As he scribbled on the prescription pad, he added casually, “Oh, and the man who accidentally hit her—he’s still waiting outside. He said he’s willing to cover all the expenses, including compensation for emotional distress. You can speak to him directly if you want.”
“He’s still here?”
The doctor nodded without looking up.
Clarissa took the papers in her hands and turned, her footsteps echoing sharply against the hospital floor as she made her way to the entrance.
She pushed the door open—and froze.
Standing just outside, leaning casually against the wall, was Lawrence. He hadn’t changed. The sa silver-gray suit, though now with a faint, almost imperceptible crease. His gold-rimd glasses caught the hospital lights.
Lawrence had changed into a beige suit. It softened his usually sharp aura, lending him an air of refined elegance that felt strangely disarming.
"You..." His brows lifted when he saw Clarissa, clearly caught off guard. But it lasted only a second before his composed smile returned. "I didn’t expect Ms. Clentine to be your mother. I'm sorry."
Clarissa’s emotions were tangled—confused, wary, and sothing else she couldn’t quite na. Her eyes dropped slightly as she gestured toward the bench along the corridor. "Sit down."
They sat side by side in the dim hallway, where the faint scent of disinfectant lingered in the air between them. Lawrence leaned back with effortless grace and began to explain.
"My mother ca to see today. I was driving to our eting point, and just as I turned the corner... your mother ran out into the road. She looked panicked. I slamd the brakes, but I was a second too late."
Clarissa’s brows knit together. Her voice was soft, but thoughtful. "I see…"
"Auntie—your mother—she must be seriously hurt," Lawrence said, his gaze searching hers. "I’ll take care of all the dical bills, of course. It’s the least I can do."
Clarissa shook her head gently. "There’s no need. You’ve already been generous enough. Honestly, the cost of my mom’s treatnt probably doesn’t even compare to your suit. And besides... she’s going to be okay."
Lawrence’s lips quirked into a slow, amused smile. "Then I suppose we’re even. You don’t pay for the suit, and I won’t pay for the hospital bills or damages."
Clarissa gave a small laugh, light. "If Professor Lawrence believes that’s fair, then I won’t argue."
"Fair and fated, I’d say. We seem to keep running into each other—even if the circumstances are always... complicated."
Clarissa glanced at him, unable to suppress a helpless smile. "You’re not wrong."
Lawrence turned to study her, his expression shifting subtly. There was sothing in her—the quiet resilience, the warmth behind her eyes—that pulled at him.
Clarissa, too, felt it. That strange flicker beneath the surface. A heat that wasn’t just from the tension of the day. Sothing intimate. Electric.
She opened her mouth to speak—but a sharp voice cut through the air.
“Get away from her.”
Clarissa blinked. Her head turned, only to see Atticus striding toward them, a takeout bag in one hand, his other clenched into a fist. His eyes were wild—dark and sharp with a protective fire that bordered on possessive.
"Atticus!" Clarissa’s tone was firm, almost scolding, but he didn’t back down.
His gaze stayed locked on Lawrence, hard and hostile. “Who is this?”
Clarissa quickly slipped her wrist free from Atticus’s grip and stepped in front of him, her voice apologetic. “I’m sorry. He’s my younger brother. He’s just... overprotective.”
Lawrence smiled, his expression as unbothered as ever. “It’s quite alright. If I had a beautiful sister like you, I’d be protective too.”
Atticus’s jaw tensed.
Clarissa lowered her gaze, flustered. “Professor Lawrence, you really know how to tease.”
“I wasn’t joking.” Lawrence’s voice was low—quiet, but sure. Then his eyes flicked to the food bag in Atticus’s hand. “Seems dinner hasn’t happened yet. I’ll let you go..”
Clarissa nodded. “I’ll walk you out.”
He shook his head gently. “No need. My driver should be here by now. Take care of your mother.”
And just like that, he turned and walked away. Even in the harsh lights of the hospital hallway, Lawrence’s figure radiated calm power. Every step was deliberate. Poised.
Clarissa stood there a mont too long, staring at his back.
Atticus watched her, his eyes darkening.
The way her gaze lingered. The softness in her expression. It made sothing twist deep inside him.
He reached out and suddenly grabbed her hand, his grip tight.“Clarissa.”
She turned to him slowly. “Hmm? What is it?”
Usually, she’d correct him imdiately—tell him not to call her by na so casually. But this ti… she didn’t.
She just responded. Soft. Distracted.
That silence told him everything. She was still thinking about him.
Atticus forced a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing. I’m starving. Co eat. I brought your favorites.”
Clarissa blinked, snapped from her daze. Her stomach growled at the ntion of food, and she gave him a faint smile. “Alright.”
.....
Outside the hospital, a sleek, extended Lincoln was parked quietly by the curb. Inside, a stunning woman sat composedly, her features sharp and elegant, her aura commanding.
As Lawrence approached, the butler stepped forward and respectfully opened the door for him.
He slid inside with practiced ease, his movents poised and dignified. His gaze fell on the woman seated beside him. “Mother.”
Veronica turned her head only slightly, her expression cool, her voice colder. “Well? How did it go?”
“It’s settled. The woman’s fine. No serious injuries.”
The hand twisting her diamond-studded ring froze montarily—but only for a heartbeat. Then, as if nothing had happened, she resud, her tone flat. “You shouldn’t have gone in person. Just have soone send over a check. Keep it clean.”
Lawrence’s brow furrowed slightly, displeased. “Regardless, it was my fault. I was behind the wheel. An apology is the least I can offer.”
Her lips curled with disinterest. “Do whatever you want. I’ve already wasted enough of my day.”
“Drive,” she ordered, and the butler closed the door, sliding into the front seat.
Lawrence glanced at her, sothing unreadable in his gaze. “Weren’t you supposed to be at the airport today? Why were you even there?”
Veronica leaned her head back, not looking at him. “I had a craving for those sesa pastries from that little bakery near the plaza.” Her voice was dismissive. “But they weren’t as good as I rembered.”
He didn’t respond. There was no point. The silence in the car grew heavy, stretching between them like smoke.
The vehicle eventually pulled into a private, ivy-wrapped villa nestled in the heart of a gated estate. When the doors opened, rows of uniford servants stood waiting outside, heads bowed.
“Madam. Master.”
Veronica stepped out first, her heels clicking crisply on the marble. She gave the surroundings a cursory glance. “It’s well-decorated. I assu you're comfortable living here?”
“Everything’s fine. Thank you for asking, Mother.”
She gave him a cold, unreadable glance, then walked toward the guest wing where she would spend the night.
Later, the scent of sandalwood incense curled through the quiet air of the bedroom. Veronica sat calmly in a silk nightgown, a string of obsidian prayer beads gliding between her fingers. Her movents were thodical. Almost hypnotic.
Then—the door opened with a thud.
A man in a black suit dragged in another man—older, frail, around sixty. His gray hair was a ss, and his face was lined with desperation. The man was forced to his knees in front of her.
“Madam... please... I beg you. I swear, I don’t know anything—”
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