There she was again: standing in the entryway, business suit hugging her curves, black stockings gleaming faintly. She leaned against the wall, one hand braced as she bent to adjust a stiletto strap. The pose—unconscious in life—looked sinfully provocative on paper.

Clarissa’s cheeks burned. Had she really looked like that? Had Atticus watched her so closely, committing her smallest movements to memory?

Her hand trembled as she turned to the final drawing—then nearly dropped the book.

This time she was pinned to the wall, tears shining in her eyes, lips parted with a helpless moan, her tongue barely visible as a man’s hand gripped her chin. The erotic intensity of the image jolted through her like a live wire.

The album slipped from her hands and hit the floor with a snap. She staggered, grabbing the cabinet to steady herself.

Breathless, she lifted her gaze.

A whole row of albums—identical spines, stacked neatly—stared back at her from the shelf above.

Clarissa swallowed hard. Then, almost against her will, she reached up and slid another one free.

....

By the time Clarissa came back to herself, she was kneeling weakly on the floor, surrounded by scattered sketchbooks and loose pages.

Everywhere she looked, it was her.

Not just casual glimpses of her daily life, but… scenes of them tangled together, bodies entwined.

On the bed. Across the sofa. Even that wild night in the mountains.

Each drawing captured her curves, her flushed skin, the way her lips parted when pleasure overtook her. The women on the page were sensual, shamelessly alluring, their skin luminous like carved jade, their eyes burning with desire.

They were beautiful—*too* beautiful. Each piece could have hung in a gallery. Yet to Clarissa, every image cut deeper than the last.

Every page was a needle, pricking at her chest.

Mocking her. Mocking how little she truly knew about him.

If what James had said was true…

Her hand trembled as she clenched the paper, her breath unsteady.

.....

That night, when Atticus finally returned, the apartment was eerily quiet. The lights were on, but the living room was empty.

At this hour, she should have still been working in the study. Frowning slightly, Atticus headed there—only to find the door shut. When he tried the handle, it didn’t budge.

Locked.

His brows drew together. Clarissa almost never locked doors inside the apartment. A flicker of suspicion lit his eyes—then he heard water running in the bathroom.

Relief, followed quickly by a rush of desire, washed over him. The faint silhouette of her body shifted behind the frosted glass, graceful even in outline. His throat went dry. Tugging at his collar, he leaned against the wall, waiting.

The water stopped.

A moment later, the door opened. Clarissa stepped out—not in a towel, but fully dressed, her damp hair swept into a loose bun. Her cheeks were still flushed from the steam, her lips tinted the color of fresh petals.

Atticus’s eyes darkened instantly.

They hadn’t touched each other since before visiting Callum. Days of restraint, of watching her move through the house without being able to take her, had left him burning. Last night she’d been too tired—he’d forced himself to behave. But tonight…

He couldn’t hold back.

“Clarissa…”

He caught her around the waist, pulling her hard against him, lowering his mouth toward her lips.

But she turned her head at the last second, his kiss brushing her cheek instead.

The rejection, small as it was, sent a sharp stab of frustration through him. He bit it back, his voice low and coaxing. “What’s wrong?”

Clarissa met his gaze, her heart pounding wildly. She swallowed the truth and forced herself to stay calm. “Nothing. I’m just… tired. I haven’t worked like this in a while.”

She pushed gently at his chest. “Go shower. You reek of disinfectant.”

Atticus groaned softly and nuzzled against her neck like a sulking wolf. “Cruel woman. You really can’t stand me?”

Clarissa had meant only to deflect, but now she had no choice but to play along. “It’s just the smell. Go wash it off.”

He paused, then smiled faintly. “Alright. If that’s what bothers you, I’ll wash it away.”

He stole a quick kiss on her cheek before she could stop him, then turned and disappeared into the bathroom, peeling off his shirt as he went.

Clarissa stood frozen in the doorway, her hand rising to her tingling skin where he’d kissed her.

Atticus was quick. Barely ten minutes after stepping into the shower, he emerged, a towel slung low around his waist. His eyes immediately found the small curve beneath the covers, a spill of dark, silky hair against the pillow.

He moved closer, caught a strand of her hair between his fingers, and brushed a kiss over it. The faint fragrance clung to his lips—more intoxicating than fine wine, softer than the most delicate silk.

Clarissa had grown more breathtaking over the years. Her beauty wasn’t just her face or figure—it was the elegance in her every gesture, the quiet strength of her temperament, burnished further by Callum’s medicines and his own careful care. Together, they made her irresistible. Every time he looked at her, it was like seeing her for the first time, fresh and endlessly alluring.

“Clarissa,” he murmured, voice thick with want. “You’re becoming more and more beautiful…”

She had felt him the moment the bathroom door opened. The heat of his body, the weight of his presence, the gentle press of his lips against her neck. His hand slid lower, just brushing the hem of her dress—

“No.”

Clarissa’s sharp refusal startled him. She shoved him back harder than he expected.

