Chapter227 – Clarissa, trust me
“Atticus!” Clarissa shouted, running toward him.
He turned sharply at her voice, his expression fierce. “Clarissa, don’t come any closer! It’s dangerous!”
“But—” Clarissa hadn’t even finished when a mocking voice cut through the air.
“Miss Clarissa,” Xerxes drawled, his tone dripping with smugness, “that’s two lives on the line. It’s only natural he’s the one to jump in.”
Clarissa’s temper finally snapped. She spun on him, eyes blazing. “Xerxes! Shut your mouth! If it’s so easy, why don’t you go down there yourself?”
His expression darkened, but before he could retort, Tasha chimed in with false sweetness. “We’re not professionals. You’re always bragging about how amazing Atticus is. Isn’t this exactly the kind of thing someone like him should be doing? They say the more capable you are, the more work you take on.”
Clarissa refused to waste another breath on them. Her gaze locked on the raging waterfall where Atticus stood poised, rope tied around him, eyes steady despite the chaos. Her heart hammered against her ribs. “Atticus…” she whispered.
He caught her look and gave a faint, reassuring smile. “Clarissa, trust me. I’ll be fine. Just wait for me.”
Then, without another word, he plunged into the torrent. The crew onshore clung to the rope, their knuckles white as they fought the pull of the current.
The plan was simple but perilous: he had to secure the drowning actress with the rope, then rely on the team above to drag them both back. But the current was vicious, the waterfall upstream relentless. Any ordinary man would be swept away in seconds.
Clarissa’s heart slammed against her ribs. It felt no different from the day a gun had been aimed at him — terror, raw and choking.
And then, relief — Atticus reached the actress, wrapped the rope around her.
“Got them! Pull, pull them in!” someone shouted.
Dozens heaved in unison, bodies straining. Slowly, agonizingly, the pair began to edge closer to shore. All eyes were locked on the rope.
Then— snap.
The sound was sharp, merciless.
The rope split like a whip in the air, flinging the men on shore to the ground. Clarissa’s scream tore through the din as she watched Atticus and the actress ripped away, tumbling downstream.
The actress shrieked, clinging to him in blind terror, dragging him under with her weight.
“Atticus!” Clarissa’s cry was raw, bloodcurdling. Her chest seized as if her very heart had been torn from it. She lurched forward, wild with desperation.
Hands caught her arms. “Miss Clarissa, don’t! You’ll be swept away too!”
“Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing.
Memories crashed into her — the fire five years ago, the sight of mom she loved most disappearing into the flames while she stood helpless. No. Not again. She would not lose him again.
Summoning strength she didn’t know she had, she ripped free and bolted for the river.
“Atticus!”
She plunged into the foaming water up to her thighs, snatching for the dangling rope — only for it to slip slickly through her fingers.
The current slammed against her legs, nearly knocking her off balance. Men dove in after her, hauling her back by force. “Miss Clarissa, you’ll die if you keep going!”
“Let me go!” she shrieked, her voice breaking. Her body convulsed with grief as she saw Atticus vanish beneath the roaring waves. Her vision blurred. Pain seized her chest, and hot copper filled her throat. A rivulet of blood slipped down her lips.
Gasps rippled through the crew. Clarissa swayed, her body trembling violently.
From the sidelines, Xerxes smirked. Atticus, this was the day you payed. You dared fight me? I would ruin you.
The waterfall thundered on, merciless. No one expected survival. The cliff beyond dropped thousands of feet; even the strongest swimmer would be crushed by the force.
And then—
A pair of hands broke the surface.
Atticus rose from the torrent, dragging the unconscious actress with one arm, his body straining against the current, his eyes like steel.
“Throw me a rope!”
For a moment, no one moved — stunned that he was alive.
It was Clarissa’s hoarse voice that broke the spell.
The rope had snapped, so the crew grabbed at nearby vines, hauling with all their strength to pull Atticus to safety.
Without the weight of another body dragging him down, he surged toward shore, cutting through the current like it was nothing.
He handed the unconscious actress off without ceremony. But before he could speak, Clarissa flew at him, clinging to him with a desperation.
“Clarissa—” A thin streak of blood glistened at the corner of her mouth. A dark light flickered in his eyes. “What happened to you?”
She didn’t answer. She only held him tighter, trembling, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Atticus’s expression softened. Without a word, he scooped her into his arms and carried her away from the gawking crowd.
Through it all, Clarissa never once released his shirt. She gripped it so tightly that a vein stood out starkly on the back of her pale hand. It was the first time Atticus had ever seen her this way—so raw, so terrified of losing him.
A strange ache stirred in his chest. He sat on the edge of the bed, gathering her against him, his voice low and steady. “Clarissa, calm down. Didn’t I tell you I’d be fine?”
“You always say that,” she rasped, her throat raw from screaming. “So confident, as if you can control everything. Did you even predict the rope breaking?”
Atticus gave a small, helpless smile. “No. But even if it snapped, I knew I’d make it. You have to trust your man.”
