Chapter246 – Heartless woman
Clarissa sipped her drink slowly, then pulled out her phone, idly logging into the game. For a while, she wandered through the virtual world, her quiet, elegant presence catching the eyes of those around her in the restaurant. People began to drift closer, curious.
Zane’s parents noticed, and his mother tugged at his sleeve. “Zane, who is she? How do you know someone like that?”
Zane sighed, a little exasperated. “Mom, Dad, don’t ask. Just… Dad, go send those people away. Don’t let them disturb my sister.”
His parents were shrewd enough to understand Clarissa wasn’t ordinary. They quickly ushered the gawkers outside.
When Clarissa finally closed the game and lifted her head, she caught sight of Zane at the bar, pretending to study an account book while sneaking glances at her. Their eyes met. He flinched and ducked his head.
Clarissa frowned faintly, then beckoned him over. “Zane. Come here a moment.”
Startled, he hesitated, then hurried to her table. “Sister, you called me?”
“Sit down. I want to ask you something about Atticus.”
Zane swore inwardly but obeyed, sliding into the seat across from her. “What do you want to know? You’ve been with Atticus for years—you should know him better than I do.”
Clarissa couldn’t help but laugh softly at his nervousness. “Atticus… I don’t really understand him. Back in school, did he ever bully you?”
Zane blinked, caught off guard. “Bully me? No. He doesn’t even notice people like us. Why would he bother?”
“That sounds like him,” Clarissa murmured, fingers tightening around her glass.
Zane studied her expression, his eyes sharp for once. “Sister, are you… worried?”
Clarissa drew in a slow breath. “Maybe. Sometimes it feels like he’s right beside me, but at the same time… untouchable. Like there’s always something hidden, some part of him I can’t reach.”
Her words trailed off. She thought of what Yuriko Nomiya had said, how she could never really help him in his world. Atticus had woven himself into every corner of her life—her body, her work, her emotions. He had complete access to her, but she couldn’t say the same about him.
Zane forced a bright, boyish smile. “I don’t know what’s making you uneasy, Sister, but honestly—you and Atticus are perfect together. He treats you well. Isn’t that enough?”
His sunny expression eased something tight in her chest, and she gave a wry little smile. “Silly boy… being together isn’t just about being happy.”
Her instincts had been sharper than ever since coming here, especially when it came to Atticus. Desire, doubt, fear—they tangled together, leaving her restless.
Zane opened his mouth, but his parents called him away before he could answer. Clarissa rose, brushing off her skirt. “Go on. It’s almost time. I should head back too.”
“Then be careful, Sister. The roads aren’t safe around here.”
“I parked nearby. Don’t worry.”
He watched her leave, shoulders tight, muttering under his breath, “Atticus, I did my part. The rest is on you…”
By sheer chance, as Clarissa returned to her car, she spotted Atticus and her grandfather approaching. Both were drenched in sweat, though only Atticus bore fresh marks across his body. Callum looked untouched.
Her heart twisted. She hurried into the house ahead of them, pouring water and setting out tea.
Callum was first to sit. Clarissa immediately pressed a steaming cup into his hand. “Grandpa, please—have some tea.”
He took a long sip, his expression softening.
Only then did Clarissa turn to Atticus. She poured plain water into a glass and held it out to him. “You’re still hurt. You shouldn’t be drinking tea. Here—have this.”
He looked down at her, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “I thought you’d forgotten me.”
Clarissa’s chest clenched at the heat in his gaze—fiery, possessive. Flustered, she shoved the glass into his hand, her voice tripping over itself. “Here… just drink it yourself…”
Callum had been watching the exchange from the side, his sharp eyes narrowing with displeasure. He coughed pointedly and barked, “Girl, go back inside. Come out when it’s time for dinner.”
Clarissa froze for a moment, then gave a soft “Oh…” and slipped obediently back into the house.
The old man turned on Atticus, his hand slamming down on the table. “What the hell are you staring at!”
Atticus reluctantly tore his gaze away, unstrapping the basket from his back with a faint sigh. “Master, are you satisfied with today?”
That only deepened Callum’s irritation. The boy’s skill with medicine was nearly on par with his own, and every test Callum devised seemed to be handled flawlessly. A master was still a master, damn it—and yet this disciple was starting to look too damn smug.
“Don’t get cocky,” Callum snapped. “There’s still tomorrow.”
Atticus bowed his head slightly. “As long as you’re happy, Master. Then… may I sleep inside tonight?”
Callum narrowed his eyes, studying him. “You did well today. Play a game with me. If I’m satisfied, I’ll consider it.”
Atticus’s smile widened. “Thank you, Grandpa.”
The old man nearly choked on air. His brows shot up as he barked, “Who the hell is your grandpa!”
Atticus only tilted his head innocently. “I just want you to get used to it. So… if you’re satisfied, maybe I can spend time with Clarissa—”
“You wish!” Callum cut him off sharply, his glare like a blade. “Don’t even think about it! We’ll talk after the game.”
Suppressing a laugh, Atticus fetched the chessboard.
