Her whole body trembled, her breath warm against his chest.

  “…Don’t,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Please, don’t do this.”

  She held him tighter. “…Come back with me.”

  “Please.” She kept whispering it, over and over.

  And for the first time in years— Atticus had no idea what to say.

  He just stood there. Stunned. Staring at the girl clinging to him as if he was something worth holding onto.

  The rain poured around them. Her hair stuck to her face, her long lashes wet with tears. Her eyes were closed, her body visibly terrified—but still, she refused to let go.

  His lips parted, but before he could say a word— Footsteps.

  “Who’s there?” The voice snapped them both out of it.

  Clarissa blinked, as if suddenly remembering where they were. She quickly stepped back, turning toward the figure approaching in the rain.

  The security guard squinted at them under his umbrella. “…Clarissa?”

  Clarissa forced a small, sheepish smile. “Uncle.”

  The guard looked between them, frowning. “Why are you all wet? What’s going on?”

  Clarissa hesitated, then glanced at Atticus before answering.

  “I slipped,” she said smoothly. “Atticus was just helping me.”

  The security guard’s expression shifted slightly when he saw Clarissa standing beside Atticus. His gaze lingered for only a moment before he quickly looked away and waved a hand dismissively.

  “Well, you should get home and rest. Drink some ginger tea—you don’t want to catch a cold.”

  “Okay.” As the man walked away, Clarissa let out a quiet breath of relief.

  Behind her, Atticus scoffed. “Did you see that? The way people look at me?” His voice was calm, but there was a bitter edge to it. “Like I’m some kind of disease. If you stay around me, they’ll start avoiding you too.”

  Clarissa turned to him without hesitation. “You’re not a plague, Atticus. You’re just an eleven-year-old boy like everyone else.”

  Then, without warning, she grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”

  Atticus tensed. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You’re soaked. If you keep standing in the rain, you’ll get sick. Come home with me—get warm, change into dry clothes, and drink some ginger tea first.”

  Atticus opened his mouth, ready to argue. He hated the taste of ginger. But then his gaze drifted down—to where Clarissa’s hand was wrapped around his. Her fingers were warm. Soft. Unlike his, which were cold and stiff from the rain.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  For a fleeting second, without thinking, he curled his fingers slightly—just enough to hold on a little tighter.

  But then— His eyes caught the wound on her palm. And just like that, reality crashed back in.

  His expression darkened, and he jerked his hand away.

  Clarissa winced at the sting but said nothing. She looked at him, confused, watching as he turned his face away. Then, after a brief pause, she reached for his hand again.

  This time, she didn’t ask. She simply held onto him and started walking. Atticus froze.

  His mind went blank as she pulled him forward—toward the entrance of her home. By the time they reached the door, he felt like he was in some kind of daze. Clarissa pushed it open and stepped inside lightly.

  “Wait here.” Then, without another word, she disappeared down the hall.

  Atticus stood at the threshold, staring after her, his brows furrowing. She wasn’t about to tell him to go into her room, was she?

  Just as an unfamiliar heat rushed to his face at the thought, Clarissa reappeared—now in dry clothes, carrying a large package in her arms.

  Atticus quickly looked away, feeling oddly self-conscious. But Clarissa didn’t seem to notice.

  She walked past him, heading toward a different room downstairs. She pulled out a key, unlocked the door, and gestured for him to follow.

  Inside, the lights flickered on, revealing a small but cozy two-bedroom apartment. The furniture was minimal—just the essentials. A bed, a wardrobe, a small desk tucked into the corner.

  “You can stay here for now,” Clarissa said, setting the package down. “There are blankets and sheets. Bring your own clothes.”

  Atticus eyed her warily. “What is this place?”

  “I rented it before,” she explained, brushing damp hair from her face. “I already paid the rent.”

  Originally, she had planned for a caretaker to live here and look after Clementine. But Clementine refused, and since then, the room had remained empty.

  Atticus frowned. “And you’re not worried about pissing off the landlord by letting me stay here?”

  Clarissa barely hesitated. “I am the landlord.”

  Atticus blinked. “What?”

  “My mom and I own this building.”

  Clementine had lived here before. The area was quiet, familiar, and safe. Clarissa had decided to buy the property to make sure no strangers would move in and disrupt the peace.

  Hearing Clarissa’s words, Atticus lowered his gaze slightly. “Are you rich?”

  “Not bad.”

  She spoke casually while making the bed.

  When she turned back, she saw him still standing there, unmoving. Clarissa thought for a moment, then walked up to him and held out her hand.

  “Give it to me.”

  Atticus frowned. “Give you what?”

  “I’m not letting you stay here for free,” she said matter-of-factly. “Two hundred a night. I’ll give you the market price. Short-term rental is fifteen hundred, long-term is a thousand—one deposit, two payments. Deal?”

  “…”

  Atticus stared at her so intently that Clarissa almost flinched.

  But after a few seconds, without a word, he reached into his bag and pulled out a bunch of crumpled bills, shoving them into her hand. “This is all I have. Take it.”

  Clarissa started to count the money, but before she could finish, his stomach let out a loud grumble.

  The air in the room froze for a moment. Atticus stiffened. His face turned red.

  Without missing a beat, Clarissa swiftly stuffed the money into her coat pocket, not bothering to count.

  “Add five hundred. I’ll throw in breakfast and dinner. Deal?”

  “Uh…” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

  “Good. Now go take a hot shower. There’s warm water in the bathroom.”

  Without waiting for a response, Clarissa turned and left.

  After showering and changing into dry clothes, Atticus sat on the edge of the bed, still feeling the warmth of the water on his skin when Clarissa returned.

  She carried a tray with a steaming bowl of noodles and half a bowl of ginger soup.

  “Drink the ginger tea first while it’s hot. Then eat.”

  Atticus frowned at the sight of it. He hated ginger.

  But before he could refuse, Clarissa had already shoved the bowl into his hands.

  Left with no choice, he let out a quiet sigh and took a sip. The sharp, spicy taste hit his tongue instantly. His face twisted into a grimace.

  Clarissa almost laughed. He really does hate ginger. She sat beside him, watching in silence as he ate his noodles.

  The warm scent of broth filled the room, but Clarissa’s mind was elsewhere.