Chapter228 – Block him
Clarissa didn’t waste another second on him. She turned her head and called sharply, “Oriana!”
The young assistant blinked, startled, then hurried forward. “Yes, Miss Clarissa? What do you need?”
“Pack his things. I don’t want to see either of them again. By tomorrow morning at the latest.”
Her voice left no room for negotiation.
Burly security guards moved in moments later, seizing Xerxes and Tasha and dragging them out despite their shouts.
Xerxes was nearly livid. He hadn’t expected Clarissa to humiliate him so openly.
“Clarissa! How dare you treat me this way! You evil woman! No wonder your man will abandon you—you bitch! You venomous, vicious bitch!”
His unhinged rant echoed across the set, then faded into nothing.
Clarissa stood unmoved, ice in her eyes. Then a pair of strong hands settled on her shoulders.
She looked up and found Atticus watching her with a smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t know my Clarissa could be this fierce.”
Her cheeks flushed. She glanced away. “…Idiot.”
Atticus’s palm slid down her arm in a slow stroke meant to soothe. “Don’t let trash like him hurt you.”
Clarissa drew in a deep breath and straightened. She strode over to Upton. “I’m sorry, I acted on my own this time. I’ll find a reliable actor, and if there are losses, I’ll compensate—”
“Miss Clarissa,” Upton interrupted, his tone calm, “you did nothing wrong. In my eyes, he was never the right choice. It was only because you insisted on renting him from Emperor’s Heaven that I let it pass.”
“I trust your judgment,” he said simply. “But I’ll give you one week. You must find a replacement who fits. Otherwise, we fall behind schedule.”
Clarissa’s lips curved into a smile. “Thank you. Don’t worry. I’ll find someone worthy.”
The crisis was settled for now.
But people still gathered around, fussing over Atticus.
“Atticus, are you really alright?”
“And Miss Clarissa, you just spat blood earlier—shouldn’t you see a doctor?”
Clarissa waved them off with a smile. “It’s fine. Atticus is a doctor. He’ll take care of me.”
The words made the crowd murmur excitedly.
“Oh, that’s right—he’s a forensic pathologist. He must know medicine inside out.”
“Medicine, martial arts, cooking… he even handles Miss Clarissa’s workload. Atticus, is there anything you can’t do?”
“Careful, or you’ll end up pregnant before the film’s even finished.”
Laughter rippled through the group, easing the tension. Clarissa finally managed to shepherd them out, leaving only Oriana behind.
The assistant hesitated. “Miss Clarissa, what will you do now?”
Firing Xerxes felt good, but replacing him was another problem entirely.
“It’s fine. Mark’s commercial should be wrapping up. Call him here.”
“Mark?” Oriana’s expression turned awkward. “He’s still so new. Xerxes’s salary was over five million, and Mark’s is maybe three hundred thousand. And he’s never acted in a lead role…”
Clarissa only smiled. “I believe he can handle it. Call him. I’ll deal with the rest.”
Seeing Clarissa’s resolve, Oriana sighed and nodded. She glanced nervously at Atticus, who was watching her with a look sharp enough to cut.
Not wanting to get caught in the crossfire, she quickly excused herself. The room fell silent.
Clarissa immediately felt the heat of Atticus pressing in behind her, his body radiating warmth, his breath hot against her ear.
“Do you feel any pain?” he asked softly.
She shook her head. “No. What about you?”
“Not really. But that actress is in trouble.”
Clarissa frowned. “She’s in danger?”
“Not fatal. But her leg’s badly cut.” His tone dropped. “This place is crawling with venomous insects and snakes. Even a small bite can cripple. Moss in the wound breeds infection. When I checked, her skin was already swelling.”
His eyes narrowed, glinting with something dark.
He hadn’t jumped in to save her for her sake. She was nothing to him. But he wouldn’t allow someone to die on Clarissa’s set—he wouldn’t let her reputation be stained by another person’s blood.
“I think you should replace the heroine too,” Atticus added. “She won’t be out of the hospital any time soon.”
Since Atticus had said so, the actress had to be replaced.
It was a shame. She was talented, good-tempered, and already had a small but growing fanbase. This project might have catapulted her career. But fate had cut her down in the middle of her climb.
Atticus noticed Clarissa’s silence, her thoughts drifting, and spoke softly. “Clarissa, if you can’t decide, I’ll help you choose.”
She knew he was only trying to comfort her. She was about to reply when her phone buzzed.
The name flashing across the screen made her freeze.
Atticus’s brows drew together immediately. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking like that?”
Then he saw it—Dorian’s name glowing on her display. His voice turned sharp. “Why do you still have that man’s number?”
Clarissa exhaled slowly. He was jealous, of course. She could only soften her tone and answer the call. “Hello?”
“Clarissa,” Dorian’s voice was smooth, familiar, and uninvited. “Did one of my artists upset you?”
Her tone cooled instantly. “Mr. Dorian is well-informed. I only just had my secretary notify your company, and you already know. But don’t worry—I’ll pay the termination penalty in full.”
