Chapter282 – Dream
“Is that so…” At the mention of Callum, something flickered in Atticus’s eyes—his smile dimming, expression shadowed for a moment.
Clarissa didn’t notice. She was focused entirely on cleaning and dressing his wounds. The two worked efficiently, and soon Atticus’s arm was neatly bandaged.
He picked up a syringe and injected himself three times. Clarissa watched carefully—seeing that he didn’t seem angry, she secretly released a breath of relief.
“Dr. Atticus, I’ll transfer the medical expenses to you later. And… could you please not report Abyss?”
His smile softened under her gaze. “Since the leopard belongs to you, Miss Clarissa, I wouldn’t put you in a difficult position. Don’t worry.”
Hearing that, Clarissa finally relaxed. But guilt flooded her at the sight of his arm. When Atticus moved to pack his medical kit, she stepped forward quickly. “Let me do it. You should rest.”
Atticus didn’t refuse. Clarissa cleared the table and sorted the kit with practiced precision.
Then she remembered—this was Atticus’s first time in her home. She hurried to the kitchen and returned with a cup of warm lemonade.
“Dr. Atticus, it’s getting late. If you don’t mind… please have dinner here.”
Atticus smiled. “I’d be honored.”
Clarissa headed to the kitchen. Only after she disappeared did Atticus finally let his gaze roam the room.
The décor was familiar—exactly Clarissa’s style. Warm colors, soft light, fresh flowers on the table and coffee table… vibrant and bright.
Clarissa loved life. She made ordinary days feel warm and full of color. She had once shared everything with him—her childhood, her hardships, the years she struggled through…
They had both been abandoned. But Clarissa and he had made completely different choices.
He missed those days they lived together—missed her so much it hurt.
Clarissa… Clarissa… Even thinking her name seemed to fill the house with sweetness.
Atticus closed his eyes briefly, savoring the space she lived in.
Soon, the aroma of food drifted from the kitchen. Her silhouette moved behind the translucent glass, and something dormant in his chest stirred awake.
Clarissa hadn’t cooked properly in a long time, so she was a little rusty. Worried about Atticus’s injury, she made only mild, gentle dishes.
“Dr. Atticus, dinner’s ready.”
Atticus sat down and stared at the familiar dishes. His heart thudded hard in his chest. He picked up his chopsticks and took a bite—at once, tears burned behind his eyes.
Clarissa, seeing him pause over a piece of meat, asked anxiously, “What’s wrong? Is it not good?”
His eyes were slightly red. Forcing down the wave of emotion, he smiled softly. “It’s delicious. The best I’ve ever eaten.”
Then he started to eat—ravenous, like a starving man.
Clarissa was delighted. She stood and went to refill his bowl.
By the time he finished, Atticus’s wounds were dressed, and his stomach was full. Even though he didn’t want to leave, he could feel the suffocating hostility radiating from behind Clarissa’s closed bedroom door.
He couldn’t fight Abyss now—not when it would shatter the perfect image he wanted Clarissa to keep of him.
“It’s getting late. I should go.” Atticus stood and thanked her. “Thank you for dinner, Miss Clarissa. I had a wonderful day.”
“I should be the one thanking you,” Clarissa replied.
Atticus gazed at her for a long moment, his voice deeper and slightly hoarse. His Adam’s apple bobbed—he was suppressing a storm of emotion.
“I hope I’ll have the chance to taste your cooking again.” He gave her a subtle nod, then turned and walked out.
Clarissa watched him until he disappeared down the hallway, then sighed and returned to her room.
Inside, Abyss was pacing, growling softly—the resentment in its eyes sharp and unmistakable.
Clarissa sat cross-legged in front of it, her tone firm. “Abyss, we need to talk. How could you hurt someone in public? You’re always so obedient—why would you do that…”
She frowned, genuinely confused. “Luckily Dr. Atticus didn’t report you, or else—”
At the sound of Atticus’s name, Abyss suddenly erupted—springing to its feet and roaring at her, fur bristling.
That night, Clarissa’s thoughts were completely hijacked by Atticus.
She tossed and turned in bed, unable to find sleep no matter how hard she tried. It wasn’t until the first faint light of dawn crept through the curtains that exhaustion finally dragged her under.
She woke up sitting upright on the bed, face burning hot. It took her several seconds to realize why.
She had dreamed of Dr. Atticus.
In the dream, his shirt was half open. He looked at her with that impossibly gentle, devastating smile—and, under her gaze, slowly undid the remaining buttons. His perfectly sculpted upper body was laid bare… and on his skin she saw it.
A tattoo.
A black begonia in full bloom, curling from his shoulder blade toward his heart—dark, gorgeous, and dangerously vivid.
Her heartbeat thundered in her chest.
After that, the rest of the dream dissolved into blankness. All that was left behind was a lingering heat—and overwhelming embarrassment.
She had dreamed of him undressing.
When did I become this shameless…?
It wasn’t until Abyss reached up and patted her shoulder with his paw that she finally snapped back to reality.
