Hard to get? Was this her new way of winning him back?

  Clarissa let out a breathless laugh. Her gaze was steady, unwavering. “Dorian, you really think too highly of yourself.”

  Pain shot through Clarissa’s wrist, her face paling. "Dorian, I've said everything I needed to say. From now on, you and Lyra will be together. I’ll take the money and walk away. I won’t bother you again."

  Dorian’s grip didn’t loosen. His dark eyes locked onto hers. "Then why humiliate Lyra in front of everyone?" His voice was low, cold. "You went too far."

  Clarissa let out a soft laugh, even as the pain dulled to a distant throb. "I humiliated her?"

  Her lips curled, but there was no amusement in her smile. "She wanted an apology, didn’t she?" Her voice was steady, unwavering. "She knew I was your ex-fiancée, but she still insisted that I attend your engagement party. She even had my mother beg me. Forced me to accept her apology. Forced me to bless your marriage."

  She tilted her head, her voice thick with mockery. "I did all of it. And now you say I went too far?"

  She stepped closer, locking eyes with him. "Dorian, ask yourself—who was really out of line here?"

  For the first time, Dorian faltered. Clarissa had always been proud. Since childhood, she would rather throw something away than let someone else take it from her.

  And yet, she had stood there, done what was asked of her, and walked away with her head high. Lyra had been the one to push for it.

  His jaw tightened. "But you didn’t have to do it in front of all those people—"

  "Dorian." Her voice cut through his like a blade. "There were hundreds of people there. Do you know how they looked at me? Like I was an abandoned woman. You only cared about Lyra’s feelings—what about mine?"

  Her eyes burned, but she didn’t look away. "She needs to be protected? But when someone steals my fiancé, when I’m the one being humiliated, am I just supposed to accept it?"

  Dorian’s breath hitched. "Clarissa—" But he had nothing to say. Nothing to refute.

  His grip loosened, and Clarissa pulled her wrist free, rubbing the red marks he’d left behind. She had nothing more to waste on this conversation. She turned to leave.

  But just as she took a step forward, his voice came from behind her. "Fine. Consider this my apology. I’ll give you whatever compensation you want."

  Clarissa stopped. Slowly, she turned her head slightly. Her voice was soft, but razor-sharp. "I don’t need anything from you."

  A breath. Then, her lips curved into a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes.

  "All I want is for you and Lyra to stay far, far away from me. Forever. I wish you happiness."

  She walked away, her steps firm. For some reason, something in her chest twisted. It was faint. Almost imperceptible. The last remnants of the old Clarissa—of the girl who had once loved Dorian Lancaster—faded into nothingness.

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  Dorian stood frozen, watching her disappear into the night. His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

  By the time Clarissa returned home, it was well past midnight. She hadn’t eaten. Her stomach was empty, but the exhaustion weighed heavier.

  She didn’t want to disturb the household, nor did she want to trouble the Lancaster family driver. After stopping by a nearby shop to buy Atticus the red bean rice cakes he had asked for, she headed straight home.

  The house was quiet, cloaked in a peaceful stillness. Clementine had likely gone to bed early. Clarissa moved carefully, opening the door with practiced silence. She set the rice cakes in the fridge and moved to the kitchen, pulling out a bundle of noodles from the cabinet.

  Just as she was about to pour the steaming broth into her bowl, a quiet shuffle of footsteps reached her ears. She looked up.

  Atticus stood at the doorway, watching her. His dark eyes swept over her figure, taking in the oversized home clothes that swallowed her frame, the way her delicate hands handled the bowl with ease.

  And then, his gaze landed on her wrist. A bruise. A dark, faintly purpling mark wrapped around her skin like a cruel imprint. A man’s handprint.

  Clarissa turned, her soft brown eyes lighting up with surprise. "Atticus?"

  His voice was calm, unreadable. "It’s late. Why are you still up?"

  She offered him a small smile. "I got home late. I didn’t mean to wake you."

  He leaned against the doorway, his gaze flickering toward the bowl in her hands. "…I’m a little hungry."

  Clarissa blinked, then let out a quiet chuckle.

  She picked up another bowl. "Is that so? Then do you want noodles? You can have mine, or..." She paused, then offered with a small smile, "I bought you red bean rice cakes."

  Atticus didn't hesitate. "Red bean rice cake."

  Clarissa chuckled. "Alright, I’ll heat it up." She turned, taking the rice cakes from the fridge and placing them in the microwave. The soft hum of the machine filled the silence as they waited.

  A few minutes later, they sat across from each other at the table, eating quietly. The only sound was the soft clink of utensils and the occasional rustle of fabric as one of them shifted.

  Atticus wasn’t particularly hungry, but he ate anyway. The rice cakes were good—sweet and sticky, the perfect balance of soft and chewy. Still, after a while, the sweetness became a little overwhelming. Even so, he stubbornly finished an entire piece.

  Clarissa noticed when he reached for a second one. "Glutinous rice is heavy," she reminded him gently. "It’s hard to digest at night. You shouldn't eat too much."

  Atticus didn’t respond right away. He simply put the rice cake down, his fingers brushing lightly over the plate.

  "Weren’t you full earlier?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "I was," he admitted. Then, after a beat, "I just got hungry again."

  Clarissa smiled, reaching for her bowl of noodles. "You’re still growing. You should eat more, but in moderation."

  Atticus froze. Growing? Sure, he wasn’t as tall as her yet,.....

  His mood soured slightly. With a noncommittal hum, he picked up his cup and took a sip of water, his expression unreadable.

  Clarissa didn’t notice his sudden shift. She finished the last of her noodles, stretched her arms with a satisfied sigh, and stood up. "Alright, let’s get some sleep."

  Without another word, they both retreated to their rooms.

  Clarissa barely made it to bed before exhaustion hit her like a wave. The second her head touched the pillow, she was out.

  The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Clarissa stirred, blinking groggily as she reached for her phone.

  A sharp buzz. Then another.

  Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of her screen. 99+ unread WhatsApp messages. 99+ unread texts.

  She frowned, unlocking her phone. A flood of notifications filled her screen—some from acquaintances, some from unknown numbers.

  One message stood out. A pinned conversation.

  Clarissa tapped on it, and a familiar name popped up.

  Phoenix: "Clarissa, you finally ditched that bastard Dorian? Congratulations, congratulations! ?? Are you free this weekend?"

  Clarissa blinked, momentarily disoriented. Phoenix. Memories surfaced, one after another. She had been her best friend. The only person who had stuck by her side.

  Clarissa, Phoenix, and Dorian had grown up together. Phoenix had always cared for her—always tried to talk sense into her, tried to make her see that Dorian wasn't worth it. But the old Clarissa had been obsessed, blind to everything but her desperate, toxic love for a man who never wanted her.