Clarissa froze. For a split second, the sound of the system startup seemed deafening in the silence. Then she moved, fast, navigating through folders and encrypted directories. She ignored his personal files and headed straight for the video logs. If Atticus was truly X, there had to be something.

She scrolled. And then she saw it. A video call from just a few days ago.

Her stomach dropped. She clicked on it and waited for the connection to open. The screen flickered—then a voice came through.

“X? What’s up? Why’re you calling me this late? Good thing I’m home.” A man’s voice, casual, amused.

“Hey, hey! You still pissed at us? The research team’s still traumatized after you tore into them for planting that microtracker on Clarissa. I had to clean up the mess myself—”

Click.

Clarissa hung up so fast the chair scraped against the floor. Her breath came in ragged bursts. Her fingers clenched the armrest, veins standing out beneath her skin.

For a long time, she just sat there, the silence pressing in around her. Then she forced herself up and stumbled toward her dresser. The medicine bottle—she’d hidden it last night. It was gone.

A voice came from behind her.

“Looking for this, Sister?”

Clarissa froze. Slowly, she turned.

Atticus was leaning against the doorframe, casual as ever, the glass bottle dangling from his hand. The liquid inside sloshed softly with each tilt of his wrist.

“You…” Her voice cracked.

“If you wanted to know what’s in it,” Atticus said lightly, “you could’ve just asked. Why go sneaking around?”

Clarissa stared at him—the boy she’d once loved so fiercely, the man who’d made her heart race. But now... now his face blurred with the cold, merciless shadow from her nightmares. The same face. The same quiet, suffocating menace.

Her throat ached. She wanted to speak, to scream, but all that came out was a whisper.

“You knew. You’ve known all along.”

Atticus smiled, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “I wanted to see how far you’d go. You didn’t disappoint me. Clever girl—you’re exactly the kind of woman I’d choose.”

One lie had bred another, and another, until the whole world felt built on deception. Atticus rarely lied—he didn’t need to. Anyone who betrayed him didn’t live long enough to tell the tale.

But for her… he’d lied again and again. Lied and smiled while doing it.

How utterly pathetic.

Atticus’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Clarissa, I thought you were mine—your heart, your body, everything. But you went behind my back and started digging into me. I love you so damn much, and this is what I get?”

“You lied to me first!” Clarissa exploded, her voice cracking.

She hurled the stack of documents at him. Papers scattered through the air like a blizzard, falling between them like the shrapnel of something that had just shattered—their trust, their love, their entire world.

Clarissa staggered backward, catching herself against the dresser. Her voice trembled, filled with disbelief and fury.

“Atticus, you’re unbelievable. Trackers? Drugs? What else haven’t you told me? Did you ever trust me? Did you ever love me? All this time—you’ve been lying to me! Making me look like a goddamn fool!”

Her voice broke, but she pressed on, the words tearing out of her like knives.

“Do you think I’m stupid? A joke to you? Atticus, you’re heartless! I can forgive you for lying—I can even blame myself for falling for it—but how could you keep quiet about my mother? You knew she was murdered. You knew, and you said nothing! Why?!”

Tears burned in her eyes.

“She was my mother, your mother too! The only family I had left besides Grandpa. She took care of you for three years, and she never hurt you. So why, Atticus? Why didn’t you save her?”

The dam broke. Everything Clarissa had buried deep inside came flooding out, her scream raw and shaking the air.

“Clarissa—” Atticus stepped forward to pull her into his arms, but she shoved him away with such force he nearly stumbled.

“Don’t touch me!” she shouted, trembling. Her eyes locked on his, blazing with grief and disgust.

“You don’t love me. You don’t even know what love is! You just want to own me, to keep me caged like some possession that makes you feel powerful. Atticus—you’re a monster. An emotionless, twisted demon!”

Atticus froze. For a moment, her words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Then he laughed.

At first it was quiet—then it turned manic, echoing through the room.

“Heh… hahahaha…”

When he looked at her again, his eyes had changed. “Well, I guess there’s no point pretending to be the sweet, obedient little brother anymore, is there?”

His voice dropped low, his gaze fixed on her. “You’re right, Clarissa. Maybe even I don’t know what love means. But the first time I saw you… all I wanted was to possess you.”

He stepped closer, each word darker than the last. “To make you mine. To make you fall for me, over and over, until there’s nothing left of you that isn’t me.”

“Atticus!” Clarissa backed away, her breath catching.

But he kept coming, slow and deliberate, his shadow swallowing the light between them. When her back hit the wall, he caught her wrist.

His voice was a low murmur, dangerous and heartbreakingly gentle. “Why are you always so damn clever, Clarissa? Why can’t you just be like everyone else—ignorant, easy, blissfully blind? Then maybe I could’ve loved you properly.”

He was so close she could feel his breath on her skin. So close she could see the madness flickering in his eyes.

“Shame on you,” she spat.

Slap!

The sound cracked through the air.

Clarissa’s palm burned, her hand trembling, but she didn’t flinch. Atticus’s head turned sharply with the impact, a red mark already blooming on his cheek.

He looked down at her—and froze. Her eyes, once bright and full of fire, were now hollow. Two tear streaks glistened down her pale face.

Atticus’s chest tightened painfully. “If hitting me helps you calm down,” he said softly, “then go ahead. Hit me.”

