Before he could knock, it opened.
Atticus jumped down lightly, his dark eyes lighting up the mont he saw her.
“Sis! You ca to find ?” His grin was bright, delighted.
Clarissa scowled and turned away, her tone clipped. “I have questions. Co with .”
Atticus blinked, puzzled. He glanced toward David. “Did she say anything?”
David’s reply was calm and reserved. “Please take care of yourself, sir.”
“….” Atticus frowned. Sothing was clearly off. But even if Clarissa was angry, she would only scold him a few words at most.
He didn’t waste another second and quickly followed her.
Clarissa led Atticus beneath a slender birch tree, then crossed her arms and fixed him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
“Atticus,” she said through clenched teeth, “are you here for a vacation—or for the Loxley family? And while we’re at it, why did you tell people I was your fiancée?”
Who the hell opened their mouth? “I can explain,” he said, reaching for her hand, but Clarissa yanked it away before he could touch her.
“Then go ahead. I’m listening.”
Atticus quickly outlined the basics about Gabriel—his strange affliction, the circumstances, and the hidden truths behind this so-called vacation.
Clarissa’s brows furrowed. “So... what I saw that night was real?”
“Yes,” Atticus confird, his voice low. “Gabriel’s condition is—let’s just say—unnatural. He needs fresh human blood every day, like so grotesque addiction. And sunlight? His skin blisters.”
Clarissa’s hand flew to her mouth in horror. Suddenly the man’s porcelain-pale skin and nocturnal habits made perfect sense. He’s like… a vampire.
Atticus chuckled. “Not exactly. The blood cos through official channels. It’s all very civilized.” Then his smile faded. “But Mrs. Rose… well,.....even I’m still investigating her.”
Clarissa exhaled slowly. “And you really think you can cure him?”
“I do,” Atticus replied confidently. “But I won’t.”
“What?” Her confusion deepened. “Why not?”
Atticus glanced around. Then without warning, he stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms.
“Hey!” Clarissa struggled, but he held her firm.
“Shh,” he murmured into her ear. “It’s safer if I say this close.”
She stopped fighting. His breath was hot against her skin, his voice intimate.
“You’ve heard the saying, right? Tie a fresh bundle of grass in front of a stubborn ox, and it’ll keep moving forward.”
Clarissa frowned. “That’s hardly the sa thing—”
She fell silent halfway through. The implication hit her.
Atticus gave a wicked little smile. “Humans are no different. Keep the prize just out of reach, and they’ll run themselves ragged to get it.”
Clarissa stared at him, stunned. For a mont, it felt like she was looking at a stranger. The boy she raised—sweet, bright-eyed, and full of warmth—felt like a mory. The man standing in front of her now was sothing else entirely. Cunning. Dangerous. Calculating.
Atticus noticed her expression shift and softened his voice. “What’s that look for?”
Clarissa shook her head. “Atticus, I don’t care if you want to pursue power or build a career. You’re not a child anymore. But can’t you at least talk to first?"
"I know I can’t help you with much, but I deserve to know what’s happening. And more than that—how could you use Grandpa’s dical teachings like this?”
Her voice cracked. He was the only family she had now. But it felt like she didn’t even know him anymore.”
Atticus secretly thought that he was too proud of himself, hadn’t expected that. He tried to hold her again, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Sis… I’m sorry. I just wanted to keep you happy. I knew if I told you, you’d say I was betraying Grandpa…”
Clarissa shoved him back hard. “And you knew—but you did it anyway?!”
“Sis—”
“Don’t call that!”
She backed away from him, breathing unevenly. “You don’t listen to . Everything I say just goes in one ear and out the other, doesn’t it?”
Atticus reached for her again, but she stepped out of reach.
“I’m going back tomorrow,” she said coldly. “You stay here. I need ti to think—and you’re not coming with .”
And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away without looking back.
......
Clarissa stord toward the tree where her mare was tied. Without hesitation, she untied the reins and climbed into the saddle.
Her emotions were boiling over. She needed to clear her head—to feel the wind in her face. But barely had they gone a few strides when sothing changed.
The mare shrieked—a piercing, unnatural sound—and suddenly jerked sideways.
"What—Ah!" Clarissa’s scream split the air as the horse reared violently beneath her. She barely kept herself from being thrown, clinging desperately to the reins.
She tried to rember what she’d learned—how to control it, calm it—but none of it worked.
The mare was beyond panic. It bolted.
At the sa ti, Atticus was mid-question, trying to interrogate a maid about who had spoken to Clarissa earlier. But the mont he heard her scream, his heart stopped cold.
He whipped around and saw a terrifying blur of white—a horse gone mad, Clarissa barely holding on.
No thought. No hesitation.
He sprinted to a servant leading a horse nearby.
“Lend it to !” Atticus leapt onto the stallion, kicked its sides, and vanished like black lightning across the field.
“Hey! That horse belongs to the Duke! You can’t—!”
The words fell behind him like dust. Soone else, having witnessed the scene, tore off in the opposite direction to alert the butler.
Clarissa’s wild ride didn’t go unnoticed. Panic was already spreading across the grounds.
Not far away, Lawrence and Dorian were both enjoying a casual ride, Dorian keeping an eye on Lawrence while playing the part of a relaxed companion.
A frantic male servant ca sprinting across the grass. “Butler! Soone, quick—there’s a lady’s horse gone wild! It’s heading for the cliffs!”
“What? Who? Which lady?!”
“The S-country guest! Long black hair, stunning face—oh, she’s the one with Mr. Atticus!”
Clarissa?
Dorian’s blood ran cold, but Lawrence reacted faster.
Even before the servant had finished the sentence, Lawrence had jerked his reins hard and shot off like a bullet toward the cliffs.
Dorian cursed under his breath and slid off his horse. He pulled Lyra down too. Lyra looked up, startled. “Dorian? What’s going on?”
“Clarissa’s in trouble. Stay here. If you get lost, ask one of the maids.”
He didn’t wait for her response. A mont later, he was back in the saddle, chasing the others.
Her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into flesh. Just then, David appeared beside her. “Miss, do you need soone to help you rest?”
She flinched, caught off guard.
David’s tone remained gentle. “Don’t be afraid. No one will harm you. If you'd like, I can escort you back. Or the maids can help.”
He paused. “Miss Clarissa’s horse is out of control, charging toward the cliffs. It’s very dangerous. I’ve sent people to intercept it.”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode away.
Around her, staff and guests were running toward the edge of the estate, the direction of the cliffs.
Lyra stood in the center of the chaos—still, quiet. Yuriko Nomiya. The sachet. The mare.
Did Yuriko... poison the horse?
If Clarissa was gone, she wouldn’t have to worry about being second-best. Her parents would only have her. Dorian wouldn’t be swayed by soone else’s presence.
If Clarissa died... it would be perfect.
Soone brushed against her shoulder.
“Oh—sorry!” the stranger called, dashing off.
Lyra blinked and gasped, the daze breaking like glass. What was I thinking?
She pressed a hand over her mouth, horror settling over her like frost. How could I think sothing like that?
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