In the original story, her role was simple: be an obstacle. A stepping stone for the heroine. Her sole purpose was to highlight Lyra’s kindness by being cruel, forcing the male lead to protect Lyra, fall deeper in love with her, and—eventually—completely despise Clarissa. Then, she’d have a terrible ending.

  Meanwhile, Atticus was the final boss, the ultimate villain. He and the male lead were fated to become enemies, because of family interests and conflicts. And like every proper villain, he’d inevitably become obsessed with the heroine.

  In the book, every man with a little ability fell for Lyra. Atticus was no exception. But that was supposed to come later.

  Right now? This was still her domain—the early-stage arc where the "evil supporting character" wreaked havoc before the real story kicked off.

  She had stepped back to let the plot unfold naturally, thinking things would stay peaceful. And yet… Conflict still followed her.

  Clarissa let out a quiet tsk. This damn script is inhumane.

  In the original version of events, before Atticus fully became a villain, ‘she’ had been nothing but a bystander. 'She' didn’t care, and never lifted a finger to help. Even, 'she' probably threw in a sarcastic remark or two while watching from the sidelines.

  Now, though? Now, she was here, sitting across from him, inserting herself into his story. She let her gaze drift over him, lost in thought. Had she just… rewritten his fate?

  If she had altered this moment, would he still turn evil the way he was meant to? Clarissa didn’t particularly want him to follow that same, tragic path.

  After all, she had two nightmares in a row where she had felt his pain as if it were her own. And now, she didn’t want him to suffer through those things.

  As if sensing her gaze, Atticus suddenly looked up. Their eyes met.

  Clarissa wasn’t blinking. Just staring at him.

  Atticus’s heart stirred in a way he didn’t quite understand. He looked away, visibly uncomfortably. "You… Why are you looking at me like that?"

  The dining table wasn’t big, and from this close distance, Atticus could clearly see Clarissa’s delicate features and smooth, porcelain-like skin.

  She really was beautiful. For a brief moment, something unfamiliar stirred in his chest.

  "Atticus, go back to school." Clarissa’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She didn’t seem to notice his change in expression—her gaze was steady, serious.

  She meant it. Go back to school. Don’t go to prison.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  If he focused on his studies instead, with his intelligence, he’d have no problem succeeding in life. He could break free from the fate that had once bound him—a life of fleeting power and inevitable tragedy.

  That was what Clarissa wanted. Her words yanked Atticus back to reality, his expression darkening. "You’ve already said that. Do you really think I can just go back—like nothing happened? In my situation?"

  Clarissa didn’t hesitate. "Don’t worry about money. If that’s what’s stopping you, I’ll loan it to you."

  Atticus studied her carefully, eyes sharp, searching for any trace of insincerity. "Why are you helping me like this?"

  Clarissa blinked, then casually replied, "Well… you already owe me more than 800,000. If you just work random jobs to pay me back, how long will that take?"

  "Instead, if I invest in you and you actually become someone, I’ll make my money back—plus interest. And I’ll get to network with powerful people. Seems like a fair deal to me." She had no better excuse, so she just went with that.

  Atticus was silent for a long moment before he muttered, "You really know how to do business, huh?"

  Clarissa smirked. "Obviously. And besides, you’re a genius—skipping three grades and everything. Why wouldn’t I believe in you? I’m not cruel enough to exploit an eleven-year-old kid, don’t worry. I’ll charge you interest, sure, but it won’t be anything crazy."

  Atticus didn’t respond right away. His lips pressed together in thought, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of the table.

  Finally, after a long silence, he exhaled. "You really are calculating."

  Clarissa was about to say something when the waiter arrived with their food. She waved him off. "Let’s eat first."

  Atticus gave the dishes a quick glance and said nothing more. He picked up his utensils and began eating—fast, efficient, like he was used to not wasting time.

  That evening, they walked back together.

  Before parting ways, Atticus hesitated. His lips parted, closed, then opened again—words stuck in his throat.

  Clarissa didn’t rush him. She simply waited, patient as ever.

  Finally, he spoke. "Clarissa, I… I really—" Before he could finish, a voice called out from behind.

  "Clarissa, you’re back!" Both of them turned to see Clementine walking toward them, her expression unreadable. She stopped between them and looked directly at Atticus. "Atticus, why are you still here? Your relatives are at the gate—they want to see you."

  Atticus froze. Relatives?

  Clarissa also looked puzzled, but Atticus was downright confused. What relatives?

  His mother, Belle, had long since lost contact with her family. And his father—Jason? That bastard was a gambler who owed money to everyone and their mother. His so-called "relatives" had all disappeared the moment shit hit the fan. So… who the hell was claiming to be his family now?

  Still, with Clementine urging him, Atticus turned and started walking toward the gate.

  Clarissa hesitated for only a second before following. Clementine frowned and grabbed her wrist. "Clarissa, what are you doing?"

  "Going with him. He’s just a kid—I don’t want him getting scammed." She said it matter-of-factly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then, she shrugged off Clementine’s hand and continued forward.

  Clementine sighed but didn’t stop her this time.

  Atticus glanced sideways at Clarissa, his expression unreadable. But in his eyes, for the briefest moment, there was a flicker of warmth.

  At the community gate, a couple stood waiting. The second they saw Atticus, their faces crumpled with emotion. Tears welled up in their eyes as they hurried forward.

  "Atticus… you’re Atticus, right?!" the man choked out. "I’m your uncle. This is your aunt. We saw you when you were little."

  Before Atticus could react, the man pulled him into a tight, desperate hug.

  A police officer stood nearby, observing the scene with a neutral expression. "Are you sure this is your brother’s son?" the officer asked.

  The man quickly nodded. "Of course! Jason is my brother—Atticus is his son! There’s no doubt about it!"