Chapter295 – Thank you…
Only Atticus and Clarissa remained in his room.
Their eyes met—just for a breath—before Clarissa instinctively pushed herself upright.
Atticus’s gaze locked on her. Now that the immediate danger had passed, he finally noticed her appearance: soaked from head to toe, long hair tangled, her black dress clinging to her body in disarray. As she sat up, the strap of her dress slid slowly down her shoulder, revealing smooth, pale skin, delicate collarbones, and the soft line of her cleavage.
One glance was all it took for heat to flare in Atticus’s eyes.
He abruptly turned away.
“Do you feel anything else—any pain? Discomfort?”
“No…” Clarissa’s eyes shimmered, her voice soft.
Atticus inhaled deeply.
“Then I’ll take you back to your room.”
He wrapped a sheet around her and lifted her carefully. The moment her body met his, she relaxed into him, resting her cheek against his chest, soaking in his warmth.
Atticus swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat tightening. He didn’t dare look down at her. He tried to carry her toward the door, but Clarissa suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck.
Her breath brushed against his ear, warm and sweet.
“Dr. Atticus… I want to take a bath. Could you carry me to the bathroom?”
Atticus froze.
When he finally answered, his voice was low and hoarse.
“…Alright.”
Clarissa caught his reaction and leaned closer, a faint smile curving her lips.
Atticus carried her into the bathroom and turned on the hot water. When he turned around—
He nearly choked on air.
Clarissa was bending down, slowly slipping off her heels. As she moved, the delicate ribbons slid down her long, pale legs and pooled on the floor. The hem of her dress shifted with her body, revealing glimpses of her legs that made Atticus feel like his sanity was being shredded strand by strand.
She lifted her gaze and whispered,
“Dr. Atticus… my legs still feel weak. Could you carry me over there?”
Atticus felt his pulse detonate in his veins.
She didn’t need to do anything. Simply standing there, she was temptation itself.
Tonight, Clarissa had a beauty that was almost unreal—soft, alluring, and impossible to resist. Everything she did, every word she spoke, hit him straight in the heart.
He stepped forward quickly, scooped her up, and placed her into the bathtub. Clarissa leaned against the edge, her long, dark hair floating in the water like strands of ink.
Watching Atticus retreat with stiff shoulders and quick footsteps, her smile deepened. She stretched her body languidly.
“Dr. Atticus… could you please not leave?”
Atticus’s whole body tensed. He instinctively glanced back—and immediately turned away again. One more second looking at her, and the last thread of his self-control might snap.
“Wh… what’s wrong?” Clarissa asked softly behind him. “Someone pushed me into the water. I’m so scared…”
Her voice trembled, but her expression didn’t. She watched his retreating silhouette, speaking as her fingers brushed over the zipper at the back of her dress…
“I’ll take care of that person for you,” Atticus said. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Yes. I believe you.”
The faint sound of her fingers at the zipper made him stiffen. He realized what she was about to do—and knew he couldn’t stay another second.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said, voice strained.
Before Clarissa could respond, he opened the door and stepped out.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Clarissa froze for a moment, her hands still on her zipper.
He left… just like that.
A bittersweet ache spread through her chest, slowly filling her whole body.
She took a deep breath. Her eyes reddened.
“Dr. Atticus! Dr. Atticus!”
“I’m here…”
Through the fogged glass, Clarissa saw a blurred silhouette. Atticus was leaning against the door, head tipped back, eyes closed, trying to steady his breathing.
Hearing his voice, she sank back into the warm water and stared up at the bathroom light.
“Dr. Atticus…” she called again.
“I’m here,” he answered immediately this time.
She glanced through the glass at his shadowed back and smiled faintly.
“Dr. Atticus… when I fell into the water just now, I had a very long dream.”
“What kind of dream?”
“I dreamt…” Clarissa watched the ripples drifting over the water. “I dreamt that I fell in love with someone.”
Atticus stayed silent, seawater still dripping from his hair, running down the edge of his jaw. The heat in his chest slowly cooled—like someone had doused him with ice water.
“What kind of person?” he asked, voice low.
“He had so many flaws,” Clarissa murmured. “Selfish. Violent. Cold-blooded. Jealous. Possessive…”
Atticus pressed the back of his head against the door, eyes burning.
“But…” Clarissa’s voice softened, “that person looked a lot like the boy I used to dream about.”
“Hm…” Atticus’s response was barely a sound.
“He was small then… beautiful, but so cold. Always aloof, like the whole world bored him.” A gentle smile tugged at her lips. “He was so smart. A little genius. Well-behaved and sensible… I watched him grow day by day.”
A memory flickered in her eyes—one filled with warmth.
“I was so happy then. I wanted him to grow up safe. I wanted to give him everything… everything I could.”
Atticus’s throat tightened violently. His vision blurred for a moment, and a single tear slid down his cheek as he stared up at the ceiling.
As if sensing the storm in him, Clarissa slowly stood in the bath. She stepped toward the glass door, water trailing down her body, and knelt quietly beside it.