Clarissa dropped her hand. “I’m done,” she said, her voice flat, exhausted. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of a relationship built on lies and manipulation. Atticus… we’re over.”

She shoved him aside and stumbled toward the door.

“Clarissa—” He reached for her, but she twisted back and struck him again, her voice shaking.

“Don’t touch me!” She took a step back, her whole body trembling but her gaze unyielding. “I, Clarissa Lancaster, don’t belong to anyone. Not to you. Not to anyone. I belong only to myself. We’re finished, Atticus. For good.”

She turned and ran.

“Clarissa!” Atticus called after her, but she didn’t stop.

For the first time in his life, his mind went blank. His heart pounded so hard it hurt. By the time he realized what he’d done, she was gone.

He clenched his fists, forcing his breath steady. Chasing her now would only drive her further away.

.......

Clarissa wandered through the city like a ghost. The streets were crowded, neon lights flashing through the misty rain, but everything around her blurred. She’d run out wearing nothing but a thin sweater and slippers; her long hair clung to her damp skin, her face pale as snow.

She looked utterly lost. Her phone and car keys were still on the desk at home. She had nowhere to go, nowhere she wanted to be.

Rain began to fall harder, soaking her through. Above her, a massive screen lit up the night sky with the voice of a news anchor:

“A cold front has arrived, accompanied by strong winds and heavy rain. Citizens are advised to take precautions and avoid unnecessary travel—”

The words echoed meaninglessly through the downpour.

The autumn rain sliced against her skin like knives, but she didn’t care. The chill seeped into her bones, numbing her body—but it was nothing compared to the cold hollow ache in her chest.

She couldn’t go back. Not to that face.

Clarissa tilted her face to the sky, letting the rain strike her skin.

Someone had once told her that when you feel like crying, you should look up—so the tears would fall back instead of down.

It didn’t work.

The rain mixed with her tears, streaming down her face in messy rivulets. Her chest ached with each breath.

“Heh… Clarissa, you’re ridiculous,” she whispered bitterly to herself.

She’d raised a wolf—and the wolf had torn her apart. The boy she’d protected, loved, and trusted had sunk his teeth into her heart and left her bleeding. And still, like a fool, she’d believed she could tame him. That she could change him.

But in the end, he’d destroyed her instead.

As the saying went: everything in this world is cause and effect. No one escapes karma.

All she had ever wanted was a family. Why did that have to be so impossible?

It was over. Everything was over.

Clarissa didn’t even know where her feet were taking her. She just walked through the storm, soaked to the bone, until she found herself at a park. She borrowed a phone from a stranger and called the only person she could think of.

When Phoenix arrived, Clarissa was still sitting on a rain-drenched bench, unmoving. The drizzle had turned into a downpour, pounding against her shoulders, her hair plastered to her face. Passersby stared but kept their distance—no one dared approach.

“Clarissa!” Phoenix’s voice cut through the storm. She ran toward her without an umbrella, panic tightening her face. “What the hell happened? Who did this to you?”

Clarissa blinked slowly, lifting her head. Through the blur of rain and tears, she saw Phoenix’s face—worried, fierce, familiar.

“Phoenix…” she murmured. Her lips trembled, and her eyes filled again.

Phoenix’s chest constricted painfully. Without another word, she dropped to her knees in front of her and pulled Clarissa into her arms.

“Hey, hey… I’ve got you,” Phoenix whispered, voice low and steady. “Don’t cry. You’re safe now. We’ll talk when we get back, okay?”

Her words were soft, but her eyes—those eyes were cold, murderous.

Clarissa tried to nod, to say something—but her world suddenly tilted. The colors drained. Everything went black.

“Clarissa! Clarissa!” Phoenix’s voice broke. She shook her, but Clarissa’s body went limp, her head falling against Phoenix’s shoulder. Her skin was icy. Her lips had turned blue.

“Fuck!” Phoenix cursed under her breath. She scooped Clarissa up, holding her tightly against her chest, and sprinted toward the parking lot.

.....

Phoenix drove like a madwoman through the rain, tires hissing against the flooded streets. By the time she reached the Wraith estate, both of them were drenched, and Clarissa was barely breathing.

Xerxes, the butler, nearly dropped the tray he was carrying when he saw them.

“Miss Phoenix! What—what happened? Miss Clarissa—”

“No time!” Phoenix barked, rushing past him. “Call the doctor! And prepare a medicinal bath—bring it to my room, now!”

Xerxes didn’t hesitate. He spun around and ran.

Phoenix laid Clarissa on the bed, wrapped her in a blanket, and began rubbing her hands, blowing on her fingers to warm them.

“Clarissa, stay with me. Just a little longer,” she whispered.

Gradually, the warmth began to return to Clarissa’s body, her deathly pallor softening. But she didn’t open her eyes. Her breathing was shallow and weak.

Phoenix’s brows knitted. She knew Clarissa’s health had never been strong. She’d been a sickly child, saved only through years of careful care. But the sleepless nights, the heartbreak, the trauma—and now the freezing rain—had pushed her beyond her limit.

A knock sounded. Xerxes burst in with the Wraith family physician in tow.

“Phoenix! The doctor’s here!”

Phoenix stepped aside at once. “Check her. Fast.”