Chapter234 – Whitney’s here…
As he walked down the street, armor gleaming in the morning light, a flicker of doubt crossed his expression. For the first time, confusion twisted inside him.
He tilted his head toward the sky, muttering under his breath.
“Clarissa… if only I could be the only one by your side.”
Back at the gate, Clarissa stood watching his retreating back until he disappeared from sight. Her chest tightened with reluctant worry, but she knew if she followed, she’d only make things harder for him. She forced herself to turn away.
Someone stood behind her. Mark.
His lips curved slightly, his handsome face stripped of any makeup, still dazzlingly perfect.
“Miss Clarissa,” he greeted smoothly.
Clarissa nodded politely. But with Atticus still fresh in her thoughts, she instinctively kept her distance, veering around him. “It’s late. Upton should be starting soon. You should not be late.”
She strode forward without pause.
Mark’s eyes narrowed faintly at the clear distance in her tone. He fell into step beside her anyway. “You seem very worried about your boyfriend. What he’s doing… is it that dangerous?”
“It is dangerous.” Clarissa’s steps faltered, then steadied. “But I don’t feel comfortable discussing it with anyone else. I hope you understand.”
“I do.” His gaze lingered on her. “How long have you known him?”
“…Since childhood,” she replied after a pause.
“Since childhood…” Mark echoed under his breath, his fists tightening at his sides.
Clarissa frowned slightly at his tone, but before she could dwell on it, something caught her eye. “By the way—your hair.”
“My hair?” He blinked, then smiled lightly. “I told him it was natural. He said I could just wear a wig. No need to force me to dye it back.”
By the time Clarissa made it back to set, a crowd had already formed around her. Their gossiping eyes lit up like searchlights, all of them practically buzzing.
“Miss Clarissa, where was Atticus going dressed like that?”
“That outfit was so hot—was it real?”
Clarissa kept her tone casual. “It must be real.”
“So cool!”
Clarissa: “…”
The chatter only grew louder, spinning further and further off track, until she finally raised her voice. “This isn’t something I can disclose. No more questions.”
The crowd exchanged knowing looks, then all nodded together.
“Ohhh, we get it. Confidential stuff. Of course.”
Clarissa pressed a hand to her forehead, forcing herself to remain composed. “Alright. If you’ve got nothing else to do, get back to work!”
The group quickly dispersed.
At lunch, Clarissa sat in a corner by herself with a set meal. Without Atticus, even the food seemed tasteless.
Relationships were truly strange. When he was around, he annoyed her endlessly. But the moment he was gone—even for a few hours—she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Was he safe? Was he eating? Was he choking down those dry rations he hated so much?
Her mind swirled with worry until she set her chopsticks down with a heavy sigh.
“Why are you sighing?”
The familiar voice startled her. She looked up to find Mark sliding into the seat across from her, his tone light. “Miss Clarissa, are you worried about something? Or… maybe someone?”
“You’re only eating now?” she asked, lowering her gaze.
He gave her a small, practiced smile. “Yes. I’ve been busy. But this place is better than the boxed lunches on set, so I can’t complain.”
“You make me feel like I’m being cruel to you.”
“Work isn’t about that. I’m lucky to have a boss like you.”
“Flatter me all you want, I’m not giving you a raise.”
“I’m not flattering,” he said smoothly. “A company’s atmosphere always reflects its boss’s management. And you manage it well.”
Her interest piqued. “You know something about management?”
“A little,” he said easily. “So you agree what I said is true?”
Clarissa shook her head, but her lips curved faintly. She glanced over at Oriana and the others as they passed, laughing and joking, then lowered her voice. “Honestly, I’m just learning as I go."
When she first graduated, she had nothing. Got stuck in a shady company, barely had food, got kicked out of her apartment overnight. It was… awful.
That was why she treated everyone here the same. They could laugh and joke around all they want, as long as the work got done—and it always did. She love that atmosphere. And they loved it too.
Mark studied her intently. “You look so young, Miss Clarissa, but when you talk, you sound like someone twice your age. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in your forties.”
She shot him a fierce look.
Mark only smiled, though his eyes darkened. Looking at her, something twisted in his chest. Her beauty was striking, yes—but what caught him wasn’t her face. It was her eyes.
The eyes were the windows to the soul. And Clarissa’s eyes…
His Adam’s apple bobbed, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
“Cla—”
“Miss Clarissa, your food’s cold. Want me to heat it up for you?”
The waiter’s voice cut in, snapping her from her thoughts.
She looked away, and Mark quickly masked his own expression. He bent his head, polished off his plate in silence, then stood. “I have a shoot this afternoon. I’ll get going.”
“Alright. Do your best.”
Mark gave a curt nod before walking away.
Clarissa sighed, turning back to the waiter. “I’m done. You can take this away.”
The waiter frowned at her untouched meal. “Was the food bad today? I’ll have the kitchen make you something fresh.”
“No, thank you.”
“At least have some soup,” the waiter said kindly, setting down a bowl. “Mushroom. Your favorite.”
