clarissa was blooming—her lips full and red, her eyes bright, her whole presence alive with the glow of a woman cherished.
Only a woman adored, pampered, and carefully kept could shine like that.
It really did seem like Clarissa was thriving.
Even after leaving Dorian, she had found someone new—someone wonderful—who loved her openly, tenderly, and without restraint.
And Lyra…
Her fists clenched at her sides.
She had thought she’d won. That no matter how beautiful or capable Clarissa was, it didn’t matter—because in the end, she was the one who had Dorian’s love. Not Clarissa.
But now, staring across the store, she realized just how wrong she’d been.
Dorian. William. The men who had once hovered around her—all of them had started to look at Clarissa differently.
And Clarissa herself had changed. She no longer fought with people, no longer flaunted herself or stirred up trouble. She was softer now. Sensible. Generous. And because of that, everyone around her seemed to gravitate toward her.
Everyone liked her.
Lyra drew in a shaky breath and looked up at Dorian. His gaze was fixed on Clarissa and Atticus, dark and heavy, his face clouded like stormy ink.
“Dorian…” Lyra reached out, her fingers brushing his sleeve. “Let’s go. Didn’t you say there’s a lot waiting at the company?”
Her voice cut through his brooding. Dorian inhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm, then finally said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
Lyra let out a soft sigh of relief and slipped her hand through his arm. This time, he didn’t pull away.
Back at Harrington Group, Dorian sat alone in his office. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared into nothing. Minutes stretched into an hour before he finally picked up his phone and called his assistant.
The man entered quickly. “Mr. Dorian?”
Dorian’s eyes were shadowed. “I want you to look into Atticus.”
The assistant blinked, startled. “But, sir… we already ran checks on him last time. Why—”
“Why so much useless talk?” Dorian snapped, his tone like ice. “His recent movements, his past connections—anything suspicious. I want it all. Every detail. Thoroughly.”
That cold, ruthless gaze made the assistant’s blood run cold. He had worked under Dorian for years; he knew better than to question him again.
“Yes, sir. I’ll see to it immediately.”
When the man left, silence returned. Dorian rose and crossed to the window, the city’s night lights reflecting in his eyes. His face was hard, grim.
“Atticus…” His voice was low, dangerous. “Just wait. I’ll uncover what you’re really hiding.”
......
Meanwhile, Clarissa and Atticus spent the entire afternoon combing through furniture stores before finally settling on a bedroom set they both liked.
When it came time to pay, Clarissa instinctively reached for her card—but Atticus was faster, sliding his payment across before she had the chance.
By the time she realized what he’d done, she could only stare at him, a soft, luminous smile tugging at her lips.
When Atticus turned and caught that look, his heart skipped. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“It’s nothing,” she murmured, her eyes shining. “I’m just… happy.”
Watching him grow from a boy into the man he was now filled her with warmth.
The moment they walked back into the house, Clarissa had barely toed off her shoes before Atticus’s arms wrapped tight around her.
His mouth crushed down on hers, the kiss urgent, searing. His breath scorched against her lips, against her skin, until Clarissa flushed crimson. She pushed gently at his chest, panting.
Atticus drew back just enough to search her face, irritation flickering in his eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Her hands fluttered up, covering her cheeks. She turned her head shyly away. “I’ve… been sweating. It’s sticky. I want to wash up first.”
Atticus’s annoyance melted instantly, replaced by a slow, wicked smile. Her shyness pleased him.
Without a word, he bent, scooping her into his arms.
“Then I’ll help you.”
His voice was low and rough, and before she could protest, he carried her straight into the bedroom.
Atticus carried her into the bedroom without hesitation, his stride firm and determined. Clarissa squirmed in his arms, her cheeks burning.
“Atticus, put me down—”
“Mm, no.” His mouth brushed against her ear, voice dark and magnetic. “You said you were sweaty. I’ll wash you myself.”
He set her down in the bathroom and immediately turned on the shower. Steam rose around them, thick and hot, and before Clarissa could retreat, his hands were already at the hem of her dress.
“Atticus…” Her voice trembled, but her body betrayed her, frozen as his fingers slid her clothes off piece by piece.
The dress slipped down her shoulders, pooling at her feet. The steam clung to her pale skin, making her glow, every curve illuminated like forbidden fruit.
