Oriana stared at her screen, then let out a small sigh. She turned toward the man waiting across the table. “Mr. Dorian, Miss Clarissa said she’ll be here shortly. If you want to speak with her directly, you’ll have your chance.”

Dorian only gave a faint nod, expression unreadable. Oriana poured a careful cup of coffee, set it in front of him with professional politeness. “Please, Mr. Dorian.”

He didn’t refuse. He took a sip, and to her faint surprise, some of the frost in his eyes seemed to thaw.

Clarissa arrived not half an hour later. Oriana’s eyes widened—this was the first time she had seen her impeccably composed boss dressed so casually: no makeup, hair tied back, plain T-shirt, jacket, and trousers. But what unsettled Oriana most was her face—still pale, lips colorless, faint shadows under her eyes. She looked… fragile.

Oriana’s heart twisted. Yes, something had happened between her and Atticus.

When Clarissa entered, she was caught off guard to see Dorian waiting. Surprise flickered across her face, but it smoothed away almost instantly. “Mr. Dorian. What brings you here?”

He studied her, gaze steady. “Clarissa. You’ve lost weight.”

Her brow knit. His voice carried something that made her uneasy.

But before she could answer, he continued, “You should finally believe me now. That boy, Atticus—”

“Mr. Dorian.” Clarissa cut him off, her tone sharp. “If this is about business, let’s keep it business. I don’t have the time or energy to entertain you otherwise.”

She had no room left for Dorian’s barbs—her mind was already tangled enough with Atticus.

Dorian’s eyes hardened. His voice was calm, but edged with ice. “Even now, you’re still making excuses for him?”

He slid the file across the table toward her.

Clarissa didn’t touch it. She narrowed her eyes. “What is this?”

“You’ll see.” He took another sip of his coffee. “Go on. It’s thick, but worth your time. I’m not in a rush.”

Suspicion flickered in her gaze. After a moment’s pause, she picked it up and moved to her desk. “Oriana. Coffee.”

“Yes, Miss.” Oriana hurried to prepare it, sensing the weight in the room.

Clarissa began reading. She wasn’t as quick as Atticus with papers, but by the third page, her expression had already hardened, movements slowing without her realizing it.

“Why stop?” Dorian’s voice was low, too close. “The next part is even better.”

Her head lifted sharply, her eyes locking with his. “Dorian… was my mother murdered?”

He held her gaze, unflinching. “Keep reading, Clarissa. The truth is all there.”

Her heart thundered, fury surging beneath her ribs, but she forced herself to keep turning the pages. Until her hand slipped—her elbow knocked the coffee Oriana had just set down. The dark liquid spread fast, soaking into the papers.

Oriana gasped. “Ah! I’ll get a rag!” She rushed off.

The file clumped together, stained and ruined.

Dorian chuckled softly, watching her. “So, Clarissa… what did you see?”

Her pulse pounded in her ears. She said nothing, gripping the edge of the desk as though it were the only thing keeping her steady.

“No matter.” He rose, picked up the damp, coffee-streaked file with surprising ease. “If you didn’t see it all, I can tell you myself.”

“Your mother’s death in that fire wasn’t an accident,” Dorian said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It was the result of someone’s manipulation.”

He leaned back casually, eyes gleaming. “I was just doing a bit of digging, but you know what my people uncovered? Every last piece of evidence from that night—gone. Wiped out. By one man.”

Dorian pulled a file from under his arm and slid it across the table toward Clarissa.

A photo stared up at her—a man’s face she didn’t recognize.

“Wallace,” Dorian said. “Top-tier hacker, exiled overseas. The same bastard who once broke into the FBI’s database and left taunting messages behind. Genius, arrogant. He went by another name too—‘N.’ A member of the Alphabet Group. Their leader? Codename ‘X.’”

He paused, letting that sink in.

“Back then, the police database was hit by a virus out of nowhere. Everything—wiped overnight. That kind of precision doesn’t come cheap. It takes a world-class hacker to pull that off.”

Clarissa remembered Phoenix mentioning something like this—the Alphabet Group, a shadow organization operating in both the light and dark, its members hidden behind letters instead of names. They were everywhere: black market, government, finance. Each one a prodigy. And their leader, X… the kind of man even the Mafia refused to cross. Phoenix had always warned her to stay away from him.

Clarissa’s fingers clenched at her side as she looked down at the file.

“So what you’re really saying,” she said quietly, “is that Atticus is X. That he’s the one behind everything.”

Dorian shrugged. “I never said he started the fire. But the evidence—what’s left of it—traces back to him.”

Beneath the table, Clarissa’s hand dug into her own palm until she felt the sting of her nails. The pain kept her from shaking apart.

She looked up suddenly, meeting Dorian’s eyes. “And you expect me to believe you?”

“Clarissa, I know you’re defending him,” Dorian said gently. “But facts are facts. You wouldn’t have rushed over here if you hadn’t already suspected something. Don’t take my word for it—check his computer. Knowing Atticus, the most dangerous place is exactly where he’d hide the truth. You’ll find plenty of... interesting things there.”

