Chapter216 – Compensate me?
Clarissa smiled at him. "She’s an artist from Emperor’s Heaven. How could I poach her?"
Emperor’s Heaven belonged to the Harrington Group, a training ground for many A-list celebrities. That was why so many women in the original novel had clamored for Dorian’s favor. Even a plain-looking girl could become an international star with the right backing.
Atticus’s lips curved into a faint smile. "If you want her, I’ll get her—even if I have to take all of Emperor’s Heaven."
Clarissa blinked in surprise. "Are you serious?"
"Do I look like someone who makes empty promises?" he asked, his gaze sharp.
Her lips twitched, partly amused, partly nervous. Then she caught him by the arm, lowering her voice. "Atticus… you can’t make trouble. Not with the Harrington Group. Unless absolutely necessary, don’t clash with Dorian and the others, understand?"
"Why?" Atticus’s eyes searched hers. "Clarissa… why are you so afraid of Dorian and the others? Do you still care for him?"
"Of course not!" she denied immediately, flustered. "You’ve forgotten what I told you. I’m not the same Clarissa anymore. How could I still have feelings for him? I hate him… enough."
She had loved only Atticus, in both her past and present lives.
"Then why?" Atticus pressed, unwilling to miss a single nuance of her expression.
Clarissa hesitated. She didn’t distrust him—she simply couldn’t bring herself to speak the truth. He was real, alive, not a character from a book. Telling him he was the villain, that opposing Dorian would end in disaster—it was too outrageous, too repellant.
She had only truly felt this way since crossing over. Everyone—even those who were only supporting roles in a book—had their own life, their own destiny. Each person in the world was unique, the protagonist of their own story.
That was why Clarissa could never bring herself to tell him the truth.
Besides, Atticus wasn’t the same man he’d been in the novel. He was no longer the hated villain. He had become her beloved Atticus—the boy she had raised with her own hands, the man whose genius rivaled anyone’s.
Yes, Dorian was capable. But her Atticus was no less extraordinary. And their lives together were already beautiful and complete. Why drag in someone like Dorian and bring unnecessary trouble?
She squeezed Atticus’s hand and explained gently, “The Harringtons and Lancasters are close. My parents want me to get along with Lyra, and Dorian is their son-in-law. If you fight him, first, my parents will be caught in the middle. Second, you know what Dorian is like—vindictive, ruthless. I don’t want you hurt.”
Atticus scoffed. “Do you think I can’t defeat him?”
He had long wanted to swallow the Harrington Group whole. It was only a matter of time. But when he saw the worry written on her face, his irritation melted into something sweeter. His lips curved into a smile.
“I’m only teasing. Don’t worry. If you don’t want it, I’ll let it go. I don’t want you seeing Dorian anyway. I only want you by my side, with me to take care of you.”
“You,” Clarissa huffed, glaring at him with feigned annoyance. “I’m starving. Order us some food!”
“Alright,” he said simply.
......
That night, after her shower, a knock startled Clarissa.
“Come in,” she called.
Atticus entered, holding a cup. “I made you some warming soup. Drink this before bed.”
“Okay.”
She accepted it, sipping carefully. The rich fragrance of herbs filled her mouth, soothing warmth spreading to her stomach. It was so good she didn’t even notice Atticus slipping onto the bed until his arms were around her.
“Atticus!” she exclaimed, flustered. “Didn’t you say you’d sleep in your own room for now?”
His lips brushed her ear as he murmured, sly and coaxing, “I just want to give you a massage, help you sleep. I promise I won’t do anything. I swear. Just let me stay, hmm?”
Even as he spoke, his hand was already sliding to the small of her back, kneading gently.
Clarissa let out a soft breath, betrayed by the way her body relaxed under his practiced touch. She gave in with a tiny nod.
Feeling her melt against him, Atticus’s mouth curled in a quiet, victorious smile. His rough, calloused palm—hardened from sword and gun training—stroked upward, grazing her delicate skin. The contrast sent sparks racing across her nerves, each pass making her shiver.
Her cheeks flushed crimson, breath catching. She caught his wandering hand and whispered sharply, “Atticus!”
A dark gleam flickered in his eyes, but he withdrew, tucking her closer instead. His voice was low and rough. “Go to sleep.”
Relieved yet secretly rattled, Clarissa cursed him in silence. The boy was impossible—but thankfully, still sensible.
Exhausted, she closed her eyes and soon drifted off. Atticus, watching her peaceful face, felt pride and hunger twist together in his chest.
“You cruel woman,” he muttered under his breath.
But seeing her so tired, he didn’t push. He adjusted her into a more comfortable position, tucked the blanket around her, and quietly left after picking up the empty bowl.
At his desk, he opened a drawer and drew out an old letter. The envelope was wrinkled, its corners scorched by fire.
Memories of three years ago returned, unbidden.
He had burst into the flames that night to find Clementine clutching Clarissa’s photo frame and an envelope. The moment she saw him, relief had battled in her eyes.
