She arched an eyebrow. “Things? What things? You’re not in trouble at school again, are you?”

  Atticus was quiet.

  Clarissa studied him closely. There was something about him—like her, trouble seemed to find him no matter how quiet he tried to be. He hadn’t grown much lately.

  She sighed. “You’re not being bullied again, are you?”

  He turned, meeting her gaze. His eyes darkened. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because,” she said softly, “if someone messes with you, I need to know.”

  “No one’s messing with me,” he said flatly.

  “Really?” she asked, still doubtful.

  Atticus didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for the ice pack and pressed it to her cheek again, his movements gentle but firm. “Hold it for another ten minutes. It’ll look better by morning. I’m going to bed.”

  Before she could say another word, he turned and left the room.

  Clarissa shook her head, chuckling under her breath. “This kid…”

  She stared at herself in the mirror again. The redness had faded, but the scratch was still visible.

  “Guess I’ll have to cake it on tomorrow,” she muttered, reaching for her concealer instinctively before thinking better of it.

  Meanwhile, Atticus didn’t head straight to his room. Instead, he found himself standing in front of the bathroom mirror.

  He stared for a long while. At the curve of his jaw. The sharp line of his cheekbones. The cold, unreadable eyes that met his own, his brows knitted slightly.

  He stood there, quiet and still, until the sound of approaching footsteps broke his trance.

  “Atticus? Are you using the bathroom?” Clementine’s voice came lightly from the hall. “Then I’ll go to Clarissa.”

  He turned smoothly, eyes unreadable. “No need.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Atticus brushed past her and headed back to his room, steps light, silent.

  Clementine watched him go, a slight frown pulling at her lips. There was always something strange about this child… but tonight, something felt even more off.

  Still, she shook her head, brushing the feeling away. That boy has always been different.

  The next morning, Clarissa was woken by a call from Phoenix before the sun was even properly up.

  Still half-asleep, she murmured her way through the conversation. Once the call ended, she collapsed back into bed, ready to reclaim sleep—only to be roused again moments later by Clementine’s voice calling her from outside the door.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Yawning, Clarissa shuffled into the hallway, hair a mess and voice groggy. “Mmm... Mom, where’s Atticus?”

  “Oh, he left early this morning,” Clementine replied casually from the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I stuffed a few meat buns into his arms before he walked out the door. He won’t go hungry.”

  “That’s good,” Clarissa mumbled, reassured, then slouched toward the breakfast table. After finishing a light meal, she wasted no time crawling back into bed, wrapping herself in her blanket like a cocoon.

  Meanwhile, across town at the Harrington estate, the mood couldn’t have been more different.

  Lyra had shut herself in her bedroom. Her phone was powered off, her laptop closed and shoved aside. She curled up on the bed, limbs wrapped tightly around herself, tears soaking silently into the pillow.

  She didn’t move until the knock came.

  “Lyra, it’s me.”

  Her body stiffened at the sound of that voice—deep, warm, familiar.“D-Dorian…”

  “I’m coming in,” he said before she could answer. The door creaked open, and there he was.

  Dorian stepped inside, his expression unreadable, and closed the distance in a few swift strides. Without asking, he pulled her into his arms, the scent of his cologne surrounding her instantly.

  “You’re still upset about that nonsense?” he murmured. “I’ve handled it. No one will dare spread rumors again.”

  His voice was low and comforting, and for a moment, Lyra melted into his embrace. But then, she looked up at him, eyes glassy with fresh tears.

  “But Dorian... they weren’t wrong. I got between you and Clarissa. It is my fault. I... I deserve her anger. If letting her hate me helps her heal, then... I don’t mind.”

  Dorian’s grip tightened slightly. “Silly girl,” he whispered. “None of this is your fault. It’s mine. I was stupid. I should’ve never gotten engaged to Clarissa. Back then, I didn’t understand what it meant to truly love someone… until you.”

  Lyra looked up at him with hope burning in her eyes. “Dorian… Even if my sister is more beautiful, even if everyone sees her as the shining star… would you still choose me?”

  He cupped her cheek, gaze sincere. “Of course. I’ve seen dozens of women like her—. You’re nothing like her. You’re soft. You’re real. That’s what I love.”

  Lyra broke down then, tears falling freely again, but this time from relief. She threw her arms around him. “I’m so lucky to have you…”

  Dorian smiled and leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur, brushing against her ear. “Then how do you plan on thanking me?”

  Lyra blushed, her voice suddenly small and sweet. “But... but my parents are still outside…”

  That hesitation was the last thing between them before Dorian leaned in fully and captured her lips in a deep, consuming kiss.

  He pressed her back onto the bed, kissing her fiercely, hunger sparking between them—until a shrill vibration broke the moment.

  Dorian groaned and pulled back, jaw clenched in frustration. He fished his phone out of his pocket and checked the screen.

  Phoenix. His expression turned colder.

  “What is it?” Lyra asked, breathless.

  Dorian exhaled sharply and answered the call. “Yeah?”

  “Took you long enough,” came Phoenix’s voice, smooth and teasing. “Busy with your little sweetheart?”

  “If you’ve got something to say, get to the point.”

  “I’m back in town. There’s a party tonight, the usual place. I figured it’s the perfect opportunity for you to show off your new fiancée. Let everyone meet the girl who stole your heart.”

  Dorian’s brows furrowed. “She’s... shy. Not really ready for that kind of crowd.”

  “That’s good for either of you, is it?” She paused, then added, “Eight o’clock. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  The line went dead before he could protest. Dorian lowered the phone slowly, his jaw tightening.

  Phoenix. That damn woman was always up to something.

  Just as Dorian ended the call, Lyra approached, her soft voice breaking the silence like a ripple on still water.“Dorian… what’s wrong?”

  He didn’t turn around. “Nothing,” he said flatly, adjusting his collar. “There’s a party tonight. You should rest early.”

  With that, he began buttoning his shirt, smoothing down the front of his jacket.

  Lyra’s eyes dimmed. He always left her behind for events like this. Always brought someone else. She used to swallow her jealousy, thinking she had no right to ask for more. But now—now that she was his fiancée…

  She stepped forward and tugged gently on the lapel of his jacket. “Dorian, can I go with you?”

  He paused, genuinely surprised. “You want to come?”

  Lyra nodded. Her voice was soft, but her eyes held a quiet determination. “I want to meet your friends. Or is that not allowed? Are you worried I’ll embarrass you?”