Chapter209 – Be honest
Clarissa blinked, stunned. “Afraid? Of what?”
“That this—us—it’s all too good to be real. That I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. If I lose you, Clarissa, I’ll go insane.”
His hoarse confession made her heart twist.
She cupped his face, giving him a soft, helpless smile. “Silly boy. Why would I ever leave you?”
His gaze darkened. “You promised you’d stay with me forever.”
Her fingers traced his sharp, handsome features, her smile gentle. “And I meant it. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Atticus could almost hear his own heartbeat hammering in his chest. The desire he thought he’d already spent came roaring back, flooding through him like wildfire. Clarissa felt the change in his body, her eyes widening. “Didn’t you… didn’t you finish several times already…?”
He stared at her, voice low. “I don’t know. When I look at you, I lose control.”
And then he pushed her down against the sofa.
Her face flushed hot, and she tried to push him back. “Wait… wait a second—”
Just then, her phone rang on the coffee table.
Atticus froze, and Clarissa seized the chance, wriggling out from under him. She yanked the blanket up over herself and hurried to answer the call.
“Oriana?”
Her secretary’s excited voice rushed through the receiver. “Ms. Clarissa, good news! The company’s safe now!”
“What?” Clarissa was stunned. “It’s only been a few days. Did the police catch the real culprit already?”
“They did. The culprit confessed—it was Zachary. He admitted he deliberately framed us. And just an hour ago… he killed himself in prison.”
“Suicide?”
Clarissa froze, her mind reeling. Why would he suddenly take his own life? It didn’t add up.
Beside her, Atticus listened, a mocking smile tugging at his lips.
Scared. Running from the inevitable.
Did she really think he’d let her walk away untouched? Dream on.
Atticus stayed silent, waiting until Clarissa finished her call before wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
She wanted to feel happy, but a knot of unease lingered in her chest.
Seeing her expression, Atticus asked softly, “What’s wrong? Isn’t this good news? The company’s safe.”
“It is… but Zachary’s suicide makes no sense. It feels like someone silenced him.” She recounted everything quickly, then looked at him, suspicion in her eyes. “Atticus… was this you?”
He raised his brows, feigning innocence. “I haven’t even made a move yet. Maybe whoever was really behind this panicked and cut their losses.”
Clarissa’s brows drew tight.
Sensing her worry, Atticus brushed a hand along her arm. “If you’re uneasy, I’ll go with you tomorrow. We’ll get answers together, alright?”
“Alright.” She nodded, though her expression stayed clouded.
He kissed her forehead gently. “Don’t overthink it. The company’s safe. That’s what matters.”
“Atticus… If they truly hold a grudge against me, they won’t stop here.”
She didn’t care about Zachary’s fate—what unsettled her was the shadow behind him.
Atticus’s eyes gleamed darkly. He wasn’t worried. Whoever dared lay a hand on her would end up suffering far worse than Zachary.
But seeing her unease, he tightened his hold, locking eyes with her.
“Clarissa. You’re not alone. You still have me.”
Her chest tightened. She blinked back sudden tears and whispered, “Yes. I still have Atticus.”
All her life, she’d never relied on anyone. Never thought she’d even want to. Until him.
And now she understood—what it felt like to be loved, to be cared for. And it was wonderful.
Atticus’s gaze lingered on Clarissa. While she had been on the phone, her skirt had slipped, the fabric sliding down to her waist and baring the smooth expanse of her pale back.
His breath caught, heat stirring low in his chest. He started to move toward her instinctively, but Clarissa covered her lips with her hand.
“No. I have things to take care of right now.”
She gathered her scattered clothes, slipping them on quickly, and disappeared into her room.
Atticus exhaled heavily, frustration tightening his chest. Damn it. I should’ve finished dealing with Zachary later.
He bent to collect his own clothes, dressing slowly. A glance at the clock told him it was nearly time for dinner.
When the food was ready, he noticed Clarissa still hadn’t emerged. He padded quietly to her door, pushed it open, and found her in front of her computer.
She’d already showered—her damp hair tied up in a careless knot, a loose gray robe draped over her shoulders. She looked effortlessly domestic, sitting there typing away.
“Clarissa,” Atticus said, stepping closer. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Mm, okay. Just a minute.” Her eyes didn’t leave the screen, her fingers moving over the keys.
A flicker of something sharp crossed his eyes. He walked over, slipped his arms around her shoulders, and pulled her against his chest. “What’s so damn interesting about that computer? You didn’t even look at me.”
Clarissa paused, helpless, and gave him a sidelong glance. “Don’t mess around. I’m working.”
“Is work more important than me?” He nuzzled against her cheek, teasing like a restless wolfhound. “Is money really that important?”
Her hair brushed her face, tickling, and despite herself she laughed softly. “Of course money is important. Otherwise, how would I have raised you all these years?”
His eyes deepened, his tone firm. “Then let me support you now. You don’t need to work anymore.”