Atticus’s breath hitched. “God, Clarissa…”
He dragged his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. The fabric was damp from earlier, clinging to his muscles, and as it fell, her eyes widened at the sight of his bare chest.
“Don’t look away,” he murmured, stepping close enough that his heat pressed into her. “You’re mine.”
The spray from the shower splashed over them as his lips claimed hers, hot and demanding. She gasped into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, teasing and devouring her at once.
Clarissa’s knees weakened, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance. The hard ridge pressing against her thigh made her shiver.
“Atticus… not here…” she whispered, her protest thin, breathless.
His lips curved into a wicked smile against hers. “Why not? You’re beautiful like this—wet, flushed, trembling for me.”
His hands slid down her waist, cupping her ass and pulling her hard against his. She whimpered at the pressure.
“Tell me you want me,” he demanded, his voice low and rough, vibrating through her.
“I…” Her eyes fluttered, her breath hitched. “I want you…”
That was all it took.
He turned her toward the wall, pressing her palms against the slick tiles as his mouth explored her neck, biting, kissing, leaving her breathless. His fingers slipped between her thighs, teasing her folds until her legs shook beneath her.
“You’re already soaked,” he groaned, sliding a finger inside her. “So tight, Clarissa… you drive me insane.”
Her moan echoed off the tiles.
Atticus didn’t give her a chance to recover—he lined himself up and kissed her shoulder, voice a husky growl.
“Say it again.”
Her body ached for him, every nerve on fire. She pressed back against him, gasping, “I want you, Atticus. Please…”
That single word—please—snapped his control.
With a deep thrust, he buried himself inside her, stretching her to the limit. Clarissa cried out, her voice swallowed by the hiss of the water.
“Fuck,” Atticus groaned, his grip bruising her hips as he drove into her again. “You feel too good.”
Each thrust pushed her against the wall, her breath fogging the tiles, her cries growing higher and higher. The mix of heat, steam, and his relentless rhythm left her delirious.
......
Today was Zachary’s sentencing: two years in prison, while his accomplices got only one.
Clarissa and Atticus were present.
As he was escorted out of the courthouse, Zachary spotted them. He let out a shrill, mocking whistle, his eyes crawling over Clarissa’s body without shame, then laughed, smug and triumphant.
“Atticus, huh? You think you’re so damn impressive. So what if I’m locked up? It’s only two years. When I’m out, I’ll do whatever I want. First thing on my list—fucking your woman. Tell me, what the hell can you do about it? Hahaha!”
Clarissa’s stomach turned, bile rising in her throat, but Atticus’s steady hand anchored her. She glanced at him—but to her surprise, his face remained calm, a faint smile even tugging at his lips.
She frowned. With his temper, Atticus wasn’t the type to swallow insults. What was he planning?
Sensing her unease, he murmured, “Don’t worry. He won’t walk away from this. I swear.”
Clarissa nodded, but her voice was tight. “I believe you. But Zachary has people backing him. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I know.” Atticus laced his fingers with hers. “So let him bark for now. The company will be back on its feet in a few days.”
She bit her lip. She wanted to do something, but his confidence made her hesitate. He hated it when she treated him like a child. Pushing now would only make him snap. Forget it.
That night, after he had driven her to exhaustion with his relentless passion, Clarissa lay flushed and boneless in his arms, drifting into sleep.
Atticus tucked her against him, then carefully rolled her to a more comfortable position. He brushed the damp strands from her forehead and kissed her softly before slipping away. After cleaning her up and tucking her beneath the covers, he dressed silently and stepped out.
......
Zachary woke in complete darkness, the stale stench of the cell thick in the air.
“Goddamn it!” he barked. “What kind of police station is this? Can’t even keep the lights on? I told you bastards already—treat me right. Send me a couple of pretty cellmates while you’re at it!”
He sat down with a smug grin, only to freeze at the sound of deliberate, steady footsteps approaching.
“The fuck is taking so long? Turn on the damn lights!” he snarled.
A sharp *click.*
Light burst into the cell, blinding him for an instant. He squinted—and when his eyes adjusted, his smirk faltered.
Standing just beyond the bars was Atticus.
Zachary’s gut twisted. The same face, the same man—but the aura was entirely different. Gone was the calm, almost playful exterior. What stood there now was something darker, colder—dangerous. Atticus’s faint, devilish smile only deepened the dread crawling through Zachary’s veins.
It was pure instinct, the primal fear of predator versus prey.