Dorian exhaled, softening as he brushed a hand through her hair.

  "Silly girl…" His voice was low, soothing. "How could I ever look down on you? You’re too kind for your own good. I just don’t want you getting hurt because you trust the wrong people." He sighed, relenting. "Fine. I’ll help June. Just… don’t cry, okay?"

  Lyra sniffled, looking up at him with glassy eyes. "Really? You will?"

  Dorian nodded.

  "Thank you, Dorian." She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his chest.

  ......

  Clarissa staggered toward the bus stop, but after a few steps, exhaustion crashed down on her. She thought about hailing a taxi, but before she could raise her hand, her vision blurred, and her body swayed.

  The next second, she felt herself falling backward— Only to be caught by a pair of strong hands. A familiar voice drifted into her ears.

  "You okay?"

  That voice... Clarissa tilted her head, her hazy vision clearing just enough to make out an exquisite, almost unreal face. The deep red teardrop mole beneath his eye shimmered in the sunlight, making him look both dangerous and irresistible.

  "Atticus?"

  "Yeah." He was lean, but somehow, his grip on her was steady, firm. Without a word, he helped her over to a bench and eased her down.

  Clarissa sat there for a moment, catching her breath. Her body still felt weak, but at least she wasn’t about to collapse. She glanced up at him. "What are you doing here?"

  Atticus held up a handful of flyers. "Working." Of course. Lately, he’d been taking on multiple jobs a day, barely giving himself a break. This one was probably the easiest—

  Clarissa arched a brow. "Shouldn’t you still be handing those out? Does this count as slacking off?"

  "No. I’m almost done anyway." With his face, he didn’t need to chase people down to give them flyers—they came to him.

  Clarissa chuckled. "Then do me a favor. Buy me a bottle of water." The meds weren’t optional. If she didn’t take them, she was going to crash even harder.

  Atticus didn’t argue. He simply turned and walked off.

  By the time he came back and gave her a bottle of water, then she took her pills. But instead of handing her another bottle, he gave her a look—one that was too sharp, too knowing.

  "Who were those two people earlier?"

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  Clarissa blinked. For a second, she didn’t register what he meant. Then it clicked—Dorian and Lyra.

  She waved a hand dismissively. "One’s my ex-fiancé. The other…" She hesitated, unsure how to explain her tangled connection with Lyra. After a long pause, she finally settled on, "His fiancée now."

  Atticus didn’t react right away, just kept looking at her. "Did they do something to you?"

  Clarissa shook her head. "No."

  "You’re sick."

  "Yeah."

  "Why?"

  Clarissa looked at him and found that his expression hadn’t changed at all. His lips—red like crushed cherries—parted slightly, but he said nothing else.

  This kid is way too good-looking.The kind of beauty that was just the right amount of wicked. What would he look like when he got older? If the story followed its original course, Atticus wouldn’t even make it to twenty. Villains never did.

  But in this moment, all Clarissa could think was—he ranked number one in looks. And William wasn’t bad either.

  If she were the heroine, she could pick anyone. Why the hell did she go for a loser like Dorian?

  Shaking off her ridiculous thoughts, she smirked. "Why am I sick? Why don’t you tell me why you got sick last time?"

  That finally got a reaction out of him. His gaze shifted slightly, his lips pressing into a tight line.

  Clarissa laughed. What a weird kid. But the medicine was kicking in now, making her drowsy. She yawned, stretching lazily. "I should head home. Thanks for today."

  "Are you sure you can make it back alone?"

  With the way she had been swaying on her feet earlier, Atticus wasn’t convinced she could even walk straight, let alone get home safely.

  Clarissa smirked. "What, are you offering to take me home? Won’t that count as skipping work?"

  "Yeah." He turned slightly, then added, almost as an afterthought, "But it doesn’t matter."

  Doesn’t matter? Clarissa studied him. He looked serious—maybe a little too serious. Cute.

  Even if he really was a villain, she didn’t find him scary at all. Not everyone was born bad. People made choices—sometimes those choices backed them into corners they couldn’t escape from.

  At least from what she’d seen, Atticus wasn’t that kind of person. So she grinned, nodding. "Alright then. You’re officially in charge of getting me home safely."

  She rose, meaning to hail a cab—completely missing the way Atticus’ ears turned red.

  But her legs still felt weak. She tried to stand a second time. A third. Each time, she failed. A pair of hands steadied her before she could even think about falling.

  Clarissa blinked. Atticus was shorter than her—by a lot. Most boys grew later than girls, but he was also malnourished. Right now, the top of his head barely reached her waist.

  And yet… His arms were stronger than they looked. She hadn’t even realized he was holding her up until she was already standing again.

  In the end, Atticus was the one who hailed a cab. The moment the car started moving, sleep hit her like a truck.

  Atticus sat beside her in the backseat, tense. The cab smelled like stale air conditioning, cigarette smoke, and worn-out leather—none of it particularly pleasant. But then there was her.

  A scent that wasn’t from perfume, but something that belonged entirely to Clarissa. A scent that somehow… calmed him. Made him want to close his eyes. Just as he was about to shift further away, she suddenly leaned over.

  Atticus’ eyes widened.

  The next second, Clarissa’s head rested against his still-slim shoulder, her soft hair cascading down, cool strands brushing against his arm.

  His entire body went rigid. The scent of her—light, fresh, uniquely hers—became even clearer, wrapping around him in a way that made his pulse quicken.

  He turned slightly and caught a glimpse of her face. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and steady. She had fallen asleep.

  Atticus let out a silent breath of relief, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Without thinking, he shifted, raising his shoulder just a little so she could rest more comfortably.

  From the rearview mirror, the taxi driver watched the scene unfold and let out a small sigh. "You and your sister have a good relationship."

  Atticus blinked. "Sister?"