“Clarissa, there’s no need for talk of penalties between us—”
“Mr. Dorian,” she cut him off, her voice sharp as glass, “even brothers settle accounts. And you and I are not brothers. It’s best to keep business clean. Next time, don’t bother calling me personally over something so trivial.”
“Clarissa, wait—”
But she ended the call without hesitation.
She sighed. No matter how hard she tried to avoid the Harrington Group, she couldn’t run a company without brushing against Emperor’s Heaven from time to time.
Before the thought could darken further, Atticus slid close, wrapping her up in his arms. His voice was low, possessive. “Clarissa, I don’t like him. Delete his number. Now.”
She lifted her hands to cup his face, teasing lightly. “What’s wrong? Is my little wolfdog jealous again?”
His gaze was steady, burning. “Yes. I’m jealous. I don’t like seeing you talk to other men. And I hate the thought of you talking to Dorian. Block him. Please.”
Her heart softened. She tilted up and kissed him on the cheek, then pulled up her contacts. One by one, she erased every trace of Dorian—delete, block, gone. She held the screen up for him to see. “Satisfied?”
Atticus’s eyes brightened, the darkness in them instantly lifting. He pressed against her like an eager boy finally given his prize. “Clarissa is so sweet…”
She let him nuzzle against her neck, warmth spreading through her chest. Truthfully, she’d already been considering it. She hadn’t notified Dorian—only Oriana had passed the message along to his branch office. Yet the president of headquarters had still learned within minutes. The thought of his constant surveillance made her skin crawl.
Atticus had only reminded her of what she needed to do.
Later that evening, to lift the crew’s spirits after the terrifying day, Clarissa treated everyone to a barbecue. Drinks, laughter, and smoke rose into the night. It was well past midnight when they stumbled back.
Exhausted, Clarissa forced herself into the shower before collapsing onto the bed, clutching her chest and temples.
Atticus followed with her medicine, coaxing her to swallow it. Then he pulled her into his lap, his strong hands kneading her shoulders and temples in slow, soothing circles.
“I haven’t taken good enough care of you,” he murmured, his voice rough with guilt.
He’d always known her body was weaker than most—something from childhood illness. The blood she’d coughed up—it wasn’t something she could just bounce back from. He’d spent years tailoring her diet, training her body with gentle discipline, shielding her from sickness. And until today, it had worked.
Clarissa opened her eyes to his worried stare and smiled faintly. “Silly boy. How could I ever blame you?”
She knew her own limits better than anyone.
Atticus hesitated for a moment before saying quietly, “Clarissa, don’t you think we should tell Grandpa about us?”
Clarissa shivered, shaking her head almost instinctively. “Not yet. You know his temper. I’m afraid he’ll…”
Atticus’s lips curved in a sly smile. “I’m not worried about his health. You’re just more worried about me, aren’t you?”
Clarissa shot him a helpless glare. “Exactly. If you tell him now, not only will he blow up, but you’ll be the one in trouble. That’s why he can’t know.”
Atticus caught her hand, his tone wounded. “Clarissa. Am I really that shameful?”
Her heart softened. She stroked his face as if soothing a sulky, oversized dog. “No, of course not. You know it isn’t about that.”
“But if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hesitate. You’d be free to admit it. Only with me do you hide. It’s humiliating…” His voice grew rougher, more aggrieved with each word. Clarissa almost laughed but managed to hold it back. Instead, she cupped his face and peppered it with kisses. “As long as I like you, as long as I love you, isn’t that enough? Isn’t that all that matters?”
He tilted his head, kissed her small hand, and murmured with a spark of mischief, “Then hurry up and give me a baby. Grandpa will be distracted by a great-grandchild. Maybe he’ll even spare my life.”
The mention of children made Clarissa’s cheeks heat instantly. She leaned against his chest and whispered, “We’ll think about it after this year.”
Atticus’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
She gave a soft hum of assent.
Clarissa had always been afraid of marriage, of pregnancy. But the thought of a child with her own blood—his and hers—was different. She wasn’t opposed to that at all.
Snuggled against his chest, she felt peace wash over her. Drowsiness tugged her down. “Atticus…”
“Hm?” His voice was light, playful, already colored by his good mood.
Her lips curved faintly as she mumbled, half in sleep, “It would be fun to have a boy who looked just like you when you were little. Then I’d have two of you…”
Her words faded into a murmur, but Atticus caught every one. He looked down, watching her drift off with a soft smile still between her brows, and his heart squeezed in his chest. His fingers slid into her hair, stroking its silky strands.
“I’d rather you gave me a girl,” he whispered. “One who looks just like you.”
He’d never liked children, but if she had her mother’s face, he’d cherish her.
He kissed Clarissa’s forehead, then finally let himself fall asleep with her in his arms.
.....
The next day, Clarissa felt much better. She took Atticus with her to visit the injured actress at the hospital.
Her name was Rita—twenty-two, bright, and promising. As expected, the wound on her leg had become infected. It was serious, but thanks to quick treatment, she was out of danger.
Clarissa placed a bouquet of fresh flowers into a vase by the bedside. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this.”