Clarissa struggled at first, but her body betrayed her, softening against him. Her knees weakened. Her breath caught.

Only when she was on the brink of suffocation did Atticus finally let her go.

She gasped for air, her chest rising and falling, lips flushed and swollen. “Atticus! You—”

He crushed her against him again, his voice rough in her ear. “I’m going up the mountain with Grandpa soon. Just let me hold you for a while. I’ve missed you so damn much.”

The night before, he’d been forced to spar with Callum until dawn, never once getting close to her.

Clarissa’s cheeks bloomed scarlet. “You’re outrageous! If Grandpa saw this, he’d be furious.”

“I can only steal moments like this because he’d be furious.” His arms tightened, his voice thick with grievance. “You’re mine. Yet you keep sneaking around, hiding from me. Do you know how maddening that is?”

Her heart wavered even as she tried to resist. She pressed her palms against his chest, half laughing, half scolding. “You—please, let me go.”

Atticus wore a coarse linen shirt fastened with straps. The fabric was light, breathable, and simple—perfect for mountain travel.

But the straps hung loose. Clarissa reached up instinctively, tugging them tighter across his shoulders. “Behave yourself,” she whispered. “Once Grandpa’s in a better mood, he’ll stop making things so hard for you. You know his temper—if he truly disapproved, he wouldn’t have let you stay. The stricter he is, the more it means he cares.”

Callum never spared a glance for people who didn’t matter.

Atticus lowered his gaze to her, warmth flooding his chest. He caught her hand before she could pull away, lifting it to his lips. His kiss lingered against her knuckles, slow and reverent.

“For you,” he murmured, voice rough, “I’ll endure anything. I’ll prove myself worthy of you.”

Heat flared across Clarissa’s face. The brush of his mouth sent a spark racing from her fingertips straight into her chest, quickening her pulse until she could barely breathe.

She tugged her hand free, flustered. “You… you should go. Grandpa will be looking for you any second—”

Right on cue, Callum’s voice boomed from the courtyard. “Atticus! Where the hell have you wandered off to now, you little bastard?”

Atticus sighed. He stole two more quick kisses against Clarissa’s cheek before reluctantly releasing her. Then he turned and strode away, shoulders set.

Clarissa touched her flushed face, still warm from his lips, and muttered under her breath, “That shameless brat…”

She forced herself to steady her breathing. Once her heart had calmed, she gathered the fallen laundry, washed it clean, and hung each piece carefully to dry. A soft sense of satisfaction settled over her.

This place was quiet, tucked into mountains and fresh air—no wonder Grandpa had chosen it for his retreat. Perfect for cultivation, perfect for discipline.

Atticus had been too restless lately. His brilliance made him proud, even arrogant. He was still so young… perhaps time under Grandpa’s stern eye would temper him. That thought gave her some peace.

.....

Meanwhile, June was hauled into the police station. With Mark and Clarissa both testifying against her, she was charged with attempted murder and thrown into temporary detention—even without hard evidence.

She was shaken to her core. She hadn’t imagined Clarissa and that man would survive. The more she dwelled on it, the more it burned her up inside. Mark too? Does he also have a thing for Clarissa?

Why did men always circle her? What was so special about her?

Consumed by fury, June didn’t even notice when she was shoved into a pitch-dark cell. The heavy door slammed shut. Panic clawed at her, and she screamed, voice cracking. “It’s not fair! I didn’t kill anyone! Clarissa and that man—they fell on their own!”

Her words bounced back from the stone walls, unanswered. The silence pressed in. Then—

A sound. Low, steady breathing, somewhere behind her.

June froze, blood running cold. “W–Who’s there?”

A figure stepped out of the shadows, every movement deliberate. The dim light revealed a face she thought she’d never see again.

Her eyes went wide, terror flooding her. “You… you—you—”

Darkwood stood before her, a cruel smile curling his lips. “June. Long time no see.”

“No—you’re mistaken. I’m not her, I’m not…” She scrambled back, trembling.

But her cosmetic surgery couldn’t erase the recognition in his eyes.

“You’re still pretending?” His voice was low, sharp as a knife. “They’ve already told me everything about you.”

And then, her shrill screams filled the cell, echoing endlessly in the darkness.

Three days later, June was unrecognizable. Her hair was a tangled mess, her body bruised and broken, wounds marking her skin like a map of pain.

That was when Darkwood was finally taken away. Before leaving, he cast her a cold, mocking smile.

“June, you stupid woman. You’ve offended someone far beyond your reach. No matter how many connections you’ve got, you’re finished. Even if someone bails you out today, your past—the surgery, the attempted murder—will be dragged into the open and splattered across your company. Oh, sure, you can try to start over. But whether you even get that chance…” His grin widened. “That depends on whether Atticus decides to spare you.”

When the cell door clanged shut, June curled into herself, his words replaying in her mind like poison. Hatred burned through her veins, hot and corrosive. Her nails dug so deep into her arms that blood welled beneath her fingertips.

Clarissa… Atticus…

Her life—everything she’d clawed for—destroyed by those two.

She hated them. She hated them with every shred of her being.

