Chapter293 – Don’t have a boyfriend
The awkward tension between them slowly dissolved, softened by the small spray of crabapple blossoms in her hand.
Clarissa ate with unusual enthusiasm. Throughout the entire meal, she never once set the flowers down. Even after they finished and drove back to the residential complex together, she was still holding them.
Since they lived near each other, Atticus offered to drive her home. He didn’t follow her upstairs—he simply stood at the foot of the stairs, watching as she climbed slowly.
Halfway up, Clarissa suddenly turned back.
He was still there.
Standing in the dim light, staring straight at her.
Her heart skipped violently. Without thinking, she turned around and hurried back down.
She stopped two steps in front of him.
“Dr. Atticus… I—I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Her voice trembled, but her gaze was steady.
“There’s no one I like either, so… so…”
She stammered helplessly, the words tangling on her tongue.
“Miss Clarissa?” Atticus looked at her, his own heartbeat suddenly out of rhythm.
She clenched the crabapple blossoms in her hand, not daring to look at his expression.
“So… was that a misunderstanding?”
The words had barely left her mouth before she wanted to slap herself. What the hell am I even saying?
Atticus’s breath caught in his chest. A tight ache formed in his throat.
“Earlier,” he said softly, “I saw a silver-haired man with you. I thought he was your boyfriend.”
“That’s not it at all,” Clarissa answered quickly. “He’s not my boyfriend. We have nothing to do with each other…”
She hesitated, then added softly,
“Last time, I heard from the on-duty nurse that you sometimes take leave. Could you tell me your schedule?”
Atticus looked at her quietly.
“I don’t really have one. I’m always here—whenever you need me.”
Her eyes brightened just a little.
“Then… can I come for follow-up appointments anytime?”
“Of course.”
His smile was unbelievably gentle.
“You can come to me anytime you’re uncomfortable. As long as it’s you—it’s fine.”
Clarissa felt her ears grow warm. His voice was low and soothing, like the soft breathing of a lover whispered close to her ear.
Atticus’s gaze lingered on her faintly flushed cheeks. Her lips, bare of any lipstick, were still more enticing than the blossoms trembling in her hand.
If I kissed her now… would she pull away?
His Adam’s apple slid hard as he swallowed. His fists clenched at his sides so tightly it almost hurt. Every instinct inside him was screaming to pull her close.
He forced himself to look away.
“It’s late. Go inside and rest.”
“Okay…”
......
The moment Clarissa returned to her apartment, she eagerly found the most beautiful vase she owned. She arranged the crabapple blossoms carefully and placed them on her bedside table.
She knelt on the soft carpet for a long time, staring at the flowers as a quiet smile bloomed on her lips.
Dr. Atticus had given her flowers.
Dr. Atticus had said she could come to him anytime.
That night, she lit the final stick of incense and lay back against the pillows. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated the flowers on her bedside table.
She murmured softly to herself,
“What does he really mean…?”
Did he have feelings for her too?
The question stirred warmth in the part of her heart that had long gone cold.
She looked at the flowers again.
“If I confessed to him… would I succeed?”
Rolling over on her side, cheeks lightly flushed, her heartbeat quickened.
“Well… today was already nice like this.
Anyway… there’s still plenty of time, right?”
With that thought, she slowly drifted into sleep.
......
Morning light spilled through the curtains.
Clarissa opened her eyes slowly and sat up on the edge of the bed. For a moment, her mind was blank. Then she turned her head toward the window.
She had slept deeply—truly deeply—for the first time in a long while.
Strangely enough, her “illness” felt like it had vanished overnight.
It must have rained during the night; the ground outside was still faintly damp.
Her mood was inexplicably light.
After washing up, she went straight to the music room. Inspiration surged through her fingertips. She gathered her scattered manuscripts, sat at the piano, and began to play.
She played the piece again and again—yet something still felt missing.
And then, without warning, his face flashed through her mind.
Her heart skipped.
Clarissa lowered the piano lid, grabbed a fresh notebook, and began to rewrite from the beginning.
Time slipped past unnoticed until hunger finally dragged her back to reality.
She made herself a steak, squeezed a glass of celery juice, and took a small scoop of ice cream from the freezer.
While eating, she idly scrolled through her phone.
A message from Atticus caught her eye:
“Are you free over the next few days? Your condition is a bit special. I can’t make a quick judgment yet, so the follow-ups will be more frequent.”
She replied immediately:
“Okay. I’ll do whatever Dr. Atticus says.”
She set her phone down, expecting a delayed response. Before she could even lift her fork again, the screen lit up.
“Are you free tonight?”
Clarissa’s heart leaped.
“Yes! I’m free these days.”
She was relieved she had already finished all her work.
......
On the other end, Atticus’s lips curved into an unrestrained smile.
He held his phone, closed his eyes for a long moment, and imagined what she might be doing right now.
