Chapter240 – You owe me
They packed, and Atticus drove the long road until they finally arrived.
Belle’s columbarium was spotless, lovingly maintained. Even so, the photo inside had grown faint and blurred with time.
Clarissa laid a white rose before it and spoke softly, “Aunt Belle, Atticus and I came to see you.”
Atticus slid an arm around her from behind, his voice brushing against her ear. “Aunt?”
Clarissa blinked, then flushed as she realized what he meant. She pushed him away in embarrassment. “Don’t talk nonsense. Let me go…”
He chuckled, but he didn’t push further. Releasing her, he stepped forward and knelt at the tombstone. His voice, when it came, was soft and reverent. “Mom, I’m here.”
The light in his eyes gentled, his whole presence shifting into something tender and vulnerable.
Watching him like this, Clarissa’s chest tightened with a rush of love. She adored this side of him—this fleeting humanity that peeked through the coldness.
So she whispered, “I’ll give you some time. I’ll come back in half an hour.”
He glanced up and smiled faintly. “All right.”
When she was gone, Atticus lit a stick of incense. Smoke coiled into the summer air. He lit a cigarette for himself, placing it between his lips and exhaling slowly.
Leaning back against the stone, he gazed at the horizon, his expression unreadable. “I never believed in karma, in reincarnation, or in souls. But now…”
His eyes drifted down to the photo, and his voice lowered to a murmur. “Mom, I want her. This woman—I want her completely. If you’re out there somewhere, bless me. And if there’s such a thing as an afterlife…”
He trailed off, his mouth twisting into a faint, self-mocking smile. He shook his head.
“No. Better not. You’d be wise to stay far away from someone like me.”
Clarissa lingered in the sunlight for a moment before ducking into a small roadside shop. The heat outside pressed down too heavily, and the quiet, air-conditioned space inside felt like a reprieve.
The shop was empty—still early, and the heat kept most people away—but the decor was neat and warm, touched with a kind of homely charm.
“Welcome! What can I get you?”
The voice belonged to a tall, lean young man. His smile was open, bright, the kind of smile that disarmed you without trying. Clarissa scanned the menu, but before she could answer, his tone shifted into excitement.
“Sister! It’s you. Don’t you remember me?”
Clarissa lifted her gaze, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “You’re…”
His eyes lit up, his stare almost too direct, too radiant. “It’s me! I was the one who lost money—you asked me about Atticus.”
The name unlocked the memory. Clarissa’s lips curved faintly. “Oh—it’s you. Are you working here now?”
“Yes. Just for the summer. I got into college this year, and I’m trying to earn a little extra.” His words rushed out eagerly. “How’s Atticus? Is he doing all right?”
“He’s fine,” Clarissa answered with an easy smile. “He just graduated.”
“Of course he did,” the boy said with almost worshipful pride. “Eighteen and already finished. I saw him on TV once—he was incredible.”
Clarissa laughed softly. “Yes. He’s a genius.” The name Atticus always made her heart swell with too many things at once—pride, tenderness, longing. She spoke of him with the kind of warmth that softened even her tired expression.
Zane’s smile widened at her gentleness, as though it had been meant for him. “Order anything you like, Sister. It’s my treat.”
Clarissa shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly. You need to save your money. Just a mango sago.”
“Got it!”
He hurried off and returned in barely two minutes, setting down a glass so full it was spilling over the rim.
Clarissa couldn’t help but laugh quietly. “Thank you…”
“You’re welcome. Really—it’s my pleasure.”
His hands fidgeted against his apron, his gaze lingering far too long. She had been beautiful years ago, but now… now she was breathtaking.
Clarissa let him hover, spooning a taste of the dessert. Sweet, but not cloying—the fresh fruit and shaved ice cooled her instantly.
Seeing her enjoyment, Zane’s voice brightened again. “Would you like some cake, Sister? Our ice cream cakes are amazing. I’ll get you a piece.”
She didn’t have the heart to refuse. “All right. Thank you.”
He beamed and all but sprinted away, cutting a neat slice with practiced hands. But before he could bring it over, the door slammed open hard enough to rattle the glass.
A broad-shouldered man lumbered in, his bulk swallowing the doorway. Zane’s cheerful expression fell instantly.
“Zane. What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Serenity?”
Zane’s jaw hardened. “She quit yesterday. You’ve been harassing her nonstop.”
“Bullshit!” The man stormed forward, voice booming. “She’s avoiding me because of you, isn’t she?” His meaty hand lashed out, smacking the plate from Zane’s grip. The cake splattered across the floor.
The crash drew Clarissa’s attention. She turned, her gaze landing on the man’s face—and froze.
Jasper.
But he wasn’t the Jasper she remembered. His clothes were filthy, his hair greasy, stubble shadowing his jaw. His skin glistened with oil and sweat, like a man who’d been sleeping on the streets.
Hadn’t his family walked away with more than a hundred grand? How had he fallen into this?
Jasper cursed under his breath and turned toward the door—only to stop cold when his eyes landed on her.