The match stretched over two intense hours. Beads of sweat gathered on Callum’s forehead as he leaned over the board, fully absorbed. Atticus, cautious of the old man’s obsession with the game, deliberately set clever traps, allowing his master to fight through twists and turns before finally seizing victory.
When the last piece fell, Callum sat back with a satisfied grin, his earlier temper forgotten. His eyes glowed with triumph. “Your progress pleases me. Fine, I’ll allow you to sleep in the house.”
He chuckled slyly, leaning back. “But cleaning another room would be a hassle. From now on, you’ll sleep in my room.”
Atticus froze, genuinely caught off guard. “Master… are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking? What’s wrong—do you dislike sharing a room with an old man?”
Atticus’s lips twitched. He looked away quickly. “I wouldn’t dare. I only worry I’ll disturb your rest. I can clean a spare room.”
Callum’s grin deepened, foxlike. “You won’t disturb me. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you. I’ve got plenty to talk about.”
Atticus sneered inwardly. The old man was playing games of his own. Best to tread carefully.
Clarissa, meanwhile, had been waiting nervously inside. She guessed the time and came out just in time to hear the end of their exchange. The silent standoff between master and disciple made her sigh softly.
Phoenix still wasn’t resolved, and now Grandpa was another problem. She stepped forward hesitantly. “Um… Grandpa—”
Before she could finish, Callum’s glare silenced her. “What are you doing out here?”
Clarissa bit her lip, her voice small and aggrieved. “It’s already past six… time for dinner. Didn’t you tell me to come out then?”
The reminder made Callum blink. Two hours had slipped by without him noticing. He coughed, masking his slip, and turned on Atticus again. “Well? What are you standing around for? Go cook.”
Atticus gave no reply, only disappeared into the kitchen. Soon, the air filled with the fragrance of simmering broth and seared meat.
When he emerged, the table was laid with three dishes and a soup—all of them Clarissa’s favorites.
“Dinner’s ready,” he said calmly. “Chef, Clarissa—come eat.”
Callum said nothing, only stabbed a piece of meat. As he chewed, Clarissa tugged at his sleeve under the table. “Grandpa…”
He gave her a sharp look but waved her into a chair. “Sit down. Eat.”
“Thank you, Master,” he whispered.
The meal passed under a veil of awkward silence, a tense current running beneath every gesture and glance.
That night, when Clarissa learned Atticus would be sharing a room with Grandpa Callum, she froze in disbelief.
“Girl, what are you standing there for? Go fetch some blankets,” Callum barked.
“Oh—right, right…”
She hurried to her room and returned with a folded quilt, handing it over. But when she looked up, Atticus’s eyes were locked on her, full of wounded resentment.
Clarissa couldn’t help a small laugh. “Go on, keep Grandpa company. He’ll calm down eventually.”
She shoved the blanket into his arms and slipped away.
Atticus glared after her retreating back, muttering to himself, Heartless woman.
Before he could sulk longer, a pair of strong hands clamped down on his shoulders. “What are you staring at? She’s gone. Come with me.”
And just like that, Callum hauled him toward the room.
Late into the night, Atticus lay awake. Callum was on the bed beside him, breathing evenly, posture relaxed—fast asleep, it seemed.
Atticus rolled his eyes, carefully rose, and padded toward the door. Just as his hand touched the knob, a voice cut through the darkness.
“Kid. Where are you going at this hour?”
He froze, glancing back to see Callum already sitting upright, eyes gleaming.
“…Bathroom,” Atticus muttered.
“Good. I need to go too. We’ll go together.”
Before he could protest, the old man was already dragging him outside toward the outhouse.
From behind, Callum smirked inwardly. Little brat. Don’t think I don’t know what’s in your head. I’ll keep you in line yet.
By morning, Callum had burned soothing incense through the house. Clarissa woke refreshed, stretching luxuriously before stepping out into the hall.
At the dining table, Callum was sipping tea. From the kitchen came the clatter of pans. Moments later, Atticus appeared with breakfast.
She sat down, immediately catching sight of his face—dark as storm clouds, bruised shadows under his eyes.
“Didn’t sleep well?” she asked softly.
“No. I’m fine,” he bit out.
Clarissa almost laughed. It was the first time she’d ever seen him so utterly frustrated. So even Atticus can be tamed. Maybe age really does bring wisdom, she thought.
The curve of her smile only darkened his mood. Atticus cursed silently, Heartless woman.
Later that morning, Atticus and Callum prepared to climb the mountain. Clarissa carried yesterday’s clothes to the backyard to wash. She hadn’t even reached the basket when a pair of arms yanked her back into a hard chest.
She gasped, struggling as a hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her into the shadows. Her laundry scattered across the ground.
“Don’t be afraid. It’s me…”
The low, familiar voice made her heart lurch. She blinked up at Atticus, then smacked his chest hard. “Are you insane? In broad daylight—you nearly scared me to death!”
He only stared at her, silent. Then, without warning, he leaned in and claimed her mouth.
Her muffled protest melted as his tongue slipped past her lips, deepening the kiss. He pressed her back against a wooden pillar, his grip iron-strong.