Through the misted glass, she leaned her forehead gently against his back.
Silently, in her heart, she called his name.
Atticus…
......
“Is there anything you feel like eating?” Clarissa glanced at him, then set the menu aside. “You order for me.”
Atticus nodded and signaled the waiter. The dishes came quickly—every single one of her favorites, and everything she’d been craving lately.
She seriously wondered if Atticus could read minds. How else was he always this accurate?
He had already carved up the roast chicken and placed the plate in front of her.
Clarissa picked up her fork and tasted a piece. Crispy skin, tender meat—decent, but nowhere near as good as Atticus’s cooking.
She stopped after two bites. Atticus quietly ladled a bowl of soup for her.
“Is there anything you want tonight?” he asked.
“We’ll see this evening. Didn’t they say the auction items won’t be revealed until then?”
Atticus handed her his phone. “Take a look.”
“These are tonight’s items. Mr. Gabriel said you can choose up to three beforehand. See if anything catches your eye.”
Clarissa scrolled through the list, lips curving faintly. “I’m not even close to Mr. Gabriel. Why would he offer me that?”
“He already heard about your… incident yesterday. Consider it compensation for the scare.”
“Oh? The Duke is so generous.” She turned her gaze back to the phone, away from Atticus.
Atticus watched her. Her expression was neutral, but something about it felt off.
Why? His explanation was airtight. Clarissa should’ve been delighted—this was an easy, legitimate windfall for her.
Still, she chose three items quickly and handed his phone back. Atticus scanned her selections and smiled. Her instinct for treasure was as sharp as ever.
After dinner, they wandered along the deck.
“Last night… a woman pushed me,” Clarissa said.
“I know.” Atticus met her eyes. “She’s been caught.”
“Has she now?” Clarissa asked. “Are there cameras in that area?” If there were, reporting her to the police would’ve been simplest.
“No. Blind spot.”
“Then I’d like to hear your advice.”
Atticus fell silent. For the first time, he realized just how careful he had to be with his words. He didn’t want to lie to her anymore—but he also didn’t want to tell her everything.
“Clarissa, I—”
“Dr. Atticus.” Her gaze caught his, steady and searching. “Just tell me the truth.”
Her voice was soft, warm as silk threads brushing around his heart… and a little seductive.
Atticus lowered his eyes. “I won’t kill her. But she’ll face something far worse than prison. I’ll make sure the rest of her life is nothing but regret and pain.” His hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t dare look at her.
Then he heard a soft chuckle.
He snapped his head toward her. Clarissa met his gaze with warm eyes and a faint, knowing smile.
“Alright,” she said lightly. “I’ll leave it in your hands, Dr. Atticus.”
“Clarissa…”
“Hm?”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“Afraid?” She blinked. “Why should I be?”
“You’re not scared I might be a bad person?”
“I don’t know if you’re good or bad,” Clarissa said honestly. “But you saved me. And that woman almost killed me. Even if you hadn’t gotten involved, I wouldn’t have let her walk away. And…” She stepped closer, her smile soft yet dangerously lovely, scented warmth brushing against him. “The life you fought so hard to save—would you really hurt me?”
Atticus stepped back instinctively, unaware that the railing was right behind him. Clarissa followed, closing the last inches between them—only a finger’s width remained.
Though they weren’t touching, he felt surrounded by her scent. It was like a drug to him.
He turned his head quickly, afraid of losing control. Clarissa watched him, her gaze softening further. That bittersweet ache in her chest spread even deeper.
She drew a steady breath. Before he could say anything, she leaned into him—pressing her body fully against his and resting her head against his chest.
Atticus went rigid. “Clarissa…” Logic told him to push her away, but his body wouldn’t obey.
Her voice came softly, muffled against him. “Dr. Atticus…”
“Hm?”
“Thank you… for protecting me.”
Her slight nasality, that fragile softness—Atticus felt something inside him melt.
His rigid posture eased. His hands hovered, then slowly settled around her back. As if beyond his own control, he pulled her in even closer.
He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth, the quiet, the way their heartbeats started to sync. They stayed like that for a long while.
Eventually, Clarissa calmed herself. Making sure her expression was under control, she slowly lifted her head…
The woman in front of him had eyes shimmering with unshed tears, soft and hazy with the warmth of something dangerously close to desire. Her lips were flushed as if brushed with vermilion, the tip of her nose tinged pink…
Something snapped in Atticus’s mind.
Slowly, irresistibly, he lowered his head, gaze fixed on her soft, petal-like lips—lips that looked like they were waiting for him.
Clarissa’s heart thudded loudly. As his striking face moved closer, she instinctively closed her eyes.
Their breaths mingled—warm, familiar—just moments from touching when a sudden shout cut through the quiet.
“Watch out!”
A golden ball shot through the air. Atticus reacted instantly, pulling Clarissa aside.
“My ball!” a blond boy came barreling toward them.
Atticus looked him over. No family badges, no official tags, simple clothing.