“Clarissa?” His eyes narrowed.

Her breath trembled under his gaze. She quickly turned away, whispering, “I have to get up early tomorrow. Maybe… next time.” With that, she rolled onto her side, her back to him.

Atticus stared at her in silence, his eyes darkening. Something was off. Clarissa had no reason to push him away.

A sly gleam lit his gaze. He slid closer, curling around her from behind. His voice was low, coaxing, dangerous. “Clarissa…”

She flinched. She’d expected this. Just as she opened her mouth to refuse again, he rolled her beneath him with sudden force, pinning her to the mattress. His mouth crashed onto hers, swallowing her protest.

“Mmm—!”

Her hands pushed at his shoulders, but his strength overwhelmed her. His palms roamed boldly, possessively, until her resistance weakened, her body betraying her.

“Atticus, stop… please…” Her voice quivered, shame and desire tangled together. Her heart was numb, unwilling, but her body burned under his touch, betraying her again and again.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, flushed and breathless beneath him, eyes wet and dazzling. Triumph flickered across his features. His lips curved.

This drug really was something. He whispered against her skin, his voice hoarse with arousal. “Tell me, Clarissa—do you really want me to stop?”

She bit her lip hard, turned her head aside, refusing to meet his eyes. She knew she couldn’t escape tonight. And she hated her body for how easily it yielded to him, how much it craved him despite the chaos inside her.

So she forced the words out, low and trembling: “If you’re going to do it… then do it quickly.”

Atticus chuckled darkly, pressing his lips to her ear. “No, Clarissa. Tonight I’ll make you beg.”

She didn’t want him to notice the storm inside her—didn’t want him to suspect. Until she figured it all out, she couldn’t let him see her fear.

So she turned back, met his gaze, and pulled his face down to hers.

“I want you,” she breathed, kissing him with sudden fervor.

His eyes lit up, satisfaction gleaming. “Good girl,” he murmured against her lips. “Here’s your reward.”

The rest of the night dissolved into heat and motion—his low groans, her muffled cries, the sheets twisted tight around them until dawn crept in.

When he finally collapsed, sated and content, he fell asleep draped across her body.

Clarissa, though, lay wide-eyed in the dark. Her mind spun with the images from the study—the sketches, the years-old drawings, the fact that he had been watching her, desiring her, long before she had ever known.

She turned her head to look at his sleeping face, the teardrop mole under his eye, the features that had always made her heart race.

But tonight, panic stirred where affection once bloomed.

They shared a bed, a life, a body. And still, she realized, she didn’t know what lurked inside him.

She didn’t sleep a moment. When dawn broke, she rose quietly, dressed, and left for the office.

When Atticus woke, the space beside him was already cold. Clarissa was gone.

It was unusual—rare, even—for her to rise before him. He sat up, raked a hand through his messy hair, and lazily wrapped a towel around his waist before heading to wash.

When he came out, the apartment was silent. Only a folded note waited on the dining table.

I’m at the office. Breakfast is warming in the pot. Don’t forget to eat. I’ll be busy today, so I might be late. Don’t wait up—just sleep.

Atticus read the words slowly, then went into the kitchen. Sure enough, porridge steamed gently in the rice cooker, and a pot of tea sat beside it.

His lips curved faintly.

So, he’d been overthinking. Clarissa was his now—body, mind, and soul. What could possibly threaten that?

Besides…

His tongue swept across his lips, remembering the sounds she made last night, the way her body had melted beneath his. The drug was starting to work, subtle but effective. Desire stirred in his chest again.

.....

Clarissa reached the office earlier than anyone expected.

“Miss Clarissa, you’re here *this* early?” one employee whispered.

“Oh my god!” another added, wide-eyed.

Clarissa offered no explanation. She simply gave Oriana a quiet instruction and walked straight into her office. Oriana hurried after her.

“Miss Clarissa! Why are you here so early? The security guard said you arrived at 7:30—the company doesn’t even open until 8.”

Clarissa’s expression remained calm, her voice cool. “I’ve been away a while. I wanted to see how things are running.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Oriana assured her quickly. “Atticus has everything under control. The company’s running smoother than ever. New Home just launched—it hit over 300 million views in one day. It’s gone viral!”

Clarissa’s hand stilled on the documents. She murmured under her breath, “Atticus again…”

“Yes,” Oriana said with a smile. “He really is amazing. Honestly, you two are such a perfect match. With him here, everything feels easier.”

Clarissa’s expression flickered, a shadow passing through her gaze. Oriana finally noticed something was off. Clarissa’s complexion was pale, her eyes tired. Not even her careful makeup could hide the dark smudges beneath them.

“Miss Clarissa… you didn’t sleep well last night?”

Clarissa rubbed at her temples, voice flat. “Insomnia. Make me a coffee. Black. No sugar, no milk.”

“…Yes, Miss.” Oriana nodded quickly and disappeared into the pantry.