Chapter238 – An injection?
With a shuddering breath, he stood, trembling, and stumbled outside. Rain poured over him, soaking his hair and clothes, mingling with the blood that now stained his palms. He struck the stone wall over and over, the rhythmic thud echoing his anguish.
Only when the storm had passed, and his arms were exhausted and bloody, did he collapse onto the wet ground. Kneeling there, drenched and broken, he let the night absorb his pain.
Inside the cave, Clarissa stirred, feeling stronger, refreshed somehow. She blinked and looked around—Mark was gone.
Her pulse quickened. Footsteps sounded outside, and instinctively, she lifted her gaze.
When she saw him standing there, drenched and solemn in the aftermath of rain and darkness, her breath caught in her throat.
“You…”
Mark stood before her, drenched to the bone. His once-white T-shirt clung to him, stained a pale pink where blood had soaked through. Rain had washed over his wounds all night, leaving the skin raw and pale, some gashes already showing signs of angry infection. His hands—once elegant, beautiful even—were torn and bloodied, a ruin of what they had been.
Clarissa froze, shock tightening her chest. “What happened to you?”
Mark glanced at her, lips curving into that familiar, careless smile. “Nothing. I just went out and fought a wild animal.”
Her eyes widened. “A wild animal? Out here? Why didn’t you wake me?”
He chuckled, light, dismissive. “It was urgent. I forgot.”
She stared at him, words caught on her tongue, when suddenly he stepped closer and caught her wrist. His grip was firm but not rough. “It’s daybreak. Let’s go. I scouted ahead—if we follow that path, we’ll be back quickly.”
Clarissa hesitated, her lips pressing together. Instinctively, she followed his lead but couldn’t hold back. “Your injuries… shouldn’t you treat them first?”
He didn’t even glance at his arms. “I’m fine.”
“You’re part of the company now. Your appearance is an asset. If something happens to you, it could affect the whole production.”
Mark stopped dead, turning to look at her.
Clarissa blinked, startled. “What are you doing?”
His smile returned, cool. “I was just wondering. How does a woman as practical and unromantic as Miss Clarissa end up with someone like Atticus?”
Her expression froze. The warmth drained from her features. “That’s my business,” she said flatly.
Mark’s voice was low, tinged with irony. “Miss Clarissa told me herself—I’m only an employee. As long as I’m alive, you don’t have to worry. Just follow labor law, compensate me fairly, and I’ll do my job. I won’t let you down.”
Clarissa wrenched her hand from his, whispering, almost to herself, “You call me realistic… but you're the same.”
Mark heard them, every syllable, and something flickered in his eyes—a pain he couldn’t show.
He said nothing more. He wouldn’t—not until… there was not Atticus.
Just the thought of that man sent a darker light burning in his eyes. Mark had no intention of surrendering Clarissa—not to anyone.
With him leading, they soon broke free of the forest and reached the main road. Voices carried toward them.
Clarissa’s eyes lit up, and the moment she spotted the familiar figure, her body moved before her mind could catch up.
“Atticus!”
She ran straight into his arms. Atticus caught her, holding her tight, scanning her body in an instant. His gaze darkened at the sight of the bandages on her arms, the scratches marking her skin.
“Who did this?” His voice was low, dangerous.
Clarissa clung to him, trembling, needing his warmth more than explanations. “We’ll talk later, okay? ”
“Are you hurt anywhere else? Any pain?”
She shook her head. “Just scratches. Mark saved me.” Her gaze flickered back toward the man standing a few paces away.
Atticus followed her eyes. Mark was a mess—soaked, bruised, cut to ribbons—yet he stood tall, unwavering.
Atticus’s lips curved into a polite smile. “Thank you for saving my Clarissa. The finance department will see you’re compensated.”
Mark’s answering smile was cool. “It was nothing.”
Atticus said nothing more. He simply scooped Clarissa into his arms, lifting her effortlessly, right in front of Mark.
“You’re injured,” he murmured against her hair. “We’re getting you treated. I’ll take care of you.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Mark standing alone, the shadows darkening his face.
Inside, Atticus carried Clarissa straight to the bathroom and reached for the clasp of her clothes.
She startled, her breath catching—until his low voice steadied her.
“Your hand is injured. Let me take care of this. If you don’t clean and treat it properly, the rain will make it scar.”
Clarissa froze for a moment, then let her body relax under his touch.
She sat quietly on the chair while Atticus carefully unwrapped the bandages. Piece by piece, her damp clothes fell away, pooling at her feet. His hands were steady, precise, as he washed the dirt from her skin—always avoiding the wound, but never shying from the rest of her body.
By the time he finished, she was fresh and clean again, the tenderness of his care leaving her oddly warm inside. He lifted her back into the room, set her down gently, and reached for the medicine box.
Clarissa’s gaze lingered on him as he worked. His focus was absolute, every movement careful, protective. “Atticus… when did you get back?”
“Last night,” he said, tightening the new bandage with practiced ease. “Mr. Upton treated me to dinner. I wanted to surprise you. Instead, you gave me a fright.”
