Psycho villain I Raised Wants to Marry Me-Chapter276 – Two Years Later

Another month passed in the blink of an eye.
That morning, snow was falling thick and heavy.
S City rarely saw snow like this anymore; the ground was buried beneath a white blanket, rooftops glistening, trees bending under the weight of it.
Clarissa had just woken up. When she opened her window, the sheer brightness of the world outside startled her for a moment — an endless stretch of white, silent and soft.
Before she could say anything, a pair of hands tugged at hers.
“Delilah and the others are here,” the voice said cheerfully. “They want to build a snowman with you. Come on!”
Clarissa smiled, her eyes soft. “Alright, let’s go.”
That day was nothing short of perfect. Laughter echoed through the yard, snowflakes landed in her hair, and for the first time in a long time, Clarissa looked utterly carefree. When she finally came home that evening, she took a long, hot bath. Her cheeks glowed pink from the steam, and a quiet smile lingered on her lips.
Later that night, Callum prepared a late-night snack for everyone — his famous chicken congee with ginger. Delilah devoured hers happily.
Phoenix brought a bowl to Clarissa’s room.
The moment she pushed the door open, she froze.
Clarissa was sitting quietly by the window. The window was open, letting in the cold night air. She was gazing outside, her eyes distant, filled with an emotion Phoenix couldn’t quite name — longing, maybe, or melancholy.
Phoenix’s chest tightened.
Clarissa turned her head, noticed her, and smiled. “Phoenix,” she said softly, “I want to play the piano.”
Phoenix opened her mouth, but no words came.
.......
Two Years Later
Night, S City.
The city was alive with light and sound. On the enormous screen atop the television tower, a live broadcast was playing — the kind of broadcast that stopped people in their tracks.
Passersby instinctively looked up, their eyes drawn to the woman on the screen.
Inside the city’s grandest concert hall, every seat was taken. The air was electric, anticipation so thick it was almost tangible.
Then — clack, clack, clack — the sharp rhythm of high heels echoed through the space.
The crowd fell silent.
A single spotlight illuminated the stage. A grand piano stood in the center, and from the shadows, a lone figure emerged.
No elaborate gown, no jewels, no dramatic entrance. Just a simple black dress. Long, dark hair cascading freely down her back.
Even dressed plainly, she was radiant — breathtaking in a quiet, understated way that silenced the room.
She walked to the piano with a calm, deliberate grace. Every step made the audience’s hearts tighten just a little more.
She sat.
No introduction, no words.
Her fingers hovered for a moment above the keys — then music poured from her hands like water, clear and unrestrained.
Every note was alive. The melody swelled, delicate and aching, filling the hall with a beauty that made people forget to breathe.
When the final note faded into silence, she simply stood, bowed once, and walked off the stage.
Only after her figure disappeared did the audience erupt — cheers, applause, shouts of adoration shaking the hall.
......
Meanwhile, in a top-tier hospital across town.
“It’s so beautiful,” a young nurse sighed, watching the performance replay on the lounge TV. “I’m so jealous of the people who got to see it live. They’re so damn lucky…”
“Is it really that amazing? I mean, sure, she’s talented, but—”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” the nurse interrupted. “Her music once reduced the global suicide rate for a year. Do you have any idea how incredible that is?”
Before he could argue, he accidentally turned a corner — and bumped straight into someone.
His face went pale.
“D-Dr. Atticus…” he stammered, frozen in place. His palms went clammy. Crap. Of all people…
Atticus was standing there, tall and composed, his gaze fixed on the screen above. The faint light from the monitor reflected in his dark eyes.
He hadn’t even noticed the collision until the nurse whispered his name again.
“Dr. Atticus?”
Atticus turned slightly. His expression was cold, detached — the kind of look that made people’s breath catch. “Is there something you need?”
“N-no, sir. I—I’ll get back to work!”
“Then go.” His tone was calm, almost indifferent.
The nurse nodded frantically and bolted down the hall.
A few of the others nearby, emboldened by curiosity, approached him. “Dr. Atticus,” one asked shyly, “do you… also like Miss Clarissa’s music?”
Atticus didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on the screen.
Only when Clarissa’s figure finally disappeared did he look away.
He turned to the nurses, lips curving faintly — the hint of a smile that was gone as soon as it appeared.
“Are you fans of hers too?” he asked quietly.
They all nodded, too stunned to speak.
He gave a brief nod, then walked away, his white coat fluttering behind him as he disappeared down the corridor.
For a moment, the nurses just stood there, stunned. Then came the whispers.
“God, Dr. Atticus is still so handsome.”
“I know! That was the first time I’ve ever seen him up close. He’s unreal.”
“Of course he is. He’s the best surgeon in the hospital — maybe the country. No matter how impossible the case, he always pulls it off. Over a hundred operations with a ninety percent success rate and zero deaths. It’s insane!”
“People say if someone’s not completely dead, Dr. Atticus can bring them back.”
“Honestly, I don’t even follow celebrities anymore. Except Miss Clarissa. She’s different.”
“Same here! Though technically, she’s not even in the entertainment industry.”
“Still… it’s strange. Why did Dr. Atticus come here tonight, of all places?”
......
Backstage.
