Eleven stayed by her side silently the whole time. Though she never spoke, she was frighteningly perceptive—anticipating Clarissa’s needs before she even voiced them.

When Clarissa set down her spoon, Eleven immediately stepped forward to clear the dishes, replacing them with a steaming cup of freshly brewed tea.

“Thank you,” Clarissa murmured, taking a cautious sip.

The flavor surprised her—it was unexpectedly fragrant and soothing. After finishing half the cup, warmth spread through her body, and the fatigue that had been weighing her down seemed to lift.

Eleven stayed with her throughout the morning. Whatever Clarissa asked for, the girl provided without hesitation.

Still, something felt off. The manor was silent—eerily so. No servants, no guards. Just her and the mute girl.

Given Atticus’s obsessive nature, there should have been guards stationed everywhere. Yet, he had left only Eleven behind.

Perhaps the girl was trained in combat. Or perhaps… he didn’t need anyone else, because escape was impossible.

Clarissa’s fingers tightened around the teacup.

She turned to Eleven, forcing a calm tone. “May I go for a walk?”

She half-expected refusal—but to her surprise, Eleven nodded without hesitation, then stepped ahead to lead the way.

Clarissa’s heart pounded as the door opened.

A soft fragrance hit her immediately, carried by a gentle breeze. Flower petals floated through the air like snow.

The sight that met her eyes made her forget to breathe.

Crabapple blossoms—endless fields of them, rolling across the landscape like an ocean of pink. For a moment, she could only stand there, stunned.

A small tug on her sleeve brought her back. Eleven tilted her head slightly, as if to say, let’s go.

Clarissa smiled faintly. “Alright.”

They walked through the garden together. The manor was far larger than she had imagined—dozens of times the size of the Wraith family estate.

Petals drifted through the air, blanketing the ground like silk.

It was breathtaking. Too perfect. Unreal.

No wonder Atticus designed it this way—it was the kind of dream she used to describe to him. But now, surrounded by all this beauty, Clarissa felt nothing but dread.

The stillness was unnatural. It felt like she and Eleven were the only two people left in existence.

Even the beauty of the place seemed ghostly, like a painting with no life behind it.

Her chest tightened. She couldn’t live like this. If she stayed, she would lose her mind completely.

And then, for the first time in days, an idea sparked—small, dangerous, and desperately hopeful.

Atticus was gone.

This might be her only chance.

Clarissa turned to Eleven, her voice calm. “I’m feeling a little thirsty. Could you make me another cup of tea?”

She pointed to a pavilion not far away. “I’ll wait for you over there.”

Eleven hesitated—just for a moment—then nodded and headed back toward the house.

Clarissa waited until the girl’s figure disappeared, then whispered under her breath, “I’m sorry,” and took off running.

The crabapple grove swallowed her up instantly.

Branches brushed against her arms as she ran. The air was thick with petals, clinging to her clothes like snowflakes.

She ran until her lungs burned, until her vision blurred—but still, the trees stretched endlessly in every direction.

This wasn’t just a garden.

It was a maze.

Her pulse hammered in her ears. To test her suspicion, she tore a piece of fabric from her skirt and tied it to a low branch before running again.

Half an hour later, she saw the same scrap of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Her heart sank.

No matter which direction she took, she always came back to the same spot.

Now she understood why Atticus had left only Eleven to watch her.

There was no need for guards. The place itself was a prison.

The sprawling manor, the endless grove of crabapple blossoms—all of it was a gilded cage.

A world built to hold her, trap her, break her.

The setting sun bathed the sea of blossoms in red light, turning everything around her crimson—too beautiful, too unreal.

It felt like standing in the heart of a dying flame.

Clarissa sank to her knees. Her body trembled as sobs tore from her throat, each one raw and broken. She couldn’t stop.

She cried until she could hardly breathe.

And then—footsteps.

Soft, deliberate, drawing closer.

Clarissa froze. Her blood went cold.

When she turned, she saw Atticus stepping through the falling petals, his black coat brushing against the ground, his expression calm—too calm.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes softened at the sight of her tears. But the tenderness was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something darker—rage, disappointment, betrayal.

“Clarissa,” he said slowly, his voice dangerously low. “You still want to leave me.”

He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “All that obedience—it was just an act, wasn’t it? You really are a good liar.”

He took another step forward, eyes blazing. “So disobedient. Tell me, how should I punish you?”

Each word made the air around her feel heavier, sharper. His presence was suffocating.

Clarissa’s body shook. “Atticus… please. Let me go.”

“Let you go?” He laughed again, this time louder, the sound echoing through the grove. “You want me to let you go?”

His laughter died abruptly, replaced by a sneer. “Unless I’m dead.”

Clarissa’s heart stopped.

He moved toward her, slow and deliberate. Panic surged through her, and she turned to run—but he caught her before she could take a step.

