“What? You said you don’t want revenge?” June’s voice rose, sharp with disbelief, as she shot to her feet.
Lyra clutched her teacup, her knuckles white, and looked up slowly. “June, calm down. Just listen to …”
“Listen?” June snapped. “Lyra, have you forgotten how Clarissa humiliated you? And now you say you don’t bla her? What the hell are you thinking?”
Lyra lowered her gaze, her voice faint. “June… she never truly wronged . She was spoiled, yes—she looked down on , but she never set up. And besides…” her lips trembled, “I stole her fiancé.”
June’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Lyra, you and Mr. Dorian love each other. Who cares about appearances? In any relationship, the one unloved is the mistress. Isn’t that right?”
Unloved.
Lyra laughed bitterly to herself. How ironic. Soon enough, *she* would be the unloved one. Even if Clarissa didn’t co between them, she doubted she could keep Dorian for long.
Shaking her head, she said quietly, “No matter what, don’t provoke Clarissa again. My parents adore her. They’ve always been good to , and I don’t want them caught in the middle.”
“Lyra—!”
“That’s enough.” Lyra set her cup down and reached for June’s hand with a gentle smile. “I know you care about . But I really don’t want to hurt anyone.”
June’s eyes darkened. “Lyra, you’re too kind. That’s why that bitch always walks all over you.”
Lyra only smiled faintly. “I’m fine. Honestly, I think Clarissa is… very charming. I can’t even compare to her, can I?”
June recoiled like she’d been slapped. “What? Lyra, what’s gotten into you? Don’t tell you’ve been bewitched by that woman!”
“No.” Lyra shook her head softly. “I’m just being honest.”
She smiled again, serene and resigned. “Let’s drop the subject. Co on, let’s order sothing to eat.”
But June’s gaze lingered, her smile twisting with sothing colder.
Later that evening, she slamd her bag onto the sofa the mont she stepped into her apartnt.
Ivy, draped lazily across the couch with a cigarette between her fingers, arched a brow. “Who pissed you off this ti?”
“Who else?” June spat, pacing furiously. Then she stopped short, her eyes flashing. “You said before you could ruin Clarissa’s reputation. All this ti, why hasn’t she suffered even once?”
She rembered seeing Clarissa in the street recently, radiant and untouchable.
Why? Why was a lowborn bastard like her so blessed? Beautiful, adored, defended by everyone—while I was left scraping in the shadows.
Her fists curled tight at her sides, nails biting into her palms.
Ivy flicked her ash into a tray and studied her. “You really do hate that woman.”
“Of course I hate her!” June snarled. “Besides my bastard father and that filthy mongrel Darkwood, I hate Clarissa most of all. Hypocritical, self-righteous bitch!”
Ivy exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “Strange. The man I relied on never fails, but this ti Clarissa slipped through. Soone must be backing her.”
June’s eyes widened. “The Lancasters? Her parents still dote on her like she’s their own. I’ll never understand—My real father betrays over and over, but the Lancasters keep cherishing her, even though she isn’t their blood.”
“Could be,” Ivy murmured. “But the Lancaster family’s not exactly secure right now.”
June grabbed her hand, desperation softening her fury. “Didn’t you say you had ties with the Stormvale family? Ivy, you can help , right? You’re clever, capable—you promised before. I have nothing left. You’re all I have. You’re the only one I trust.”
Her pitiful tears streaked down her cheeks as she clung to Ivy.
Ivy’s lips curved in a faint smile. She pulled June into her arms, stroking her back. “You’re the most important person to too. Don’t worry. As long as I’m here, I won’t let you suffer injustice.”
June nodded against her shoulder, her voice trembling. “Good. I swear, I won’t rest until Clarissa is destroyed. I want her ruined, filthy, crawling in the dirt like a whore. I want her stripped of that false nobility once and for all.”
Ivy’s smile sharpened, her voice velvet and cruel. “Then that’s what she’ll get.”
Lyra might have no ambition, but June was different. She would burn the world before she let Clarissa shine.
And in her eyes, a dark hunger flickered.
.....
After a long day buried in paperwork, Clarissa finally set her pen down. She stretched her stiff shoulders, gathered the files into a neat stack, and headed downstairs to the garage.
She had planned to drive straight ho, but her steps slowed when she passed the glowing window of a well-known watch boutique.
For a mont she hesitated, then turned the car around and found a spot. Sothing in the display had caught her eye.
Atticus had plenty of jewelry—rings, cufflinks, little tokens she’d given him over ti—but he didn’t own a proper watch. In the window she’d seen a new model, sleek and striking, and she couldn’t resist going in for a closer look.
Inside, her gaze fixed on it instantly. The strap was crocodile leather, supple and dark. The dial, midnight black, shimred faintly—not with diamonds, but with a subtle jade glint embedded in the stone, glowing like starlight under the display lights.
Clarissa’s lips curved. It was perfect for Atticus. Masculine, understated, but still gleaming with a quiet luxury that reminded her of him.
“Miss, may I see this one, please?” she said to the clerk.
At the exact sa mont, another voice echoed hers: “Could you take that one out for ?”
Both voices cut across each other. Both turned. And both froze.
“You?”