“Atticus, why are you here? Leave me and save yourself…”
She shoved the letter and photo frame into his hands. “Give these to Clarissa. Promise me. Now go.”
In a blind panic, he had pocketed the letter, then carried her out before she could say more.
Afterward, chaos consumed his life. His focus had been only Clarissa. The letter ended up shoved into a drawer, forgotten—until now.
Atticus’s eyes flickered as he tore open the envelope.
At first, his gaze was lazy, almost careless. But as he scanned the words, the indifference drained from his face. His expression sharpened, sinking into a grim silence.
After a long moment, he reached for his phone.
The call connected after only a few rings. A familiar voice answered—A’s voice.
“So you’re finally willing to bring me back?”
“Are you really with that woman, Clarissa?”
Atticus’s reply was flat, almost cruel. “If not with her… then with you?”
The other end went still. Then came a nervous laugh. “Forget it. I don’t have a death wish. Anyway, what’s this about now?”
“Asked N to dig into something. The fire three years ago.”
“The fire? Oh, right. I remember. Why the sudden interest? Clarissa’s fine, isn’t she?”
“Just do as I say.” Atticus’s tone cut like a blade. “No more questions.”
He ended the call, the silence in the room suddenly heavy. His gaze fell to the envelope again, eyes darkening with something dangerous, something hungry.
He stepped out onto the balcony, pulled a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it.
Thin lips closed around the filter as he drew in, then exhaled slowly, smoke curling lazily into the night. His posture was languid, almost decadent—yet every line of him radiated danger, like a predator watching from the shadows.
At that moment, Atticus was wickedly beautiful. Sexy, alluring, and terrifying all at once.
He almost never smoked at home. Clarissa hated the smell, and she didn’t even know he had the habit. But smoking had never been the hardest thing to quit for him. He’d tasted something far more addictive, something he could never give up.
Her.
Atticus’s gaze flicked to the letter once more. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he pressed the burning cigarette to the dry paper. Flames licked up instantly, devouring the envelope.
He let it burn halfway, then with a casual wave, scattered the ash into the night sky. A dark satisfaction curled in his chest as the fragments drifted away, erased forever.
.....
The next morning, Clarissa stirred awake, stretching languidly. Her body still hummed pleasantly from Atticus’s massage the night before. But when she reached for him, her hand found only cool sheets. He’d been gone for hours.
She opened the door. The apartment was silent, but a neatly prepared breakfast sat waiting on the table.
Beside it lay a note in his familiar handwriting:
I had to go out. Eat breakfast. There’s soup on the stove—drink a bowl, it’s good for you.
Clarissa read it again and again, a smile tugging at her lips. Her heart gave a faint, tingling ache—strange, sweet, and impossible to resist.
After finishing her meal, she headed down to the garage. It had been a while since she’d driven her own car, and her movements were a little stiff, so she kept the speed low.
She had just parked when a voice came from behind her.
“Not with Atticus today?”
Clarissa froze, then turned. Dorian stood a few steps away, his eyes locked on her with unsettling intensity.
Her brows knitted, her voice cold as ice. “Mr. Dorian. Why are you bothering me instead of running your company?”
“Clarissa,” he said softly, “do we really have to be so distant?”
“Distant?” She gave him a faint smile, all steel. “I don’t think I said anything wrong. You’re my brother-in-law now. Keeping my distance is exactly what I should do. We have no ties anymore. Go back to the Harrington Group.”
What on earth was he thinking, turning up here? She had enough on her plate just managing her small company—she didn’t have the time or patience for him.
Clarissa moved to brush past him, ready to leave.
But the next second, Dorian’s sneer cut through the air behind her.
“He’s probably off doing something shameful. You’re the only fool who still trusts him.”
Clarissa froze. Her face darkened at his words.
“Dorian, you have no right to insult him like that.”
“No right?” Dorian suddenly closed the distance, his hands gripping her shoulders. His voice cracked with urgency. “Clarissa, just trust me. We grew up together—I would never hurt you. You and Atticus… you have no future. You don’t belong with him. I made mistakes before, I wronged you, I admit it. But I’ll make it up to you. Whatever it takes. Just give me the chance.”
“Compensate me?” Clarissa’s laugh was soft, edged with ice. She tilted her head, a faintly seductive smile curving her lips. “And how exactly would you do that? By having me leave Atticus and throw myself into your arms? Have you forgotten you already have a wife? Or is what you’re really saying… that you want me to be your mistress?”
Her smile was devastating—her beauty tinged with a natural, unintentional allure that colored her coolness with something dangerously enticing. That hint of charm, faint but irresistible, could drive any man to madness.
Dorian’s throat bobbed as he stared at her, his eyes dark, his breath heavy.
He forced himself to inhale, to push down the storm inside. “That’s not what I meant. I would never let you suffer such humiliation.”
Clarissa’s smile vanished. She pushed his hands off her. Her voice was cool, clipped. “Dorian, you still don’t get it, do you?”
His jaw clenched. “You still don’t believe me?”