“Ah—!” She hit the ground hard, petals scattering around her. It didn’t hurt much, but terror ripped through her chest.

Atticus shrugged off his coat, his eyes dark and wild. He started toward her, unbuttoning his shirt as he came closer.

Clarissa’s breath hitched—she knew exactly what he intended.

“No—” she gasped, trying to crawl away, but his hand shot out, seizing her ankle. He yanked her back effortlessly, dragging her through the fallen petals.

“Atticus, please—stop—!” She kicked and twisted, her voice breaking with panic.

But his grip only tightened. His face hovered above hers, eyes filled with anger and obsession.

“Let me go!” she screamed, fighting with every ounce of strength she had left. “Let me go!”

Atticus suddenly seized her chin and crushed his lips against hers.

Clarissa’s eyes flew wide. She bit him hard, anger burning in her chest.

But Atticus didn’t let go. Blood mixed with saliva, running down the corner of his mouth.

He pulled back slightly, looking down at the trembling woman in his arms. Her face was flushed, her breath coming fast and uneven. When he felt her body grow limp, he let out a low, humorless laugh.

“Clarissa,” he said softly, mockingly. “You can’t live without me anymore, can you?”

Clarissa’s glare could have cut through glass. Her voice was hoarse, trembling with fury. “What did you give me? What did you feed me?”

Her emotions finally cracked open. Tears streamed down her face, hot and uncontrollable. Her heart felt as though it were being torn apart. She stared at Atticus, her voice breaking as she screamed, “I hate you, Atticus! I hate you!”

For a split second, his movements stopped. Something flickered in his eyes — pain, guilt, something human. But it was gone just as quickly, swallowed by something darker.

“Hate me all you want,” he said through gritted teeth, voice trembling with a twisted kind of desperation. “Clarissa, you belong to me. You’ll always belong to me. I’ll never let you go.”

Hate is better, he thought bitterly. Hate is better than watching you walk away and love someone else. Better than seeing you marry another man, bear his children.

“You’re insane!” she cried.

But by then, reason was gone.

Time blurred — the fiery sunset fading into a sky scattered with cold, distant stars.

When everything finally went still, Clarissa’s exhausted body went slack in his arms. She had fainted.

Around them, the sea of crabapple blossoms had turned into a haze of color and scent — petals crushed to silk against their skin, painting the night with an almost obscene beauty.

Atticus reached for his coat and wrapped it around her bare shoulders. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he began walking back toward the manor.

At the entrance, Eleven knelt on the ground, her small body trembling. She had heard Clarissa’s cries echoing from the grove but hadn’t dared to move. All she could do was wait, silent and still.

She didn’t know how long she had been kneeling; her legs were numb, her body cold. But her face showed no expression.

When the sound of footsteps reached her ears, she looked up — and saw Atticus.

He stopped in front of her. For a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then he looked away and said flatly, “Go and rest. Come back tomorrow morning.”

Eleven bowed her head and obeyed, limping away into the shadows.

Atticus carried Clarissa past the manor and into the hot spring hidden behind the mountain. The pool was carved directly into the rock, its walls inlaid with pale jade. Steam rose around them, carrying a faint scent of herbs and sulfur.

Crabapple petals floated on the surface of the water, drifting lazily in the soft light.

He set Clarissa down gently in the warm water, then stripped off his coat and stepped in after her, drawing her limp body into his arms.

A servant entered quietly, placing towels and toiletries by the pool. Atticus shifted, using his body to shield Clarissa from view.

When the servant finished arranging everything, he said calmly, “Tell the kitchen to prepare food. Keep it coming — something fresh every two hours.”

“Yes, sir.” The servant bowed and slipped away.

Once they were alone again, Atticus began to wash her carefully, brushing away the petals and dirt that clung to her skin. Clarissa didn’t stir. No matter how gently he touched her, she remained motionless, lost somewhere far from him.

Atticus held her tighter, his voice rough and low.

“Clarissa… I never wanted to hurt you.”

His hand trembled slightly as it rested on her shoulder.

“But I had nowhere else to go.”

Once she realized he wasn’t the obedient, gentle boy she’d once known, she had turned away. Without a second thought.

“You used to spoil me,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You used to say you’d never leave me. Were you lying all along?”

“Clarissa… how can you be so heartless?”

He stayed there for a long time, murmuring her name over and over.

The woman in his arms remained silent.

For the first time, Atticus felt something close to defeat — a hollow, gnawing emptiness he couldn’t name.

He didn’t know how long he sat there before he finally stood, still holding her tightly against his chest.

......

When morning came, Clarissa woke to the faint light spilling across the room. Her body ached everywhere; even breathing felt like work. She was weaker than she had been that night in the secret room.

She didn’t try to move. She simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her.

Then she heard him.

“Clarissa, you’re awake.”