Recognition flared, then madness.
“Miss Clarissa!”
He lunged, charging at her with wild, desperate energy.
The stench of sour sweat hit her before he did, thick and rancid. Clarissa’s stomach lurched violently.
Zane threw himself between her and Jasper, his body tense, voice sharp. “What the hell are you doing? Don’t touch her. I’m calling the police.”
Jasper’s eyes were bloodshot, his movements twitchy, unhinged. He craned forward, desperate to see Clarissa past Zane’s shoulder. “Miss Clarissa—it’s me! Don’t you remember? I’m Jasper… Atticus’s cousin. You’re so kind. You saved Atticus before, please—please save me too!”
Clarissa’s expression hardened. The stench of sweat and liquor rolling off him was nauseating.
“What are you doing here? Didn’t your parents already take the money? I’ll warn you once—don’t cause trouble, or you’ll regret it.”
Her disgust cut him like a blade. Jasper’s jealousy spiked when he saw her move closer to Zane, her gaze full of concern for the boy. His voice broke into a hoarse scream. “As soon as you left, they came! They robbed us blind—my mom was stabbed to death, my dad’s paralyzed! All because of that cursed bastard, Atticus. He’s the reason our family is ruined. You—” his chest heaved, “you owe me!”
Clarissa’s eyes widened at the words, but her voice stayed cool, sharp. “You took the money and flaunted it. You drew the wolves to your own door. That has nothing to do with Atticus. And don’t even think of asking me for help again.”
“Yeah,” Zane shot back, standing firm at her side. “Everyone knows you ran your mouth about being rich and moving into a big house. You set yourself up.”
Jasper whirled on him, spittle flying. “Shut the fuck up! What’s it to you?”
His fist came down like a hammer. Zane crumpled to the floor, the force knocking the breath from his lungs.
“Zane!” Clarissa rushed to him, panic flaring. She bent to help him, but Jasper’s hand closed around her wrist like a vice.
“Why?” His voice cracked, twisted with rage and desire. “Why would you stand by Atticus—but not me? Is it because he’s pretty? Is that it?”
His mind spun, filled with bile and envy. Atticus had everything—the education, the women, the money. And all because of this perfect, untouchable woman standing before him.
Clarissa’s face. God, that face.
The thought hit him like a spark in dry tinder. If she already despised him, if his life was ruined anyway—then why not take what he wanted? To claim her once, to defile Atticus’s goddess, would be enough to die without regret.
His gaze turned feral. He dragged her toward the back, his breath ragged.
“What are you doing?!” Clarissa clawed at his grip, slapping at his hands. Panic shot through her veins. “Let me go! Let me go or I’ll call the police!”
Zane staggered forward, voice hoarse. “Jasper—stop! This is insane! You’ll go to prison!”
“Prison?” Jasper spat, kicking Zane down again, then stomping until the boy curled in pain. “You think I give a shit? You like her too, don’t you? Pathetic coward. You don’t have the guts to fuck her—so I’ll do it for you!”
Clarissa bolted for the door. Her hand closed around the handle—
A plate shattered against her head.
The world tilted. A hot rush of blood blinded her vision, staining her lashes crimson. She collapsed, the floor hard and cold beneath her cheek.
Jasper yanked her up by the hair. Her limp body dragged like a doll, leaving a slick trail of red across the floor. He slapped her hard, spittle flying as he raged.
“Bitch! Just because you’re rich, you think you’re untouchable? You sneer at me, but look who’s on the ground now! This is all because of that cursed bastard Atticus!”
He tore at his belt, his pants slipping down his hips, eyes blazing with madness.
And then—
Glass exploded.
The front window shattered in an eruption of shards, glittering knives raining down.
Jasper froze, caught mid-breath—
Then Atticus crashed through the wreckage, a predator unleashed. His boot slammed into Jasper’s ribs with a crack like splitting wood. The scream that followed was short, choked, wet.
Jasper flew backward, slamming against the counter, blood spraying from his lips.
Atticus froze at the sight of her.
Clarissa lay sprawled on the floor, blood streaming from her forehead, her delicate face marred with the ugly red welt of a slap. For a heartbeat, the world went silent—then a fire roared through his chest, scorching away every shred of reason.
Murderous rage bled into his eyes.
In the next instant, he moved.
Before Jasper even registered what was happening, Atticus seized his arm.
“Atticus! You bastard—finally! I was just about to—”
The snap of breaking bone drowned out his words. Jasper’s howl tore through the room, raw and animalistic.
Atticus’s voice came cold and low, the voice of a man who had become something else entirely—Satan’s own whisper. “Which hand touched her? This one?”
Another bone cracked. Jasper screamed again.
“Or was it this one?”
By the time Atticus released him, both arms hung limp and twisted at grotesque angles. Jasper writhed, sobbing, the agony leaving him half-mad.
But Atticus wasn’t done.
His boot came down on Jasper’s thigh. A crunch followed, bone splintering like brittle wood. Jasper shrieked, rolling, but Atticus pinned him with merciless precision.