Psycho villain I Raised Wants to Marry Me-Chapter292 – Hypnosis?
The next day, Clarissa messaged Atticus directly.
She waited a long while for a reply, glancing at her phone again and again as she worked.
She had just finished preparing Abyss’s food when her phone finally vibrated.
Her heart jumped. She grabbed it immediately—it was Atticus.
“Follow-up appointment at 1 PM today. Are you available?”
Clarissa replied almost instantly:
“Yes!”
She glanced at the wall clock—it was just past ten in the morning. Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She hurried inside to get ready.
Abyss watched as the woman, suddenly radiant with energy and purpose, rushed about. It let out a quiet, long-suffering sigh.
Clarissa showered, even indulging in a bubble bath. She blow-dried her waist-length hair, combed through it carefully, and styled it into soft curls.
An hour and a half slipped by.
She opened her wardrobe, selected an outfit, and changed. Another hour disappeared.
When she finally faced the mirror, she studied her reflection and smiled with satisfaction.
By the time she was done, the clock read exactly 12:30 PM.
Time really flies, she thought.
She applied her lipstick, picked up her bag, and headed out.
.......
Atticus sat in his office, his hand resting on the armrest, fingers tightening imperceptibly as the seconds dragged on.
At 12:50, a knock sounded at the door.
That familiar voice stirred his long-suppressed soul.
“Come in…”
He glanced at her—then instinctively looked away.
Every time she came close, desire surged violently within him. And every time, he had to force it back down, a torment that sawed at his nerves.
When Clarissa saw him look at her only to turn away indifferently, a quiet disappointment settled in her chest.
She walked toward him slowly.
Snapping back to himself, Atticus lifted a hand slightly.
“Sit.”
He took out a form and rested his hand against it as usual.
“Miss Clarissa, please briefly describe what happened last night.”
Clarissa recounted her dream. As she spoke, Atticus’s pen paused mid-stroke.
“When did you realize the dreams had returned?” he asked.
“Just yesterday.”
“Are you still using the incense I gave you?”
“Yes.”
The pen rotated slowly between his fingers.
That incense has a calming effect… then why is this happening again?
Silence settled between them.
Seeing how serious he looked, a ripple of unease passed through Clarissa. Then, as if remembering something urgent, she blurted out:
“Dr. Atticus, something very strange has been happening to me lately.”
He lifted his eyes. “What is it?”
The words rushed to her throat—then suddenly froze.
Their gazes collided.
His was focused, clinical, intent on diagnosing her. That alone made the confession feel heavier, harder to voice.
How could she even start?
Someone had once told her that she used to have a boyfriend named Atticus.
Heat crept up her cheeks.
“My memories feel… complete,” she said slowly, “but at the same time, it feels like something is missing. Someone once said we were supposed to do something important together—but I don’t remember it at all.”
Atticus’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
Under her searching gaze, he asked carefully,
“You… remember something?”
“What do you mean, Dr. Atticus?”
Her unfamiliar, guarded look extinguished the spark that had just flared in his chest.
She still felt drawn to him. She was still willing to approach him.
But if she truly regained her memories… would she flee from him again, just like before?
He didn’t dare to be sure.
“…Nothing,” he said after a pause. Then, slowly, “I once studied a technique called hypnosis under a master.”
“Hypnosis?”
“Yes. It’s an effective but incredibly complex skill. It has many applications. In extreme cases, it can even alter memories or influence a person’s behavior.”
Clarissa froze.“So… if that’s true, is there a way to undo it?”
Atticus’s eyes flickered. His grip on the pen tightened.
“This is only a hypothesis, Miss Clarissa. We’ll need further evaluation before confirming anything.”
He stood up and walked to the adjoining room, pushing the door open.“Miss Clarissa, this way, please.”
She followed him inside.
It was her first time in this room—a secondary consultation area with a narrow bed, a reclining therapy chair, and an array of instruments.
Atticus walked to the chair and gestured.“Please lie down here.”
Clarissa complied.
As he leaned forward to adjust something, she accidentally glanced down and caught sight of the lean muscle beneath his shirt, the lines of his chest and waist outlined clearly through the fabric—
Her heartbeat slammed violently.
Her ears burned red.
She wrenched her gaze away and cursed silently, You demon.
Atticus, busy adjusting the lighting, failed to notice her reaction at first. When he turned back, what he did see was her flushed profile—and the faint rise and fall of her breathing.
Heat flared behind his eyes.
He coughed lightly and quickly looked away, his breathing turning uneven.
The atmosphere shifted at once—subtly, dangerously.
Neither of them dared acknowledge it.
Finally, Atticus straightened.“I need to prepare a few things. Wait here.”
“Yes,” Clarissa replied quickly, not daring to look at him again.
Only after he left did she finally release a shaky breath.
Clarissa lay reclined in the chair, a small lamp glowing beside her. Its soft orange light wrapped the room in warmth, easing her nerves without her even realizing it.
Drowsiness crept over her.
