Clarissa smiled. "Nothing. My zipper’s stuck. Can you help me?"

  Before he could react, she turned around, lifting her long, silky hair to expose the smooth expanse of her back. Atticus felt his pulse pound against his ribs.

  The zipper was stuck just above her waist, leaving only a small portion of exposed skin since the dress fastened at the neck with delicate buttons.

  Still, it was enough to send his mind into chaos. The tips of his ears burned, and the heat quickly spread to his entire face. His lips parted, but he didn’t move.

  Clarissa frowned slightly. "What’s wrong? Is it really stuck?"

  She made a motion to turn back, but before she could, Atticus gently pressed his hand to her shoulder.

  "No… don’t move." His voice was quieter now, almost hoarse.

  Clarissa obediently stilled as Atticus guided her to sit down. He hesitated before reaching out, his cool fingertips brushing lightly against the warmth of her skin as he carefully worked the zipper.

  He tried to be meticulous, tried to avoid unnecessary contact—but the zipper was small, and her skin was impossibly soft. Each accidental graze sent a strange, unsettling sensation up his arm.

  Clarissa, on the other hand, only noticed how cold his hands were. Every time his fingertips brushed against her back, a faint ticklish sensation made her shiver slightly. But he was just a kid, she thought, dismissing it.

  Finally, with a quiet swish, the zipper slid up into place. The entire ordeal lasted less than two minutes, but by the end of it, Atticus could feel a thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead.

  Clarissa stood up, turning to face him with a bright smile. Reaching out, she ruffled the top of his head affectionately. "Thanks, you really saved me. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

  Atticus lowered his gaze, his heart still beating a little too fast.

  "Is there anything you want tonight? I’ll bring you something when I come back."

  There was a pause before he finally muttered, "The red bean rice cake you gave me last time… It was good." His voice was quieter than usual, and there was the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks.

  Clarissa blinked in surprise before bursting into laughter. So cute. "Alright, I’ll bring you some." She turned and walked away, disappearing out the door.

  Atticus remained where he was, standing motionless. His fingers twitched at his sides before slowly curling into a fist. The warmth of her skin still lingered on his fingertips, hauntingly soft.

  A strange, restless feeling settled in his chest, like ripples spreading over a once-still lake.

  He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to look away. She had dressed up this beautifully… just to go to her ex-fiancé’s engagement party.

  The moment Clarissa left, Atticus rose from his seat and quietly stepped out of his room.

  He stood outside her doorway, watching in silence. Clarissa was at her vanity, applying a light touch of makeup. Her long hair was loosely tied up, revealing the slender curve of her pale neck.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She was stunning. Almost unreal. In the past, the original Clarissa had favored bold, dramatic makeup, but now, with only a hint of color, her beauty shone through effortlessly.

  A sudden chime broke the silence. Her phone.

  Clarissa glanced at the screen, picked it up, and without hesitation, turned on her heel and walked out the door.

  Atticus instinctively took a step back, his heart inexplicably tightening as he watched her disappear.

  The house was quiet again. His door remained shut. Then—

  A soft knock. "Atticus, I'm leaving. Make sure to lock up when you're alone, okay? There’s food in the kitchen cabinets and the fridge if you get hungry..."

  Her voice was gentle, lingering in the air before fading into the distance, replaced by the rhythmic click of her heels against the pavement.

  Atticus hesitated before slowly cracking open his door. Through the small gap, he caught sight of her stepping into a sleek, black luxury car. The vehicle pulled away, taking her with it.

  A strange sense settled over him. He tried to ignore it, tried to focus on his book—but the words blurred together, refusing to hold his attention.

  He needed to clear his mind. Without thinking, Atticus found himself wandering downstairs. The evening air was cool against his skin, but his thoughts remained tangled, a knot of emotions he couldn’t quite unravel.

  Then, a voice broke the quiet. "Miss Clementine, is that you?"

  Atticus halted. His gaze snapped to the side, drawn toward the sound.

  Clementine stood a few feet away, carrying a basket of groceries. Opposite her was a man—older, in his fifties or sixties, with graying hair and deep lines etched into his face. A stranger.

  Clementine stiffened. Her grip on the basket tightened. "Why are you here?" Her voice was sharp, wary. "How did you find me?"

  "Miss Clementine, don’t be afraid. I retired three years ago. I’m only here visiting family—I never expected to run into you." He hesitated. "The master—"

  "Shut up." Clementine’s voice was ice. Atticus had never heard her speak like that before. Gentle, patient Clementine—who always smiled, always spoke in soft tones—now stood cold and unyielding, her expression unreadable.

  "If you're here for family, then see them and leave. Forget you saw me."

  The man exhaled heavily. "Miss Clementine… are you really going to live like this? The master still—"

  "Enough." She cut him off sharply, her eyes darkening. "That man means nothing to me anymore. The past is the past. Let it stay buried."

  A flicker of something passed through the man’s face. But Clementine had already turned away. As she approached, Atticus quickly stepped back, slipping into the shadows.

  Her footsteps were steady, her posture unwavering. But there was a weight in her eyes, a quiet sorrow she carried with her.

  Atticus watched in silence. Clementine had secrets. Deep ones.

  Ophelia had mentioned that Dorian and Lyra’s engagement party was set at a five-star luxury hotel. Dorian had gone as far as booking the entire venue.

  Yet, as Clarissa stepped out of the car and gazed at the grand entrance, a flicker of surprise passed through her. In the original timeline, the engagement had taken place at the Harrington family’s ancestral estate.

  Even her own engagement to Dorian had been held at the grand old mansion. The Harringtons were a legacy—a family with over a century of wealth and prestige. They prided themselves on tradition.

  So why the change? Clarissa masked her curiosity, maintaining her usual poised expression as the car rolled to a stop.

  A chauffeur greeted her with a polite nod. "Miss, we’ve arrived. Would you like me to escort you inside?"

  Clarissa smiled faintly, lifting the hem of her gown with effortless grace. "No need, Uncle. I can manage on my own. Thank you."

  The driver bowed slightly in response, stepping back as she turned toward the entrance.

  Inside the grand ballroom of the five-star hotel, Lyra felt as if she were floating in a dream.

  Crystal chandeliers shimmered above, casting golden light across the marble floors. The air was thick with the murmurs of high society—business moguls, aristocrats, and celebrities, all gathered to celebrate her engagement.

  She turned to the mirror, running her hands down the delicate white fabric of her dress. Elegant. Graceful. Almost unrecognizable.

  For the first time, she saw herself as someone worthy of standing beside him. Just then, the door opened.

  Dorian stepped inside, clad in a sharp black suit, exuding quiet dominance. He was tall, broad-shouldered, devastatingly handsome—the man who would soon become her husband. Her heart quickened.