Since she didn’t need to go to Atticus today, Clarissa spent the entire afternoon in the music room, practicing and composing. Yet she couldn’t focus at all. One draft after another came out wrong. Nothing satisfied her.
By evening, discarded sheets of manuscript littered the floor. She silently gathered them up and tossed them into the trash.
Abyss had stayed by her side the whole time. Clarissa stroked her head and gazed out the window—and, unbidden, the image of that black begonia tattoo surged back into her mind.
Her fingers tightened.
Suddenly remembering something, she sprang to her feet, grabbed her notebook, and began scribbling furiously—revising, crossing out, rewriting.
When she finally stretched with a groan, her entire body ached, especially her shoulders. She glanced at the finished page in her hands and exhaled in relief, gently setting it atop the piano.
Only then did she realize it was already eight in the evening.
She had been in the music room for a full eight hours.
Clarissa walked over and petted Abyss apologetically. “Thank you for staying with me. I’ll make you something to eat.”
Watching her devour her food with enthusiasm warmed her heart. But when it came to deciding what she should eat, her thoughts drifted again.
She remembered dining with Atticus.
For some reason, deep in her memory, it felt like she had once eaten like that with someone else too—happy, content, and perfectly at ease.
After hesitating for a moment, she took a pack of instant noodles from the cupboard.
She ate while scrolling through her phone. When Mark’s message popped up, her expression briefly turned serious.
Tomorrow’s the weekend. I heard there’s a new restaurant that’s pretty good. Want to try it together?
Clarissa sighed silently. Romantic complications were truly more troublesome than anything else in the world. She couldn’t understand when her feelings for Mark had faded. She had once liked him—genuinely—but now all she felt was calm distance.
Mark, however, persisted.
No, I have things to do, she replied without hesitation.
A message came back almost instantly.
Didn’t you say before you wanted to try Middle Eastern food?
I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.
Even through the screen, he could sense her cool indifference. Something stabbed sharply into his chest. Mark inhaled deeply, slender fingers tightening as he called her.
Clarissa stared at the screen, hesitated—and then answered.
“Clarissa… are you feeling unwell, or do you just not want to see me?”
She rubbed her forehead. “Mark, I really haven’t been feeling well lately. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. If you’re not feeling well, just rest. Should I bring you something?”
“No, no need. I have a doctor’s appointment this weekend—I won’t be home.” Her voice wavered slightly.
“Clarissa—”
“I have something to do. I’m hanging up.”
Before he could finish, she ended the call.
Staring at the blackened screen, Clarissa finally let out a long breath of relief.
Abyss tilted his head beside her, watching her with puzzled eyes.
Clarissa leaned into her warm belly. Abyss gently patted her back with her tail, trying to comfort her, though irritation simmered inside her.
She was choosing Atticus over Mark. That worried her.
Lowering her head, she realized she had already fallen asleep in her arms.
Every time Clarissa finished composing, she always drifted off like this.
Abyss glanced at the untouched noodles on the table, tail swishing now and then as it lightly tapped her calves.
Her thick fur and warmth kept her perfectly comfortable even as she slept in the living room. When she stirred again, it was already midnight.
Clarissa poured out the cold noodles and washed the bowl. Then she returned to the music room and played through the new piece twice.
As the last note faded, her expression softened into quiet composure, a faint smile appearing at the corner of her lips.
“Maybe… he’d like it too,” she murmured.
Just then, her phone rang in the living room, making her flinch. Thinking it was Mark, she hesitated—until she saw the name on the screen.
Dr. Atticus.
She hurried to answer. “Hello?”
“Miss Clarissa…” Atticus’s voice was slightly hoarse, carrying a faint trace of intoxication.
Her brows knit subtly. “Dr. Atticus? Do you need something?”
“Your follow-up appointment… is it scheduled for tomorrow?”
Clarissa was surprised. She had heard he didn’t see patients on weekends. As if sensing her confusion, Atticus explained patiently, “There’s an emergency patient this weekend. Your treatment has just entered the next phase, so I’ll need you to come in as well.”
“I understand. I’ll be at the hospital on time tomorrow.”
“Good.”
A second later, the line went dead.
Atticus lay sprawled across the sofa, breathing hard, a scatter of empty bottles strewn across the floor before him. It had only been one day since he’d last seen her—just one—and yet the craving to hear her voice gnawed at him like a disease. He wanted her desperately… and feared her just as much.
Feared what the beast inside him would do if he lost control again.
He grabbed another bottle and took a long swig. His other hand clutched tightly at his chest as he whispered hoarsely,
“Clarissa… it hurts so much… please… touch me…”
His tall frame curled inward on the sofa, face twisted in quiet agony. The bottle slipped from his fingers and shattered against the floor, liquor bleeding across the dark gray carpet like a spreading stain.
Sometime after, still clutching his phone, he finally lost consciousness.
He woke just before five in the morning with a splitting headache.
Atticus rose at once, took a scorching shower, and methodically cleaned himself up. After confirming in the mirror that no trace of last night remained, he pulled on his coat and left without hesitation.