The words barely left his mouth before he pulled her against him, his embrace tightening as though he might lose her again. His voice dropped, raw with emotion. “Clarissa, you scared me to death.”
Her arms came up, circling his waist. She rested against him, whispering, “I’m sorry. I was careless. I made you worry.”
Softly, she told him what had happened the night before.
Atticus’s expression barely shifted—only the cold curl of his lips betrayed him. “As expected…”
Clarissa blinked. “As expected? Atticus… you knew it was her?”
His sharp mind had always unnerved her. He caught her gaze, then smiled faintly. “Remember the Zachary incident?”
“You mean…”
“Guess what I uncovered?” His tone was playful.
He picked up his phone, flipped through a folder, and handed it to her.
Her eyes widened at the messages on the screen. “Ivy… and June? They’re together? How is that even possible?”
In the original story, June had loved William so deeply she stayed single for him. How could this happen?
Atticus remained calm, his voice almost clinical. “They met at a plastic surgery clinic. As for why she’s with a woman… psychologists call it post-traumatic stress. The trauma she suffered left her repulsed by men. Even her orientation shifted.”
Clarissa stared at him, speechless. The plot had veered somewhere she couldn’t follow. If June could change so much… would the other characters too?
Worry pressed down on her, but Atticus caught her hand, anchoring her. His voice was firm, edged with steel. “Don’t worry. If she dares to hurt you, I’ll make her pay tenfold—no, a hundredfold.”
The flicker of murderous intent in his eyes was undeniable.
“I’m not worried about that,” Clarissa murmured. “I just…” She hesitated, then asked, “Atticus, what are you going to do with her?”
He leaned closer, brushing a kiss across her hand. “You’ll see soon enough. I’ll make sure you get your revenge. Trust me, Clarissa.”
Her heart softened. She leaned into his chest, her voice a whisper. “I do trust you. But—”
“Tomorrow,” he interrupted, pressing a finger gently against her lips, “I’ll show you something worth watching.”
Before she could respond, he swept her into his arms, carried her to the bed, and tucked her beneath the covers. His tone gentled, intimate but commanding. “Right now, your only job is to rest. Sleep. I’ll be right here with you.”
Obediently, Clarissa closed her eyes, letting the steady warmth of his presence lull her into peace.
Atticus pressed a gentle kiss to Clarissa’s forehead. But the moment he straightened, the tenderness drained from his eyes, replaced by something darker—an ominous, suffocating gloom.
June barely registered on his radar. Ivy, however… she was different. During his investigation, he’d stumbled across things that unsettled him.
And with Phoenix also digging, he had to tread carefully. Clarissa couldn’t know his secret—not yet.
He had originally planned to wait until the dust settled before moving against those two women. But now…
He lowered himself back to the bedside, fingertips lightly tracing the contours of Clarissa’s sleeping face. His eyes burned with a depth of emotion that no one could quite read.
After a long silence, he whispered, “Seems I’ll have to keep you on a tighter leash.”
His gaze lingered, devouring her. “I want to swallow you whole. Keep you caged by my side. Clarissa… can’t you just be a little more obedient?”
The thought of her spending an entire night with Mark twisted in his gut. He’d hidden his emotions well earlier, but now the fire inside him raged uncontrollably. He could barely contain the urge to brand her as his.
.....
Clarissa slept until Atticus finally coaxed her awake for dinner. “Clarissa, eat something before you go back to sleep…”
She was still sore all over, so he carried her to the table.
Afterward, he pulled a syringe from his suitcase. Clarissa blinked, startled. “An injection?”
Atticus smiled faintly. “What’s this? Is Clarissa afraid of needles?”
Embarrassed under his gaze, she shook her head. “I’m not…”
“Good girl. It’ll only sting for a second.”
She obediently extended her arm, letting him do as he pleased. Tonight, she was his first patient since graduating.
When he was done and packing the kit away, she asked, “Why the sudden shot?”
While clearing the dishes, he said casually, “Prevention. That scrape you got could get nasty. Better safe than sorry.”
Clarissa nodded. “I see…”
Meanwhile, in another part, June’s world was unraveling.
The news that Clarissa had returned safe and sound left her shaking. In a panic, she called Ivy.
“Ivy, you have to save me! Clarissa’s trying to hurt me—she wants me dead, that bitch!”
Ivy’s low, soothing voice calmed her hysteria. “Come to me. I’ll send someone to protect you.”
June packed through the night, dragging her suitcase out under the cover of darkness. She booked the earliest flight, desperate to vanish.
But the moment she stepped outside, the black night exploded with blinding white light. Rows of lamps snapped on, flooding the street.
June froze, her eyes widening in terror. Police cars lined the road, red and blue strobes slicing through the dark. And from the glare stepped Atticus, moving toward her like a predator, backlit and inhuman.
To June, he might as well have been Satan himself, unfurling black wings.
She stumbled back, trembling. “D-Don’t come near me! Clarissa sent you, didn’t she? She wants me dead, doesn’t she?”
Atticus stopped just in front of her. His hand shot out, gripping her chin, forcing her face up into the light. His smile was cruel, mocking. “Your life? Do you really think you’re worth that much?”