Chapter289 – Do you regret it?
Clarissa’s voice was steady, almost detached. “Whitney, do you remember what’s written in your contract?”
Whitney’s face drained of color. She nodded faintly. “I remember…”
The contract clearly stated that during the contract period, the artist’s life, schedule, and behavior were under company protection and supervision. Clarissa had given her a top-tier commission—thirty percent, the highest in the industry. A suicide attempt constituted a serious breach of contract. Whether she lived or died, the penalty would still apply.
“Whitney,” Clarissa said coolly, taking the contract from her bag, “I sympathize with your situation. But business is business, and personal matters are personal. I hope you understand that.”
She opened the document and placed it on the table. “Unauthorized breach of contract carries a penalty of eight billion.”
“Ms. Clarissa…” Wesley froze. She hadn’t expected Clarissa to bring this up so directly.
Whitney’s hands tightened around the blanket. For a moment, her expression stiffened—then she slowly relaxed and gave a bitter smile.
“You’re right, Miss Clarissa. I deserve it. No matter what the punishment is, I’ll accept it.”
She knew better than anyone how well Clarissa had treated her—resources, exposure, protection. And yet she had nearly destroyed everything with her own hands.
“I’ll have my lawyer handle the compensation,” Clarissa said calmly. “After that, whether you stay with the company or leave is entirely your choice.”
Whitney suddenly looked up, eyes filled with desperate hope. “Then… can I still follow you?”
Clarissa’s gaze sharpened. “Do you regret it?”
“I…”
“If you throw your life away again for some piece of trash, what am I supposed to do?” Clarissa’s voice was icy. “This company can’t shut down because of you. There are too many people whose livelihoods depend on it.”
“It will never happen again!” Whitney blurted out. “I swear! I swear it won’t!”
“How do you swear?”
Whitney’s eyes were unshakably resolute. “I’ll completely cut ties with him. After this, I’ve seen him for what he really is. I owe my life to you, Miss Clarissa—and to everyone who saved me. I’ll transfer all my assets to the company tomorrow. I’ll give up everything and start over.”
Only then did Clarissa give a slight nod. “I’ll wait for you.”
She turned and left the room. Wesley hurried after her. “Miss Clarissa… thank you.”
Clarissa said flatly, “She’ll fully recover within a year. Stay with her. Call me if anything happens.”
“And that piece of shit Xerxes—he got off too easy,” Wesley growled.
A faint glint flashed through Clarissa’s eyes. She leaned in slightly and smiled. “I have a way. You do this… and this…”
Wesley’s eyes lit up instantly. “Got it. I’ll handle it.”
Clarissa waved a hand lazily. “Take good care of her. Otherwise, you won’t get to see the real show.”
Her heels clicked softly as she walked down the long hospital corridor. The sharp scent of disinfectant filled the air—and for no reason at all, it made her think of Atticus.
Dr. Atticus hadn’t contacted her in days.
Ever since the night he fell ill, he had become distant—abruptly, inexplicably cold.
Clarissa stared at his dark profile picture on her phone for a long time. Her thumb hovered, hesitating.
Finally, she put the phone away and muttered under her breath, “Idiot. What am I even afraid of? I’m his patient—it’s only natural that I go find him.”
She drove to the hospital where he worked.
But when she arrived, the answer she received made her pause.
“Dr. Atticus? He’s been on leave for a few days.”
“Did he give a reason?”
“No. Dr. Atticus doesn’t usually need to give reasons when he takes leave. He probably has something important to handle.”
A nurse added casually, “It’s always been like this. Sometimes he’ll just disappear for ten days or so.”
Clarissa drove home slowly.
The moment she entered, she saw Abyss curled on the sofa watching TV. Its long tail was casually wrapped around the remote, swaying lazily.
Clarissa sat down beside it.
Abyss glanced at her and immediately noticed the disappointment in her eyes—the faint sadness she hadn’t bothered to hide.
It seemed to understand at once.
The creature dropped the remote and gently patted her shoulder with its tail. Then it pointed with its tail toward the building across the street.
Clarissa looked at it. “You want me to go find him?”
Abyss nodded.
She was silent for a moment. What excuse could she even use?
With a soft sigh, she reached up and unwound her coiled hair. In an instant, her long hair spilled down her back. She hugged Abyss tightly.
“Thank you… you’re so good to me.”
She had already fallen for Dr. Atticus—otherwise she wouldn’t miss him without reason, wouldn’t have stayed by his side when he was sick, and wouldn’t feel this dull ache of disappointment at his coldness.
So many men had pursued her over the years, and she’d felt nothing. Yet she and Atticus had known each other for only a few days.
Just then, her phone rang.
She snapped out of her thoughts—it was Wesley.
“Hello?”
“Miss Clarissa… something happened.”
Clarissa rushed back to the hospital immediately.
The moment she arrived, she saw Whitney with a bruised face—lip swollen, eyes red—and Wesley standing beside her, rage barely contained.