Her chest tightened again, the copper tang rising in her throat. She swallowed it down, but the thought of losing him made her whole body seize.
The next second, she crushed herself against him, her nails digging into his back. “Don’t you dare say that again. Do you have any idea how close I came to losing you? If you had fallen—if you had—”
Her words broke apart. Her mind couldn’t even paint the picture, the horror of it was too much. Sobbing, she buried her face against his chest. “Atticus, I was terrified. I remembered everything from back then. I’ve already lost my mother. I can’t survive losing you too. I can’t.”
His arms tightened around her, his voice husky against her hair. “I won’t leave you. I’ll always be here. Clarissa, you’re mine.”
For a man who had never learned tenderness, who had never given it even to the woman who raised him, it stunned him how effortlessly it poured out now—for her, and only for her.
He held her for a long time, soothing her with his touch until her sobs faded. Then he reached for the spare medicine in his case and coaxed her to take it.
When he noticed her trousers still damp and her shoes caked with sand and mud, he frowned. Knowing how much she hated feeling dirty, he drew hot water and gently bathed her himself.
It was an hour before she was clean, warm, and finally calmer. Lying back against the pillows, she drew in a steadying breath. But the more her mind cleared, the more her unease sharpened. “Atticus… I don’t think this was an accident.”
She told him everything about her encounter with the prop master.
Atticus’s lips curled into a cold smile. “I checked the rope. Someone tampered with it. The fibers were deliberately worn down.”
Her eyes widened. “Then it has to be Xerxes!”
Fury surged in her chest. She pushed up from the bed, ready to storm out. “I’ll make him pay.”
But Atticus caught her hand, his grip iron-strong. “We have no proof.”
Even if they could prove the rope had been sabotaged, Xerxes had covered himself well. The prop master had grumbled the night before, but Xerxes had been drinking at a restaurant then, with plenty of witnesses to vouch for him.
Clarissa’s lips curled in a bitter sneer. “Proof or not, that bastard tried to kill you. Evidence can wait. I’ll settle the score myself.”
If Atticus hadn’t done what he did, two people would be dead by now. And Clarissa—she had almost lost him.
The thought was a fire in her chest, one she couldn’t extinguish no matter how hard she tried.
Behind her, Atticus watched the fierce set of her shoulders, the firestorm in her stride. A faint smile tugged at his lips. She was this furious—for him.
He stood and followed.
The set was still in chaos. Not far away, Xerxes stood watching as the pale, trembling actress was loaded into an ambulance. The wail of the siren cut through the mountains before fading into distance.
His jaw locked. How the hell had Atticus survived that? The bastard wasn’t even human. Not only had he lived, he’d walked out of it a hero. The entire crew was looking at him like he was goddamn invincible.
Just as Xerxes was grinding through his next move, a sharp voice rang out, slicing through the noise.
“Xerxes!”
He turned. Clarissa was storming toward him, rage blazing in her eyes.
He pasted on a mask of concern. “Miss Clarissa? I saw you spitting blood earlier. Are you alright?”
His false sympathy made her stomach churn. “Cut the act. You did this! You nearly killed two people!”
Xerxes’s face darkened. He hadn’t expected her to point the finger so quickly. Before he could speak, Tasha’s shrill voice rang out beside him. “Miss Clarissa, you can’t just throw accusations around! Who could possibly predict an accident like that?”
“An accident?” Clarissa’s laugh was ice. “The prop master told me your costume was torn and a bottle of olive oil went missing, so you didn’t film today. Funny, isn’t it? Every other costume was fine, except yours. You greased the cliff yourself, didn’t you? Hoping someone would slip!”
“Nonsense!” Tasha shot back, her voice brittle with panic. “Mr. Xerxes’s outfit was ruined, we’re the victims here. And waterfalls are slippery, everyone knows that. Moss, water—it’s common sense. She was just careless.”
By now a crowd had gathered, whispers passing between them, eyes darting from Clarissa to Xerxes.
Clarissa’s lips curved into a smile that sent a ripple of unease through the group.
“What are you laughing at?” Xerxes demanded.
“I’m laughing at your arrogance. You really think that without evidence, I can’t touch you.” Her voice sharpened, cutting clean through the air. “Xerxes, you don’t need to act in this film anymore. Pack your things—you’re done. I’ll have you sent back this afternoon.”
Gasps rippled through the onlookers.
Xerxes’s eyes went wide, disbelief twisting his features. “You dare? Do you even know who I am? I’m signed to Emperor’s Heaven! You’re a tiny company—you don’t have the guts to replace me!”
“Emperor’s Heaven?” Clarissa’s sneer was razor-sharp. “I don’t even flinch at Dorian himself. Who the hell are you supposed to be? Get out of my sight.”
At first, she hadn’t understood why Xerxes would push this far. But now it was clear—he was nothing more than a parasite, leaning on the shadow of bigger men.
Xerxes’s face twisted. “You—you—”