Oriana was already waiting by the corridor when Clarissa came out. The moment she saw her, she rushed forward, beaming.
“Ms. Clarissa, thank you for your hard work! The performance was a complete success.”
Clarissa smiled lightly as they walked. “How’s everything at the company?”
“Everything’s fine, miss, please don’t worry.”
In the two years since Clarissa had stepped back, the company had flourished. She’d taken the role of general manager, leaving trusted executives to handle day-to-day operations. Oriana, once her secretary, now served as her personal assistant — loyal, efficient, and fiercely protective.
Clarissa said softly, “You can handle things from there. There’s no need for you to come personally every time. Go home and get some rest.”
Oriana hesitated. “Are you heading straight back?”
Clarissa shook her head. “No. Mark just flew back into the country today. I promised I’d stop by and see him.”
Oriana’s lips twitched at the mention of that name. Mark — the same kid who used to be a street brawler — was now one of the hottest rising stars in the industry. His past scandals hadn’t dented his fame at all; if anything, they’d made him more irresistible.
Watching Clarissa’s graceful silhouette walk ahead, Oriana sighed inwardly, then hurried to follow.
Inside the dressing room, Clarissa changed out of her concert gown. When she was ready to leave, a sharp voice cut through the air.
“Mr. Virgil, I’ve already told you — Miss Clarissa is unavailable.”
Oriana stood by the doorway, her face darkening.
The man blocking her path wore a tailored suit and held a single red rose.
“Mr. Virgil,” Oriana said coldly, “this is the ladies’ dressing room. It’s extremely rude to walk in without knocking.”
Virgil — the infamous third son of a real estate tycoon — didn’t even flinch. He was one of Clarissa’s biggest investors, having poured fifty million dollars into her concert.
And he had a reputation: a playboy with deep pockets and zero shame.
His eyes locked on Clarissa the moment she appeared. She’d changed into a simple black dress that fell just above her knees — understated, elegant — yet her presence filled the room effortlessly.
“Why so distant, Miss Clarissa?” Virgil said with a smirk. “I invested fifty million in this concert. Surely I deserve at least a meeting.”
Clarissa’s expression didn’t waver. “Walking into a woman’s dressing room without knocking,” she said evenly, “isn’t what I’d call gentlemanly.”
Her tone was calm, polite — but her eyes were sharp.
Virgil’s gaze lingered shamelessly on her. She was stunning — a face that could tempt any man and an aura that warned them not to try. The perfect mix of ice and fire.
He stepped closer, smile widening. “My family has some ties to the Lancasters. I hear they’re having financial troubles — something about a parcel of land overseas? I happen to own it.”
Clarissa folded her arms. “And?”
“If you’d be so kind as to have dinner with me,” he said smoothly, “I might just hand it over. What do you say?”
Clarissa looked at the rose in his hand and smiled faintly.
The gesture made his heart race — a dangerous smile, elegant and cold.
“Don’t be so tense,” he added quickly. “If you can keep me satisfied, I’ll continue sponsoring you. Who knows — maybe our families could even form an alliance. Wouldn’t that be perfect?”
He leaned in, breath hot against the air — but before he could get any closer, Clarissa stepped aside.
Her voice was low, steady. “So, you want to sleep with me?”
Virgil chuckled. “Don’t make it sound so crude. I’d call it… normal male pursuit.”
Oriana, unimpressed, rolled her eyes and poured herself a cup of tea, muttering, “Sure, ‘pursuit.’”
Clarissa didn’t even glance at her. She looked Virgil dead in the eye and said, almost lazily, “Abyss.”
A blur of black fur launched from the shadows.
“Ahhhhh—!”
Virgil crashed to the floor, screaming as a massive black leopard pinned him down, snarling inches from his face. The rose flew from his hand; his expensive suit crumpled beneath it's weight.
He stared into those gleaming eyes, trembling, and — oh yes — the front of his pants went dark.
A woman’s amused laugh drifted over him.
Clarissa’s heels clicked softly against the floor as she approached. “You’ve really made a mess of this place,” she murmured, voice like velvet over steel.
She crouched beside the leopard, stroking its head. “Abyss, come here.”
Instantly, the beast that had looked ready to tear someone apart transformed into a docile, tail-wagging puppy, nuzzling her hand affectionately.
Clarissa smiled, eyes flicking back to Virgil. “I earn eight hundred thousand a night,” she said coolly. “What makes you think I give a damn about your fifty million?”
“You—! Clarissa, don’t push your luck! I’ll sue you!”
She raised a brow. “You don’t look injured. But that puddle under you? That’s going to cost you. The cleaning bill’s on you.”
Virgil froze, face flushed red with humiliation.
Clarissa’s lips curved in amusement. “You really thought you could seduce me? Maybe take a look in the mirror first.”
Virgil scrambled to his feet and bolted out the door, still muttering threats about pulling his investments.
Clarissa didn’t even bother to watch him go.
Oriana set down her teacup and grabbed her bag, grinning. “Miss Clarissa, that was brilliant. I’ve been dying to see someone put him in his place. Abyss was definitely the perfect choice for that creep.”
Clarissa smiled faintly, stroking Abyss’s head again. “He’s good at handling trash.”