After a while, he stood up, gathered a few books, and walked out onto the balcony.
From here, he could see the direction of her room.
Last night, her window had been left slightly open. In the dim light, he could even make out the faint outline of her silhouette.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
Atticus rose and opened it to find Eleven standing outside.
His expression didn’t change in the slightest. He turned back into the room.
“Come in. No need to take off your shoes.”
Eleven obeyed, stepping inside quietly. She set the item she was carrying onto the table and made a small gesture with her hand.
“The information you requested—N has already finished preparing it.”
Atticus gave it a brief glance and responded with a curt, indifferent, “Mm.”
She knew very well that Atticus disliked outsiders lingering in his space. After delivering the item, she gestured politely and prepared to leave.
“Eleven.”
His voice stopped her.
She froze in place.
Atticus sat lazily on the sofa, one long leg crossed over the other. The movement loosened the front of his robe slightly, exposing part of his chest.
Eleven’s heart tightened. She quickly lowered her head.
“You turn eighteen this year, don’t you?” he said lightly.
She was startled, then nodded instinctively.
“That’s right.” He set his book aside and lifted his gaze to her. “Do you want to be able to speak?”
Eleven looked up at him in shock.
“Any surgery carries risk,” Atticus continued calmly. “You were born with a congenital vocal cord deformity. Even I can’t guarantee perfect recovery. But if you’re willing—I’ll help you.”
Her eyes instantly reddened. She nodded frantically, unable to hide her emotion.
Atticus turned away slightly and waved his hand dismissively.
“Once you get through this, I’ll give you a proper codename. Don’t disappoint me.”
Eleven bowed and turned to leave.
Just as she reached the door, his voice came again—cold and warning:
“If you ever act on your own again, you’ll be punished the same way.”
Eleven blinked. She understood immediately. Then, unexpectedly, a faint smile curved her lips before she turned and left.
The door clicked shut with an automatic lock.
Now, only Atticus remained in the room.
He frowned slightly and clicked his tongue.
Have I been too lenient for too long? Why do they all think they can act without permission now?
He stood and picked up the snakeskin bag Eleven had brought. Inside were thick stacks of documents.
His fingers tightened around the handle as he fell into thought.
Giving the information to Phoenix would be the safest option. If he handled it directly, it would be the fastest way to eliminate the target—but if Clarissa found out, she would inevitably tell Callum.
And he wanted to stay with Clarissa.
But handing this information to her in secret was nearly impossible. With Phoenix’s personality, she would dig until the truth was fully exposed. When that happened, nothing could stay hidden.
After a long moment, Atticus carried the bag back into the room, placed the documents into a drawer, and locked it.
For now… he would think about it later.
......
Half a month passed in the blink of an eye.
During that time, Clarissa came to see Atticus every few days. At first, she had been hesitant and polite. Now, she walked straight into his office without knocking.
And her “strange illness” never resurfaced.
Somehow, without either of them ever verbalizing it, their frequent meetings had become a silent agreement.
Today, Clarissa brewed herself a cup of rose tea in the lounge and made a cup of coffee for Atticus as well.
Atticus took a few sips. When he noticed that she was still staring at him, he raised an eyebrow.
“What’s wrong?”
“Dr. Atticus, I’m going to an auction in a few days,” she said. “Are you going too?”
She had seen the black-and-gold invitation on his desk earlier.
Atticus glanced at it. A tedious social farce.
“You’re going?”
“Of course. I want to see it.” Then she added carefully, “So… have you found a dance partner?”
“No.” He looked straight at her. “Will you be my dance partner?”
“Of course!” Clarissa blurted out happily. Her goal achieved, she turned and left with light steps.
.....
On the night of the banquet, Clarissa wore a black gown studded with fine rhinestones. Her long hair was swept up into an elegant bun, revealing her slender neck and delicate features. She looked refined, restrained—yet quietly dazzling.
Beside her, Atticus wore a sharp black suit. His hair was slicked back for once, fully exposing his forehead and emphasizing his striking, coldly handsome features.
The moment they appeared, countless gazes followed them.
Atticus walked up to her and extended his hand.
“It’s crowded. Stay close.”
Clarissa glanced at him. Under his steady gaze, she leaned in without hesitation and wrapped both hands around his arm, pressing close to his side.
Atticus stiffened.
Through the fabric of his suit, he could distinctly feel the soft warmth of her body against his arm. He hadn’t anticipated her sudden closeness. His heartbeat spiked instantly.
Clarissa was nervous as well.
Aside from a few fleeting, ambiguous moments between them, their interactions had always remained restrained and proper. No matter how familiar they had become, she still couldn’t read what he truly felt.
She had hinted again and again—but he had never taken the initiative.
So tonight, she decided to test him herself.
This was the first time she had ever approached a man so boldly.