His sincerity made it hard to refuse.
She didn’t dislike Lawrence. In fact, from the mont they t, there had been a kind of easy familiarity between them. If Atticus hadn’t been in the picture, soone like Lawrence might have been closer to the kind of man she once imagined herself with.
Clarissa nodded slowly. “Alright.”
The two of them walked to the stables together.
After a short search, Lawrence selected a gentle mare for her—pure white from mane to tail, with large, soft eyes and a calm temperant.
Clarissa stroked the mare’s neck. The horse nuzzled her hand without resistance, and she gently took the reins.
“Get on by yourself?” Lawrence asked.
“I think I can manage,” Clarissa said confidently.
She placed her foot in the stirrup and tried to swing her leg over—but misjudged the angle and nearly toppled over.
Luckily, Lawrence’s hands were there again, steady at her waist.
“Sorry,” she said, breathless, flustered. With his help, she was hoisted gracefully into the saddle.
Once she found her balance, she looked down and offered a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
Lawrence gave her an easy smile in return. “No problem.”
He mounted his own horse—a chestnut-colored stallion with sharper eyes than her gentle mare. But under Lawrence’s calm grip, the horse was obedient and steady.
Clarissa glanced at him as they started riding side by side. But her thoughts soon drifted.
In the original story, Lawrence hadn’t played a major role—his presence was just as vague and peripheral as Phoenix’s.
He was supposed to inherit the Whitmore family’s fortune.
But… that didn’t happen. The future head of the Whitmore family wasn’t Lawrence. It was soone else.
Clarissa frowned faintly, the mory just out of reach.
Who was it? She couldn’t rember.
Just then, an image flashed through Clarissa’s mind—her whole body froze.
Lawrence have noticed sothing, he tilted his head and asked with a faint smile, “Why are you looking at like that? Did I do sothing wrong?”
Clarissa hesitated, then asked, “Lawrence… is your father an only son?”
He chuckled softly. “Technically, I’m the only son. But I do have a younger half-sister—she’s my stepmother’s child.”
“Stepmother?” Clarissa repeated, her eyes narrowing slightly as her thoughts began to spiral.
That scene—Lawrence had been stabbed. In the chest. And afterward, soone else had taken over the Whitmore family. A man.
She pressed, “Are you absolutely sure?”
Lawrence caught the aning in her voice and let out a light laugh. “My father had plenty of won outside the family, but my stepmother would never tolerate any of them producing heirs...”
“Your stepmother…”
“Yes. My birth mother vanished in an accident when I was six. Two years later, my father remarried. She stepped into the role of mistress of the Whitmore household.”
She hadn’t expected Lawrence to have gone through sothing like that. In a family as powerful as the Whitmores, a childhood like his couldn’t have been easy.
Sensing her gaze, Lawrence sighed, a bit helpless. “Don’t look at like that. You’ll make seem tragic.”
“I’m sorry…” Clarissa quickly averted her eyes. “I didn’t an it like that, I just…”
But the vision—his blood—kept looping through her mind.
“Clarissa?” Lawrence called softly.
She blinked. “Hm? Sorry, what did you say?”
“You seem a little out of it. Take a break?”
Clarissa nodded and slid down from the horse. “You go ahead. I’ll be fine on my own for a bit.”
He gave a short nod, then turned his horse and rode off.
Clarissa watched his figure disappear into the distance, her mind tangled in unanswered questions.
Just then, a gentle voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Excuse , may I sit here?”
Clarissa turned and saw a woman in a flowing kimono—Yuriko Nomiya, standing beside her with a soft, polished smile.
Clarissa hadn’t recognized her before—Atticus had been blocking her line of sight when the elevator opened.
“Of course,” she said, scooting slightly to the side.
Yuriko Nomiya sat beside her with the grace of soone trained in it since birth. With a flick of her fingers, she summoned a maid, who promptly approached with tea in hand.
After a sip of the fragrant black tea, Yuriko turned to her. “Miss Clarissa, is it?”
“Yes, and you’re Miss Yuriko Nomiya,” Clarissa responded politely.
“Just Yuriko Nomiya is fine. May I call you Clarissa?”
Clarissa smiled. “Of course.”
They made light conversation. Clarissa asked why Yuriko Nomiya had co to here.
There was a pause—barely a second—before the woman answered. “My family… they need a favor from Mr. Gabriel. This is my only chance.”
She smiled faintly. “But I’m afraid I lack the ability to et my father’s expectations.”
“Why would you think that?”
Yuriko leaned in slightly. “Clarissa, could you help with sothing?”
Clarissa blinked. “What is it?”
“Only Atticus has the ability to heal Mr. Gabriel. You’re his fiancée—if you speak to him on my behalf, I’m sure he’d be willing to help.”
“Fiancée? Healing?” Clarissa stared, dumbfounded.
There was so much packed into that one sentence that she couldn’t begin to untangle it.
Yuriko Nomiya’s smile faltered. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?” Clarissa asked.
Clarissa’s gaze instinctively searched the grounds until it landed on Atticus—seated in a white carriage, his profile half-shadowed by the light filtering through the curtains.
She didn’t notice Yuriko Nomiya’s expression darkened. A perfect man like Atticus… wasting his ti on a woman like that?
A woman who had no value to his future. No power. No standing. Not even usefulness.
Yuriko’s eyes glead coldly as Clarissa stood abruptly and walked off, clearly heading toward the carriage.
As Clarissa’s silhouette disappeared behind the hedgerows, Yuriko’s steps grew light and silent. She reached into the silken pouch tied around her waist and drifted toward the white mare Clarissa had tethered beneath the tree. The animal was peacefully grazing, unaware of her presence.
Yuriko dipped her fingers into the sachet, crushing the dried herbs within and murmuring softly under her breath.
“Eat... yes, eat it all, sweet thing.”
Her voice was gentle, as she held the mix under the mare’s nose.
The horse sniffed, then began nibbling the aromatic flakes eagerly, its tail swishing in calm rhythm.A short distance away, Lyra stood under the shade of an old tree, waiting for Dorian, who had promised to teach her how to ride.
She was growing bored when her wandering gaze caught sight of a strange scene—Yuriko Nomiya, kneeling before a horse and… feeding it sothing?
Lyra tilted her head, suspicion stirring. Do horses eat perfu sachets now?
Just then, Dorian appeared with a horse in tow. Lyra noticed his eyes drift imdiately toward the carriage—toward Clarissa, who was speaking with David nearby.
A sour feeling rose in Lyra’s chest.
Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed the front of Dorian’s coat. “Dorian... I’m sorry. I know I can’t help you with much right…”
Dorian sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s fine. I’ve already prepared for the worst. Just eting him today was a step forward.”
But a flicker of sothing colder passed behind his eyes. He would make the Harrington family the first family.
And as for Atticus…
Dorian’s lips curled, but no words ca.
He mounted the horse and then reached down, effortlessly lifting Lyra into the saddle in front of him.
Lyra leaned against his chest, warmth blooming in her heart. She would never let anyone take this man away from her.
.......
anwhile, outside the white carriage—
Clarissa squared her shoulders, she turned to David. “Mr. David, I need to speak with my… bro.”
David blinked, slightly caught off guard. “Brother? Ah—you an Mr. Atticus?”
“Yes. Is he available?”
“Just a mont,” David replied smoothly, and turned toward the door.
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