Clarissa blinked. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome. Mr. Atticus asked us to prepare it before he left. Said you’d probably lose your appetite once he was gone.” The waiter grinned. “Your boyfriend is very considerate.”
“…”
The waiter left, still smiling.
Clarissa sat frozen, face twisting between embarrassment and exasperation. That man, Atticus…
The waiter soon returned, setting down a steaming bowl of chicken soup.
The broth was crystal clear, carrying a familiar aroma that hit Clarissa the moment it was placed before her. Atticus’s touch was all over it.
The scent filled her nose, and suddenly, she felt starved. She picked up the spoon and sipped slowly, savoring the taste.
By the time she finished, warmth spread through her belly, softening the tight knot in her chest. Her heart felt tender, vulnerable.
She set the spoon aside and lifted her gaze toward the distant sky. Atticus, Phoenix… please come back safe.
Just then, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
“Miss Clarissa, Whitney’s here…”
Clarissa couldn’t help but be impressed at Dorian’s speed.
“I’ll be right there. Handle things until I arrive,” she replied, already standing.
Whitney was waiting when she arrived. As always, Whitney’s manners were impeccable—smiling softly, her demeanor gentle, poised, and elegant in just the right measure.
Clarissa found herself growing more satisfied with her choice. But before she could speak, she felt a sharp gaze. She instinctively glanced sideways and caught sight of another woman.
The face was striking—delicate, beautiful, vaguely familiar.
Cold eyes met hers for the briefest moment before the woman looked away.
Clarissa asked evenly, “And this is…?”
Whitney quickly stepped in. “This is my agent, June.”
June?
The name struck her like a stone in still water, rippling through her thoughts. Someone else came to mind immediately—but that woman had only been normal.
Just the same name, she told herself, shaking off the chill. With a polite smile, she said, “Hello, I’m Clarissa. This is my secretary, Oriana. She’ll handle the next stage of work with you.”
Oriana stepped forward brightly. “Hello, I’m Oriana.”
June’s lips curled in a faintly disdainful sneer, but she extended her hand anyway.
Atticus had been gone two days now. If he wasn’t back by tomorrow, Clarissa would tell Delilah. Anxiety gnawed at her, heavier with every hour.
“Oh…”
A voice teased lightly from behind her. “Women who sigh like that wrinkle faster.”
Clarissa looked up and found Mark, dressed in crisp white.
“Finished with work already?” she asked.
“Of course. Mr. Upton’s very pleased with me,” he said easily, sliding into the seat beside her. He handed her a drink. “Iced lemon tea, for you.”
She accepted it, pressing the straw between her lips and sipping. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the bright, boyish smile on Mark’s face, watching her too closely.
He tilted his head, took his own sip, and she frowned. “This part takes three months to film. Your role needs you leaner. You’d better avoid high-sugar drinks for now.”
Mark paused, then gave a confident little grin. “Don’t worry. I’m not in danger of losing my figure.”
Clarissa glanced at him but didn’t reply, continuing with her tea.
Just then, Upton’s voice carried across the set.
“Scene three! Male lead in twenty minutes. Makeup, get him ready.”
Mark set down his drink and rose smoothly, heading toward Upton.
Clarissa’s eyes lingered on his back. A strange unease crept in.
Lately, there was something different in Mark’s gaze—something heavy, unsettling. She couldn’t quite put a name to it… but it made her chest tighten.
“Ms. Clarissa.”
Clarissa looked up to see Oriana standing beside her.
“Finished with your work?” Clarissa asked.
“Yes, all done.” Oriana handed her a form.
Clarissa took it, then patted the seat next to her. “Sit down for a bit.”
Oriana’s eyes lit up as she plopped down beside her. “Finally, I get to sit. It’s roasting in here… oh, iced lemon tea! Is this yours, Miss Clarissa?”
Clarissa caught her hand before she could drink. “No, that one’s Mark’s. Have mine instead.”
“Oh, thanks, Miss Clarissa.” Oriana happily swapped cups, then reached for the snack on the table and started nibbling.
With her mouth half full, Oriana leaned closer. “Ms. Clarissa, don’t you think there’s something… off about Whitney?”
“Off?” Clarissa frowned, glancing across the room. Whitney was poised and professional, with only two small mistakes the entire day. “She seems fine to me.”
“She is. But that assistant of hers—June—she keeps giving you those nasty looks.”
“June?” Clarissa’s brow arched.
“Exactly. You really haven’t noticed? Miss Clarissa, you’re too kind. Some people’s hostility has nothing to do with reason. Maybe she’s jealous. Or maybe, like Xerxes....”
Oriana rambled on, her energy bubbling over. Clarissa couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “Now that you mention it, you might be right.”
“Of course I’m right. A woman’s intuition never fails! Miss Clarissa, let me tell you, last time—”
Clarissa set down the paperwork with a sigh. “Oriana, gossip hour is over.”
“Eh? Oh…” Oriana stuck out her tongue, reaching to take back the form.
“Good work,” Clarissa said after a quick glance. “Not a single mistake. You’re improving.”