His words hit like a hammer. Clarissa’s knees buckled, and Oriana rushed to steady her.

“Miss Clarissa—” Oriana’s voice trembled. “Could it really be true? Did Atticus...?”

Clarissa waved her off. “I’m fine.”

She stood, one hand braced on the table. “I need to go back. Put all the data you’ve found on my computer. Handle the company matters for now.”

Oriana nodded quickly, still worried.

Dorian watched Clarissa leave, a flicker of pity in his eyes, and then followed her to the entrance.

She stopped abruptly outside the building.

“Clarissa,” Dorian began softly, “I’m only doing this for your own good. A man like Atticus—he’s poison. You were blinded before, but it’s not too late to turn back.”

“Turn back?” Clarissa turned toward him, her lips curving into a soft, almost tender smile. Her eyes shimmered like water—beautiful, dangerous. “Tell me, Dorian... what do you think I should do now?”

Dorian’s heart skipped. He stepped forward before he could stop himself. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone hurt you again. I’ll take care of everything.”

Clarissa lowered her gaze. “But... what if Lyra finds out? What if she misunderstands?”

“I’ll handle Lyra,” Dorian said quickly. “You’ve been through so much. Cry if you need to. I’ll stay with you these next few days.”

He reached for her hand—but she shoved him back hard.

Dorian stumbled down the steps, catching himself at the third one.

“What the hell are you doing?” Clarissa’s expression had shifted entirely—her eyes sharp, her voice cold. “Drop the act, Dorian. It’s pathetic.”

He froze, frowning. “Clarissa, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me?” She gave a bitter laugh. “Dorian, you make me sick. If you’d ever really loved Lyra, I might still have respected you. But now?” She shook her head slowly. “You disgust me.”

Something inside her broke then. The story, the roles—none of it mattered anymore. The so-called heroes and villains, the tragic lovers—it was all bullshit.

Fine, she thought. If we’re all going to lose our minds, then let’s really lose them.

Her smile turned sharp, mocking. “Tell me, Dorian—are you trying to help me, or are you just after revenge against Atticus?”

“Clarissa, what are you even saying? I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Help me?” She scoffed. “You mean stalking me even after you got married?”

Dorian’s face darkened. “That’s not fair—”

“Not fair?” Clarissa cut him off, her voice like glass. “You dumped me for Lyra because she gave you the cold shoulder. Now that you’ve got her, you come crawling back to me? Don’t you think that’s pathetic?”

“You...” Dorian’s jaw tightened. “Clarissa, I made a mistake back then. I misjudged you. Lyra and I—we’ve been sleeping in separate rooms for three months. There’s nothing between us anymore, I—”

“Stop!” Clarissa snapped. “Don’t say another word. Every time you talk, I feel sick.”

“You never cherished Clarissa back then, and now you don’t even cherish Lyra. You’re such a goddamn jerk, Dorian! What is it—do you only feel alive when both Lancaster sisters are wrapped around you?”

“You—”

“Save it,” Clarissa snapped, her voice trembling with anger. “You’re never satisfied. You’re always lost in your own damn ego. Do you even know what love is? You don’t love me—you just can’t stand the thought of losing. You’ve never valued anything that came too easily.”

Dorian froze, his lips parting but no words coming out. Clarissa’s smile curved, sharp and bitter.

Her arrival had changed everything—not just Atticus, but everyone around her. Once, she’d tread carefully, terrified of the ripples she might cause. But now... now she understood. No matter how careful she was, fate would still shove her exactly where it wanted her to be. There was no escaping the invisible hand that guided everything.

She straightened, brushed her hair off her shoulder, and stepped past Dorian without another glance.

When she returned home, the house was quiet. Atticus wasn’t there. She didn’t go to his room right away. Instead, she went to her study. Oriana had already sent her the files she’d gathered, and the moment Clarissa opened them, her chest tightened.

Every suspicion she’d had was true.

She had always wondered—how Atticus could move so effortlessly through the world, doors opening for him wherever he went. She’d thought it was charm. Luck. She’d been so naïve.

No wonder he could hand her a card loaded with fifty billion like it was pocket change.

“Heh…” Clarissa let out a cold laugh. “You’re unbelievable, Atticus. You’ve been playing me from the very start.”

Her throat burned, but she swallowed the bitterness, forcing herself to breathe. Then she stood and made her way to his room.

The sleek computer on his desk gleamed under the light. She sat down, her pulse pounding, and powered it on.

A password screen appeared.

Of course.

Atticus’s security systems were legendary—impenetrable. Even the best hackers couldn’t breach them. Clarissa wasn’t even close to that level, she entered a few combinations, every one more desperate than the last. Nothing worked.

The clock on the wall ticked past six. Anxiety prickled her skin. What if he came home early?

Finally, she typed in his birthday. Error.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. One more try. She entered her own birthday.

Beep.

The screen unlocked.