Just as her consciousness began to drift, Atticus finally arrived. She looked up instinctively and saw him enter with a metal tray in his hands.
His expression had returned to its usual calm. He sat beside her, lit a stick of incense, and then picked up a slender, oddly shaped rod.
“I’m going to begin now,” he said gently. “Don’t be nervous. Just relax.”
“Okay…” Clarissa answered obediently.
Atticus studied her silently.
Hypnosis required a trigger. He usually used rhythmic tapping as the point of suggestion. But to break the spell that bound her, he first needed to understand the trigger Callum had used.
What was it?
He only snapped back to himself when her voice reached him again.
“Dr. Atticus… hasn’t it started yet?”
A faint smile curved his lips. “It has already begun. Close your eyes.”
He tapped the rod lightly.
Clink.
A subtle jolt rippled through Clarissa’s consciousness.
“Relax,” his voice murmured, low and steady. “Don’t tense up. Follow my rhythm… just feel it…”
His voice flowed into her ears like water, and before she realized it, her body responded on instinct.
Feathers. Butterflies.
Those images always appeared in her dreams.
So he used them now—guiding her gently back into that incomplete, fragile world.
When Clarissa slowly regained awareness, more than two hours had passed.
The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was Atticus’s face.
He was looking at her quietly—far more tenderly than he likely realized.
“Dr. Atticus…” Her voice was soft, still hazy from the lingering fragments of the experience.
Her head felt foggy. She didn’t want to move. Didn’t even want to sit up.
Atticus spoke gently, “Get up now.”
Seeing her confused, unfocused gaze, he lowered his eyes.
Another failure.
Turning away, his grip tightened sharply around the tray. A shadow flashed through his eyes.
Still, whenever he was near her, the restless storm in his own heart seemed to quiet—just a little.
He set his tools down and turned back to her.
“Miss Clarissa.”
“Mm?” she looked at him.
Seeing that she was still dazed, Atticus smiled faintly. “Nothing. It’s getting late. Let’s go get dinner.”
Clarissa nodded.
......
This time, they didn’t drive. They walked.
The street outside the hospital was lively, surrounded by commercial buildings and shopping centers. Behind them, narrow alleys were crowded with food stalls and restaurants.
The air was thick with the fragrance of grilled meat, spices, and fried dough.
Atticus glanced at her. “What do you feel like eating?”
“I’m not very hungry yet,” Clarissa said softly, lowering her gaze. “Let’s walk a little more.”
She simply wanted to stay with him longer.
He studied her for a moment. “Alright.”
They walked on.
The crowd thickened, pushing them apart. Someone bumped Clarissa hard—she stumbled—
A hand caught her.
Warm fingers wrapped around her own, pulling her backward into him. Their bodies pressed together.
The clean, faint medicinal scent that always clung to Atticus surrounded her, stealing the breath from her lungs.
She thought he smelled dangerously good.
She barely dared inhale.
Behind her, Atticus froze as well. It had been so long since he’d felt her warmth, her faint scent, this close.
Another surge of people rushed past—
Without thinking, he pulled her forward by the hand.
Their fingers intertwined.
Heat flowed between their palms.
Clarissa didn’t resist. She followed instinctively at his side as he used his body to shield her and led her to a quieter patch of sidewalk.
When they finally stopped, their eyes met.
Her heart was racing wildly.
“Dr. Atticus… I—I think my hand is sweating…” Her palm was slightly damp where it pressed against his.
The next second, he released her.
He stared at his own palm briefly, then said softly, “It’s sweaty. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine…” she answered.
She had lowered her head, and he misread it as discomfort.
“There were too many people,” he added quickly, explaining himself. “It was safer that way. It won’t cause any misunderstanding with your boyfriend.”
Clarissa looked up at him strangely.
Just as she was about to speak—
“Sir! Would you like to buy your girlfriend some flowers?”
A pretty young girl skipped over, holding a basket filled with bright, colorful blooms.
Atticus glanced down. Among the flowers, he spotted a single spray of crabapple blossoms.
Without hesitation, he said, “How much? I’ll take the crabapple.”
He handed the blossoms to Clarissa.
She froze, stunned.
Only when he moved to take them back, realizing his mistake, did she reach out and accept them instead.
“Thank you…” she whispered.
Looking down at the delicate crabapple flowers in her hands, warmth spread quietly through her chest.
Seeing her smile, the edge in Atticus’s gaze softened.
Not far away, another little girl skipped down the street with an empty basket.
Someone called out, “Are you selling flowers?”
The girl casually handed it over. “Take them all. Pay whatever you like.”
She turned and left quickly.
Once they were out of sight, she spoke softly, “Eleven. Mission accomplished.”
From the shadows, a figure emerged.
Eleven stepped forward and gently hugged her. Then she pulled out a thick wad of cash and handed it over.
The girl’s eyes lit up as she counted the money joyfully.
“Come find me again next time you need this kind of job!”
Chapter292 – Hypnosis?
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