That was when Ivy finally appeared. She froze at the sight of June—hollow-eyed, emaciated, broken. Rage glimmered in her sharp gaze, protective all at once.

“Who?” she hissed. “Who dared to touch you like this?”

The moment June saw her, tears spilled uncontrollably. She collapsed into sobs, clinging to Ivy as though she were the only lifeline left.

Ivy bailed her out immediately, refusing to leave her side.

But just when June had begun to breathe again, the bomb dropped.

Reports leaked—her rape, the plastic surgery, scandal after scandal—spreading like wildfire. Emperor’s Heaven reeled. Ivy and Dorian were both blindsided.

The damage was irreversible. June’s carefully built reputation as a top manager collapsed overnight.

She was terrified, desperate. In a panic, she dialed Lyra’s number.

The line clicked, but it wasn’t Lyra’s voice that answered.

“Why are you calling?” Dorian’s tone was glacial.

“Dorian—Mr. Dorian, I—”

“June,” he cut her off, voice edged with fury. “I’ve shielded you time and again, for Lyra’s sake. And this is how you repay me? You dared push Clarissa off a cliff? Who the hell gave you that kind of courage?”

If Atticus hadn’t told him the truth, he would still be protecting this venomous woman.

“Mr. Dorian, it’s not like that, I swear—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” His voice was final. “You’re on your own.”

The line went dead.

Beside him, Lyra stood pale. She bit her lip, struggling. “Dorian… June—”

“Lyra!” His gaze snapped to her, sharp. “Clarissa is vital to both the Lancaster and Harrington families. If anything happens to her, June couldn’t pay that debt with her life. From now on, stay away from her. I won’t say it again.”

Lyra lowered her eyes, stung by the outburst. His anger cut deep, but what cut deeper was his concern for Clarissa.

Still, she couldn’t deny reality. June had tried to kill her.

Her mind flashed unwillingly to the files she’d seen at William’s house—the ones with Ivy’s name scribbled across them. Hardly anyone knew about June’s ties to Ivy. Yet William had been digging. Out of instinct, she’d warned June at the time.

June’s obsession with Clarissa had twisted into something dangerous, near-madness.

Lyra exhaled shakily and forced the thought away. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t even face her office. With no choice, she requested leave from her supervisor.

After all, June had been her friend for years. And so, against her better judgment, Lyra decided to visit June at home.

......

Ivy rushed in when she heard the news, but she was still a step too late. She shoved open the bathroom door and froze.

June lay in the bathtub, her blood spreading like a crimson veil across the water.

“June!” Ivy stumbled forward, gathering her into her arms. “How could you be so foolish?”

June’s eyelids fluttered. Her lips trembled as she rasped, “Ivy… my life is over. I saw him again. Atticus will never let me go. I can’t… I won’t… live through this again…”

Her blood-slicked hand found Ivy’s, gripping weakly. “Ivy, you must help me. Help me take revenge. Please… I’m begging you…”

Her fingers suddenly slackened. The strength left her body.

“June! June!”

.....

When Lyra arrived, she noticed the front door wasn’t even locked.

Confused, she rapped lightly on the wood. “Hello? Is anyone here? June? I’m coming in.”

No response.

The living room was empty, doors shut tight—except the bathroom.

She stepped inside and screamed.

The white-tiled room was awash in blood. June’s body lay still in Ivy’s arms.

“Shut up!” Ivy’s head whipped around, her glare sharp enough to cut.

Lyra clamped a hand over her mouth, heart hammering. Tears filled her eyes as she whispered hoarsely, “June… there’s always a way out. Why would you—why would you throw it away like this?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Ivy’s voice was low, furious. “You’ve never lived through what we’ve suffered.”

Lyra blinked. “I…”

“You’re the Lancaster daughter,” Ivy spat, her eyes burning. “Born into wealth, into privilege. Your parents will always protect you. Clarissa too. But us? Women like us are stepped on, humiliated, discarded. Always.”

Lyra faltered under the bitterness in her voice. “I… I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean?” Ivy’s sneer was ice. “For the sake of what you did for June, I’ll say this once. Leave.”

Lyra’s lip trembled. She gave June one last glance, then turned and stumbled out.

......

Clarissa had been living with Callum for two months now, handling company matters over the phone with Oriana. Slowly but surely, business was stabilizing.

Atticus, meanwhile, had endured every manner of torment under Callum’s sharp eye.

This morning, the two men went into town, leaving Clarissa at home. She was still sorting through documents when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Clarissa! We’ve wrapped filming! Will you be coming to the wrap party?”

“Wrapped already?” Clarissa blinked, startled. Two months had flown by without her realizing. Upton had thanked her before, saying she’d found two brilliant leads—but she hadn’t expected the shoot to finish a whole month ahead of schedule.

She paused, then smiled faintly. “All right. What time? I’ll prepare and head over.”

When Callum and Atticus returned, they found her outside in the courtyard, writing.

Atticus started toward her, but Callum clamped a hand on his shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing? You haven’t finished your work.”

Atticus grimaced but turned back reluctantly.