“Yeah, isn’t she your sister? She’s beautiful. Is she feeling alright? If she’s sick, I can take you two to a hospital instead.”

  Atticus glanced at Clarissa again. Even in sleep, her fair face held an unnatural flush, her lips slightly parted as she breathed softly.

  His heart skipped a beat. Looking away, he answered flatly, “No. She just needs to go home and rest.”

  Clarissa had said she wanted to go home. He wasn’t about to make decisions for her.

  The driver glanced at him but didn’t push the matter. The kid was good-looking, sure, but there was something cold about him—like a wall keeping everyone at a distance.

  The taxi pulled up to their destination. Atticus looked at Clarissa, still fast asleep. After a moment of hesitation, he reached out and gently shook her shoulder.

  “Clarissa. Clarissa.”

  She stirred, her eyelashes fluttering slightly before her dazed, sleepy eyes met his.

  “Atticus?”

  “Yeah. We’re home.”

  Clarissa sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” She let out a small yawn as Atticus helped her out of the car.

  Between the meds and the nap, she felt a lot better now. As they walked toward the house, she stretched lazily and said, “I won’t let you miss work for nothing. I’ll pay you back for your lost wages and the cab fare.”

  Atticus shook his head. “No need. I owe you money anyway.”

  They reached the door, and Clarissa pulled out her keys. Now that she was more awake, she hesitated for a moment before turning to the boy beside her. “Come in for a bit.”

  After everything he’d done for her today, she couldn’t just send him off like this. At the very least, she could offer him something to drink.

  Atticus pressed his lips together as if about to refuse, but before he could speak, Clarissa grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside.

  This was his second time stepping into her house. Even so, he still looked a little stiff, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. His expression remained calm—too calm, like he was deliberately keeping his emotions locked away.

  Clarissa poured him a glass of orange juice with ice and set it in front of him before taking a seat herself.

  Atticus eyed the drink for a moment, his dry lips parting slightly. He had been running around outside all day. He was hot. Thirsty. Murmuring a quiet, “Thanks,” he picked up the glass and took a sip.

  Clarissa watched him out of the corner of her eye. Even though it was obvious he was parched, he still drank slowly, his posture upright, movements controlled. This kid…

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  Something about the contrast—his cold, almost indifferent demeanor and his quiet restraint—shifted her impression of him again.

  Was this really the same Atticus?

  Her thoughts drifted for a moment—flashes of memories, nightmares that had surfaced once before. They hadn’t returned since, but they had left an imprint so deep that even now, she could remember them vividly.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, she spoke softly, “Atticus… shouldn’t you still be in school? How do you have time for part-time jobs?”

  “I dropped out,” he said flatly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

  Clarissa’s eyes widened. “What? You’re only in junior high! Why would you drop out?”

  Everyone in this city knew Atticus was a prodigy. He had skipped three grades in elementary school and was already a junior high student at just eleven. Next year, he would’ve been taking his high school entrance exams.

  Why would he quit now?

  “I don’t feel like studying anymore,” Atticus said, his tone calm, detached. “I want to make money.”

  Clarissa stared at him. The way he said it—like he was talking about someone else’s life instead of his own—made something in her chest tighten.

  “You’re too young to be worrying about money,” she said, voice firm. “No matter what, you shouldn’t drop out—”

  “Clarissa, I’m back!”

  A voice interrupted her. The front door swung open, and a familiar figure walked in, carrying several bags. “I bought your favorite dishes. You must be hungry—I’ll start cooking.”

  Clarissa was mid-sentence when the door suddenly swung open.

  Clementine stepped inside, her face lighting up when she saw the shoes by the door—proof that Clarissa was home. But the moment her eyes landed on Atticus, the warmth in her expression vanished.

  “Clarissa, he…”

  Atticus caught the sharp look Clementine shot his way. Without waiting for Clarissa to explain, he put down the glass and stood up.

  “It’s getting late. I should go.”

  His voice was calm, detached. Before Clarissa could react, he was already walking toward the door, his strides brisk and unhesitating.

  She moved to get up, but the sudden motion sent a wave of dizziness crashing over her. Her vision darkened for a split second, forcing her to steady herself against the armrest.

  Clementine, of course, had no intention of stopping Atticus. Instead, she rushed to Clarissa’s side, concern evident in her eyes.

  “Clarissa, what’s wrong? You don’t look well.”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” Clarissa reassured her, pressing a hand to her temple. “It’s just a cold.”

  “A cold?” Clementine’s face darkened. “Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve picked you up from school. That’s it—I’m taking you to the hospital right now.”

  Clarissa quickly grabbed her mother’s wrist before she could reach for her phone. “Mom, seriously, I’m okay. I already took medicine, and I’m feeling much better.”

  Clementine frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “I promise. I just need to rest a little more.”

  Clementine let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. Go lie down. I’ll make you something light to eat later.”

  Clarissa gave her a small smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

  Once Atticus left, exhaustion crept up on her again. She climbed into bed, planning to nap for a bit. Next time they met, she’d make sure to tell him—he didn’t have to pay her back so soon.

  That night, after taking another dose of medicine, Clarissa slept deeply and peacefully. By the next morning, her fever was completely gone.

  Over breakfast, she sipped on a bowl of steaming hot porridge and ate a few of Clementine’s handmade dumplings. The warmth spread through her body, making her feel almost normal again.

  Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she absentmindedly scrolled through the contacts on her phone.

  There had been a time when she was surrounded by people—constant party invites, endless messages. Now, not a single person checked in on her.

  People were fickle. She knew that.

  Still, the realization left a strange emptiness in her chest.

  With a quiet sigh, Clarissa put down her phone and got up. She needed some fresh air.

  She had money, sure, but she wasn’t planning to waste it like before. It was time to start investing.

  Stocks seemed like a good place to start.