That night, after showering, Clarissa brewed a cup of soothing tea according to Atticus’s instructions and lit the incense he had given her.
The scent was faint but elegant—a soft, unidentifiable floral fragrance laced with a subtle dicinal note. It was strangely calming.
After drinking her tea, she lay down on the bed. Before she even realized it, she had drifted into sleep.
The dream she had that night was… strange.
She dread that she was living with soone other than Clentine. It seed to be a boy. She taught him how to play the piano, how to draw… She watched him grow up little by little.
She was incredibly happy. Peaceful. Fulfilled.
Clarissa slept until after ten the next morning. She lay in bed savoring the lingering warmth of the dream, her heart filled with quiet joy.
Other than Clentine… did she have any other relatives?
The boy in her dream had been much younger than her, and just looking at him had filled her with happiness. A younger brother? That didn’t seem right either…
She was still lost in thought when a deep growl from Abyss snapped her back to reality. She glanced at the clock—already eleven.
“Oh no!” Clarissa imdiately apologized, jumping up. “I’m so sorry, I’ll make your breakfast right now.”
Abyss rolled its eyes. By the ti it finally got its food, it was practically lunchti.
While happily gnawing on its at, it thought bitterly:
If she keeps seeing Atticus, I’m going to starve to death sooner or later.
In the living room, Abyss ate contentedly while Clarissa grabbed a sandwich and scrolled through her phone.
After answering all her ssages, she paused when she reached Mark’s.
“I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow night. There are so things I want to tell you.”
A location was attached beneath the ssage.
Clarissa stared at the screen for a long mont before closing it.
After thinking for a few seconds, her eyes suddenly lit up. She turned and dialed Oriana.
“Oriana? Can you do a favor…”
When she finished the call, Clarissa sighed in relief and ssaged Mark back:
“I have sothing else to take care of. I won’t be going. Let’s just keep in touch by phone or text.”
Only after sending it did she finally calm down and continue eating her breakfast.
Abyss had already finished and was lying at her feet. It lifted its head and saw Clarissa grinning at her phone, silently thinking how fickle won truly were.
Clarissa was now chatting with Atticus. They had added each other on social dia the night before.
Atticus: “Did you sleep well last night?”
Clarissa: “Very well. The incense worked a little too well—I slept in by accident.”
She hadn’t wanted to wake up from that dream at all.
Atticus: “That’s good. Have you had any strange dreams again?”
Clarissa: “Not lately.”
Ever since she started seeing Atticus, those unsettling dreams had disappeared. In their place were gentle, beautiful dreams filled with warmth—dreams she never wanted to wake from.
She always credited his exceptional dical skill for it.
On the other side of the screen, Atticus stared at her reply, his fingers twitching slightly before he typed:
“What kind of dream was it?”
Clarissa briefly described the scene from her dream and sent it to Atticus.
The mont he read the ssage, his body shuddered violently. His grip on the phone nearly faltered.
Another ssage followed almost imdiately.
“The boy in my dream felt so familiar. I really like him. Every ti I see him, my heart feels full of happiness. Dr. Atticus… could this be because I secretly want a younger brother?”
Atticus stared at the screen, frozen for a long ti.
The man who was usually smooth-tongued and calculating found himself completely at a loss.
In the past, he would have taken advantage of this without hesitation—he would have misled her, manipulated her feelings, used her affection and sympathy as tools, bending her however he pleased.
But now… he hesitated.
After a long mont, he took a deep breath and finally typed:
“As long as your sleep isn’t being seriously affected, there’s no need to worry.”
“Oh… I understand.”
Clarissa’s reply ca quickly, but Atticus could tell she hadn’t wanted to end the conversation. On his screen, her profile photo remained displayed—a self-portrait.
The woman in the photo was breathtakingly beautiful. Her skin was translucent and fair, her almond-shaped eyes soft and gentle, her features delicate and refined. She looked nothing like the calm, worldly woman she appeared to be now.
Atticus stared at the image, his eyes filled with obsession and unbearable tenderness.
So people appeared strong and rational on the outside, yet were far more fragile than anyone knew. Clarissa was exactly that way.
Her upbringing had shaped her into soone timid at her core—like a small animal curled inside its shell. A single careless touch was enough to make her raise her tiny defenses, covered in thorns.
Clarissa was, at heart, an exquisitely gentle woman. She never deliberately offended anyone. She was brilliant at managing relationships, always calculating利益 and boundaries clearly in her mind. If an argunt would bring her no benefit, she would never engage in it.
Atticus could easily imagine what she must have been like when she first entered the world—bullied, exploited, trampled on. Through trial after trial, she learned to protect herself and beca the composed, rational woman she was today.
But in doing so, she also isolated herself.
Family. Colleagues. Friends. Lovers.
Every relationship in her life was neatly classified and carefully distanced.
She longed for love—yet she feared it just as deeply.