Lawrence blinked, montarily surprised. Then he recovered with a smooth smile. “Well. What a coincidence.”
Clarissa composed herself just as quickly, answering with her own polite smile. “Yes… it really is.”
The clerk, sensing their familiarity, brightened and began explaining enthusiastically.
“You both have an excellent eye. This is our newest release—and the last one left.”
Lawrence’s gaze lingered on Clarissa. His smile softened. “Then let the lady have it.”
At once, the clerk lifted the watch from the case and placed it in Clarissa’s hands.
She turned it over delicately, feeling the fine leather and solid weight. The craftsmanship was impeccable. Without hesitation, she settled the bill. While the clerk wrapped the box, she glanced sideways at Lawrence. “Thank you.”
“You’re welco,” he said lightly. Then his tone shifted, curious. “But… this is a n’s watch.”
Clarissa’s cheeks ward, though she didn’t flinch. “Yes. It’s a gift.”
His brows arched slightly. “For soone important, then?”
Her laugh was soft, a little self-conscious. “Is it that obvious?” She rubbed her cheek, then nodded with calm certainty. “Yes. For my boyfriend.”
The admission seed to startle him. Lawrence hesitated, then asked carefully, “Would that be… Atticus?”
“Yes,” she answered without pause.
At that mont, the clerk returned with the wrapped box. “Here you are, miss. Please keep this safe.”
“Thank you.” Clarissa accepted it, and with a brief nod to Lawrence, added, “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.”
“Of course,” he murmured. “I’ll take a look at the rest.”
Clarissa didn’t linger. She turned gracefully and left.
......
By the ti she reached ho, the sky was dusky. She set the gift bag on the coffee table, expecting to be greeted by warmth and movent—but the house was quiet. Empty.
She glanced at the clock. A little after six.
“That’s odd. He should be back by now.”
Normally, Atticus would already have dinner half-prepared, the faint clatter of pots filling the silence.
Instead, she slipped off her coat, placed the box carefully on the table, and headed into the kitchen. She took a basket from its hook.
If he was late, he would be tired when he ca ho. Tonight, she would shop for fresh vegetables and cook for him instead.
She wanted to feed him, care for him, reward him. And later, when the food was gone and the lights were low, she would reward him in other ways too.
Her lips curved faintly at the thought as she stepped out into the cooling evening.
....
Clarissa had just pulled her basket from the kitchen when she bumped into her neighbor and the woman’s daughter.
The neighbor’s eyes lit up imdiately when she saw her. “Oh, Miss Clarissa! Hello.”
Clarissa nodded politely. “Hello. Out for a walk?”
“Yes, we just finished dinner.” The woman’s gaze shifted past her shoulder, as though checking for soone. “Are you buying groceries? Is your brother not ho today?”
The word brother still rang strangely in Clarissa’s ears, but her expression didn’t waver. “He’s busy today. I thought I’d make dinner for him.”
“You two siblings are really close.” The neighbor hesitated, then added casually, “By the way, does your brother have a girlfriend?”
Clarissa blinked, caught off guard. Instead of answering, she countered lightly, “Why do you ask all of a sudden?”
The woman chuckled, realizing her nosiness. “Oh, nothing! It just struck —he’s finished college, started working. He’s in dicine, isn’t he? My daughter here is a freshman in the dical program.”
Clarissa finally turned her attention to the girl. Pretty. Innocent.
The girl flushed under Clarissa’s gaze but still greeted softly, “Hello, sister.”
Clarissa inclined her head. “Hello.”
As expected, the next line ca right on cue: “Why don’t you bring Atticus over for dinner soti? It would be such a nice chance for them to get to know each other.”
Two pairs of hopeful eyes looked at her. Clarissa forced a polite smile. “We’ll see.”
Inside, irritation burned. For years she had gone to great lengths to keep her relationship with Atticus hidden. Now, everywhere she turned, won circled him like moths to a fla.
She wanted to snap, He’s mine. Don’t even think about it.
But she swallowed it back, said her goodbyes, and finally escaped to the market.
Groceries in hand, she hurried ho.
By the ti Atticus walked through the door, the living room was already scented with dinner. He froze, catching the aroma, then drifted instinctively toward the kitchen.
There she was. Apron tied around her waist, hair tucked back, slender figure bending gracefully over the stove. From behind, the curve of her waist and hips was perfection—taut, feminine, impossible to look away from.
Atticus stepped forward, slipped his arms around her, and pulled her back against his chest.
Clarissa jumped, then relaxed when she felt his warmth. She tilted her head enough to see him. “You’re back.”
“Mhm.” He bent to kiss her cheek, but she turned away and blocked him with her hand. “Stop. I’m cooking. Go.”
Denied, Atticus only tightened his hold, eyes lingering on her face. “What’s wrong? Are you upset?”
Clarissa rolled her eyes. “No. Which part of looks upset?”
“Maybe it’s because I ca ho late and you missed ,” he teased, gripping her waist more firmly.
Clarissa gave him a look half amusent, half exasperation. “Narcissist. Who would miss you?”
He dipped lower, resting his chin on her shoulder, his breath hot against her neck. “Are you sure? You really don’t miss ?”
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