That startled her. She blinked, then shook her head with a small smile. “No.”
“Why?”
It wasn’t the first time he’d asked. This time, she gave the same quiet answer, her smile light but sure. “I like having a job. Isn’t it good for me to keep busy? Staying home every day is boring.”
Atticus’s gaze sharpened, his voice low. “So are you afraid of being bored… or do you just not trust me enough to rely on me?”
Clarissa froze, meeting his eyes. The weight in his gaze made her chest tighten, her pulse quicken. She parted her lips to explain, but before she could speak, he had already turned away.
“The food’s ready. Come out when you’re done.” His voice was steady, but his back as he walked away carried a chill.
She let out a quiet sigh, watching him go.
How could she explain?
Her childhood had been brutal. She’d clawed her way up with endless studying and relentless work, determined to escape the life she’d been born into. Years of hardship had carved one lesson deep into her bones: she could survive without anything, except money.
Money gave her security.
And she believed, down to her core, that no matter how much a man claimed to love her, a woman needed her own independence. Depending on someone else could never be as reliable as depending on herself.
She didn’t want to be the kind of woman who gave that up.
But how could she say any of this to Atticus? He’d be upset. And besides—she wasn’t even the real Clarissa.
Would he even believe her? It was too absurd. Anyone else would think she’d lost her mind.
She sighed again, the weight pressing down heavier.
At the dinner table, the tension was thick enough to choke on.
Atticus was still the same—picking the bones out of her fish, stripping the skin from her chicken—but his silence was sharp, every unspoken word hanging between them.
Clarissa swallowed against the tightness in her throat, forcing herself to eat.
That night, Clarissa sat down beside him and asked softly, “Are you mad at me?”
Atticus was staring at his phone, but the moment she settled next to him, her sweet scent drifted over. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he turned his head, catching her soft smile.
Something in his chest pulled tight. He dropped the phone and wrapped her in his arms, holding her close.
His voice came out low and rough. “I’m sorry. I was being stubborn. I just… love you too damn much.”
Clarissa blinked, startled. Then her lips curved into a gentle smile as she rested her head against his chest. In a whisper, she asked, “If I told you I’m not the real Clarissa… would you believe me?”
Atticus stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” she murmured. “I’m not the real daughter of the Lancaster family. I… I just borrowed her body.”
For a moment she hesitated, then forced herself to continue. Atticus finally turned to face her, his voice low. “Clarissa…”
She watched him carefully, not wanting to miss a flicker of his reaction.
But instead of fear or disgust, his expression steadied—surprise fading into calm.
“My name is Clarissa too. But aside from that, I’m nothing like her.”
She leaned against his shoulder and slowly, haltingly, shared her childhood.
“I was abandoned by my parents. My childhood left me raw and sensitive, always on edge. Money became my shield, the only way to fill the cracks of insecurity and inferiority. That’s why I cling to it so much. It’s not that I don’t trust you… it’s just me.”
Her voice faltered. She took a breath, then added, “Believe it or not, I’ve told you everything I needed to say.”
Atticus tightened his arms around her. “Why tell me this now? You could’ve kept it buried forever.”
The warmth of his embrace soothed her, and tears pricked her eyes. He didn’t push her away. He didn’t look at her like she was insane.
“I’ve thought about it a lot,” she admitted. “It’s unbelievable—I know. If I told anyone else, they’d think I was crazy. But you’re different.”
Her voice turned shy, tender. “You’re the most important person in my life right now. I can’t stand the thought of you misunderstanding me.”
She believed when two people were truly together, they needed honesty, not silence. Silence only bred distance.
Her words cut through him like a blade. Atticus sucked in a sharp breath and muttered, “You really are a fool.”
Clarissa chuckled softly. “And you’re just as foolish—apologizing to me like that. You probably won’t believe me, but… this is my first time falling in love. I don’t know how to do any of this. Let’s figure it out together.”
She meant it. She wanted a family with him.
Atticus threaded his fingers through hers, their hands locking tight.
“Fine,” he said, voice husky. “Then let’s work at it together.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, a rare tenderness flickering across his face. That night, they didn’t make love—they simply lay tangled together, soaking in the warmth of each other’s presence.
At last, Clarissa let go of the secret she had carried for so long. With someone to finally share it with, words spilled out of her unchecked.
Atticus only listened—silent, steady—nodding at times, offering the occasional word, letting her know he heard her.
When she said she was tired, he fetched her a glass of water, then cradled her against him until she drifted off to sleep.
Her lips curved faintly in her dreams, content and at peace.
She was serious about him. Serious about them.
Clarissa wasn’t the kind of woman to fall in love easily. She could have lived a dazzling life on her own. But when she did give her heart, it was absolute, fierce, forever.
Now she trusted him fully—enough to hand him her most impossible secret.
But me…
A shadow darkened Atticus’s gaze as he watched her sleep.