And under these circumstances, his past actions had undoubtedly touched the most sensitive nerve in her heart.
What she wanted was simple, equal, ordinary love.
But he couldn’t give her that.
So she chose to leave.
Between them lay too many misunderstandings and irreversible mistakes… every single one caused by him.
Back then, she had offered him her best without hesitation.
And he had never once truly respected her.
He had been too arrogant. Too proud. Believing he could control everything—including her. He had even tried to possess her like an object… even to control her thoughts.
At that thought, Atticus covered his face.
Sha flooded him.
He longed to see her again—yet at the sa ti felt utterly unworthy of standing beside her. This tornt followed him day after day, minute after minute, gnawing at his soul.
On Clarissa’s side, seeing no reply for a long ti left her faintly disappointed. Still, she gathered her courage and sent another ssage.
“Dr. Atticus… do I need another follow-up in the next few days?”
Atticus stared at the screen for a long ti before replying slowly:
“Your condition has improved. You won’t need one for the next couple of days.”
“Oh…”
The disappointnt in her heart deepened. She typed out another ssage—then erased it. Typed again. Deleted again. After several rounds of hesitation, she finally sent one carefully worded sentence:
“The restaurant you took to last ti was really good. Is Dr. Atticus a regular there?”
Clarissa stared nervously at the screen. Though only seconds passed, it felt like hours.
Atticus replied quickly this ti.
“Reservations are difficult there, but I’m free tomorrow. If Miss Clarissa would like, how about we go together?”
Her heart leapt.
“Okay, you decide the ti.”
“Then let’s have lunch at 11 a.m. tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
After the conversation ended, Clarissa held her phone tightly in her hands, her smile slowly spreading across her face.
Nearby, Abyss watched her radiant, lovesick expression—pink hearts practically floating around her—and sighed inwardly.
It’s over. Completely hopeless.
I honestly don’t know what the hell is so great about that bastard Atticus.
Knowing she was going out with Atticus the next day, Clarissa spent nearly two full hours in the bathroom that night on skincare and treatnt. She finally erged wrapped in a bathrobe, face mask on, and imdiately dove into her closet.
Within minutes, her bed was covered in a ss of clothes—almost all black.
Clarissa felt a headache coming on.
Over the years, she rarely dressed up. Her everyday outfits were simple and understated. For work, a T-shirt, pants, and a ponytail were enough. Even for formal occasions, she usually chose a plain black dress, wore her hair down, and skipped makeup altogether.
But today…
She didn’t want to see him like that.
Clarissa sat on the bed, thinking for a long ti. Finally, she stood up and called Oriana.
“Oriana? Bring sothing.”
Oriana had been watching a drama late into the night when Clarissa’s call jolted her awake—ordering her to go shopping for clothes. She felt as though she’d entered an entirely new universe.
Since when did Miss Clarissa start caring about dressing up?
Without even changing clothes, Oriana rushed out that sa night. She selected nearly twenty outfits, along with matching shoes, jewelry, and handbags, and arranged for everything to be delivered to Clarissa’s place.
After the staff left, Oriana couldn’t contain her excitent and ran straight into Clarissa’s bedroom.
She imdiately saw Clarissa sitting at the vanity, applying facial oil.
It was the first ti Oriana had ever seen her like this.
Clarissa’s skin was flawlessly fair and smooth—more delicate than a peeled egg. Her robe had slipped slightly open, revealing elegant, luminous collarbones that seed to glow under the light.
Oriana swallowed hard.
Miss Clarissa had grown more beautiful year by year. Even as a woman, she found it impossible to resist.
“Miss Clarissa, I’ve put all the clothes in the living room.”
“Okay. Thank you for your hard work,” Clarissa said softly. “I’ll transfer your overti pay tomorrow.”
Although Oriana was burning with curiosity about who Clarissa was eting, a top-tier assistant knew when to mind her boundaries. She wisely turned and left without asking a single question.
On the drive back, however, her mind raced.
Could it be Mark?
The thought alone made her shake her head. Then, out of nowhere, a breathtakingly handso face flashed through her mind.
Holy shit…
No way. Impossible… right?
Oriana swallowed hard as a gleam of excitent lit up her eyes. She glanced at the distant buildings swallowed by darkness, a slow smile curving her lips before she started the car and drove off.
Inside the apartnt, Clarissa sifted through the clothes Oriana had bought. Her taste was impeccable—every outfit was beautiful—but Clarissa still felt dissatisfied. She didn’t want anything too showy.
After searching for a long ti, she finally picked out a uniquely styled skirt.
It was a pleated skirt with a lace-paneled bodice and a black hem, simple yet delicately detailed, paired with a soft cardigan. She studied herself in the mirror and felt quietly pleased—then turned and saw the chaos in the living room and bedroom.
Clarissa sighed and rolled up her sleeves to clean.
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