Clarissa pulled Whitney into a careful embrace. Tears shimmered in Whitney’s eyes.
“What happened?”
“That bastard came again to ask her for money,” Wesley said through clenched teeth. “She was supposed to be discharged tomorrow, and now this—”
“I’m fine,” Whitney said weakly. “It’s just a minor injury.”
Clarissa’s expression darkened.
She stepped forward, gently stroked Whitney’s long hair, and said in a soft voice, “Don’t be afraid.”
The moment Whitney heard that, she completely broke down. “Miss Clarissa…” she sobbed uncontrollably.
Clarissa cradled the back of her head, her voice slow and steady.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll make him pay.”
Inside an underground casino.
“Oh? Looks like Mr. Xerxes is out of luck again tonight. Better luck next time.”
Since being kicked out by Clarissa two years ago, he’d been frozen out by Dorian. His once-brilliant career had collapsed overnight, his agent abandoned him, and every door in the industry slammed shut.
For two years, he’d had no job, no income. Even his sugar daddy had dumped him.
The only thing left to him was Whitney—that stupid, obedient woman.
Yet even now, she still wouldn’t let him touch her.
He’d wanted to force himself on her more than once, but he was terrified of losing his last source of money. So he endured it, grinding his teeth in resentment. Watching Whitney’s dazzling success on television only made his jealousy rot deeper.
He had to sleep with her. He had to. Only then would he feel whole again.
So one night, he arranged a candlelight dinner, planning to finally take what he thought he was owed. But Whitney had just finished an exhausting day of commercial shoots. She was drained and wanted nothing but rest.
Her resistance enraged him.
He slapped her hard across the face.
“What makes you so fucking high and mighty?” he roared. “I’m only unlucky because of those two bastards—Clarissa and that Atticus piece of shit! If I hadn’t stepped aside, you and Mark would never have gotten that role! Everything you have now—your fame, your money—it’s all because of me!”
He shoved her down onto the sofa and began tearing at her clothes in a frenzy.
Whitney screamed and, in blind terror, grabbed the lamp beside her and smashed it over his head.
Blood streamed down his forehead.
In a rage, he beat her brutally. When she lay motionless on the floor, he finally panicked and ran.
Fortunately, she survived. She even went back to work the very next day.
Meanwhile, he spent the entire day in the casino—losing all thirty thousand he had left and racking up another hundred thousand in debt.
With no other option, he went back to Whitney.
But this time, the once timid, submissive girl dared to refuse him.
Enraged, he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the wall.
In the end, she agreed to give him a check. He demanded five million. She signed it through her tears.
The very next day, news broke that she had attempted suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills.
He panicked—and ran with the money.
Today was supposed to be her discharge day.
And once again, he’d blown through every last cent.
Xerxes sneered to himself. So what if she hadn’t died? She still couldn’t get rid of him.
Just as he was about to go demand more money—
*Click.*
The light in the room snapped on.
He looked up—and froze.
Clarissa was sitting calmly on the sofa.
She was dressed entirely in black. Her long hair was tied high, her red lips vivid as blood. Her gaze was cold, razor-sharp as it pinned him in place.
“Y–You… Clarissa!” Xerxes’ face twisted. He would never forget that face—the woman who had personally destroyed his future.
Clarissa looked at him and smiled faintly. “I knew you’d come. I’ve been waiting.”
“What the hell are you doing in my place?!”
“This entire apartment building belongs to my company.” She took a document from her bag and tossed it onto the table. “This unit was provided to Whitney as employee housing. As of today, it’s been officially transferred to her as a year-end bonus.”
Her eyes lifted slowly. “Take your shit, and get out.”
Xerxes laughed scornfully. “Get out? Dream on. Whitney is my girlfriend. What business is it of yours? Clarissa, besides messing with that brat Atticus, you’re sticking your nose into other people’s relationships now too?”
“Atticus?” Clarissa frowned instinctively. “Which Atticus are you talking about?”
Xerxes sneered. “Besides that annoying little bastard, is there another one? What, have you forgotten all the men you’ve played with? Or are you already tired of him?”
He strutted closer, his tone full of malice. “Looking for your next target now? Probably Mark. I saw you two together last time—serves you right—”
Before he could finish, two men suddenly appeared behind him and grabbed his arms.
Clarissa’s gaze turned icy as it locked onto his.
A sharp pain suddenly pierced her temples. She frowned hard and instinctively pressed her forehead.
The people around her grew tense. “Miss Clarissa, are you all right?”
“It’s nothing.” She took a breath, steadying herself, then looked back at Xerxes. “Since he won’t leave on his own, throw him out. All of his things too. And call the police—I’m charging him with trespassing and assault.”
“Yes, Miss!”
Before Xerxes could shout another word, a hand clamped over his mouth, a sack was yanked over his head, and he was dragged away.