After half a month of taking the medicine Callum prescribed, Clementine’s complexion had visibly improved.

  "Grandpa’s amazing," Clarissa remarked one afternoon, watching her mother finish her drink. "You look so much healthier."

  Clementine smiled. "Your grandfather used to be a famous doctor. But that was a long time ago. Clarissa, unless absolutely necessary, don’t bring up medicine around him."

  Clarissa nodded. "I understand."

  Later that day, as she was leaving the house, she spotted Callum carrying a basket, heading toward the mountain path. "Grandpa, are you going out? Do you need help?"

  Callum barely spared her a glance. "What, you think your mother’s medicine just appears out of thin air?"

  His gaze flicked over her, unimpressed. "With those soft, delicate arms of yours? Don’t bother. The mountain’s full of snakes, rats, and insects. You’d just get in the way." And with that, he turned and left.

  Clarissa chuckled, watching him go. "Be careful on the road!" she called after him. Then, turning back toward the house, she noticed just how old and worn-out many of Callum’s belongings were. She decided it was time to buy some new things. "Mom, want to come with me?" she asked.

  Clementine shook her head. "I’ll stay home and work on something. I want to make a new outfit for your grandfather before we leave."

  Clarissa smiled. "Alright, I’ll be back soon."

  The town didn’t have a huge selection, so she had to visit several different shops to get everything she needed.

  She was just about to head back when she spotted a familiar figure walking along the road.

  Clarissa’s eyes narrowed slightly in recognition. Atticus. She instinctively pulled over, but before she could call out to him, another voice cut through the air.

  "Hey, Atticus!" Jasper’s voice was full of glee, his face lighting up like he had just struck gold. "I finally caught you, you fuck bastard. I saw you with an envelope yesterday. Looked like a lot of cash. Hand it over—let me see it."

  "Why the hell should I give it to you??" Atticus sneered, his gaze filled with pure contempt. He tilted his head slightly, his voice laced with mockery. "Jasper, you want me to remind your parents about that little stunt you pulled—throwing your report card in the trash?"

  Jasper’s face stiffened. Atticus turned to another boy, his smirk deepening. "And you, Vincent—last time, didn't you steal Serenity’s things? Should I go have a word with her about that?"

  His words were like a lit match tossed into a pile of dry leaves. Jasper snapped. With an angry snarl, he swung his fist. The punch landed hard against Atticus’ cheek, leaving a burning red mark on his pale skin.

  The group closed in on him, shoving him against the rough brick wall. Blow after blow rained down. He felt his lip split, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. But he didn’t make a sound. He never did. Not until—

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  "What the hell are you doing?!" A sharp voice cut through the air. The boys froze. They turned, eyes widening as a stunning woman strode toward them, her face dark with anger.

  Jasper’s bravado instantly wavered. With a scowl, he spat, "Lucky for you, bastard. Let’s go." He shot Atticus a cold glare. Just wait. After all, he had seen that thick envelope last night. Atticus had been freeloading off them, yet he had the audacity to hoard money? He’d be sure to tell his mother. And once he did, that bastard would be out on the streets.

  Clarissa stepped closer, pulling a tissue from her bag as she gently wiped the blood from the corner of Atticus’ mouth. "Are you okay? I’ll take you to the hospital."

  Atticus barely flinched. "No need. It’s just a small wound. I’m used to it." His words made something in Clarissa’s chest tighten painfully.

  "Who was that guy? Does he mess with you often?" she asked softly.

  "My uncle’s son," he replied, his words clipped and detached.

  Clarissa fell silent. He didn’t say much, but the more she listened, the more she felt something was deeply wrong. She helped him up, her voice gentle. "Come on. I’ll take you home." For once, Atticus didn’t refuse.

  In the car, Clarissa glanced at him. He was still wearing his school uniform. "Shouldn’t you be on break? Why are you still in uniform? Is… something going on?"

  Atticus hesitated for a second before replying flatly, "Nothing. I just forgot to change."

  Clarissa hummed in response. "Oh…" But in her mind, doubts swirled. Forgot? Twice? Something wasn’t right. Before she could press further, they arrived. The house was small, old—one of those countryside bungalows that had clearly seen better days.

  The moment the car stopped, Atticus unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out. "Thanks."

  Clarissa smiled. "No need to thank me." Atticus glanced toward the house. "It’s nothing much, so I won’t invite you in."

  Clarissa met his gaze, her eyes warm. "That’s okay. I should be heading home anyway." She drove off, the dust kicking up behind her tires.

  Atticus watched the car disappear down the road, the ghost of a smile flickering across his lips.

  But the moment he stepped inside— SMACK. A sharp, stinging slap across the face. His head snapped to the side, and fresh blood welled at the corner of his already wounded mouth.

  Naomi stood before him, her expression twisted with fury. She had always been a strong woman—years of farm work made her hands rough, her temper even rougher. And right now, she was livid. "Jasper said you’ve been hiding money."

  Atticus exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. He wiped his mouth casually, then smiled—a slow, taunting curve of his lips. "Hiding? Why, because I don’t hand over every single thing I own?"

  Naomi’s nostrils flared. "You live under my roof, eat my food—you should be handing over everything. Now where’s the money? Give it to me, I’ll keep it safe for you."

  From behind her, Jasper smirked, arms crossed, his stance cocky. Naomi continued, her voice sharp as a knife. "And while you’re at it—switch clothes with Jasper. His shirt has a hole in it."

  Atticus stared at her. "Then what am I supposed to wear?"

  "Sew it up. You should be grateful you even have clothes, you little bastard. You think you deserve nice things?"

  Jasper snickered from behind her, sticking his tongue out in triumph. "Come on, be a good boy," he taunted. "Hand it over, or I’ll make sure Mom throws you out."

  Atticus stood his ground as Naomi and Jasper blocked the doorway, barring him from entering. When he didn’t budge, Naomi’s patience snapped. She stepped forward, reaching for him, ready to search his pockets.

  Atticus jerked back instinctively. “Don’t touch me.” Before things could escalate, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

  "What the hell is going on here?" James had arrived. He stood at the entrance, brows furrowed, taking in the scene—the tense standoff, Naomi’s flushed anger, Jasper’s eager hostility, and Atticus, silent and stiff.

  Naomi and Jasper immediately turned on the theatrics, their faces lighting up like they’d just been rescued. "James! Finally, you're back! This ungrateful brat has been hiding money from us!" Naomi huffed, her voice shrill with outrage.

  Jasper chimed in quickly, "He eats for free, sleeps for free, and now he's hoarding cash behind our backs. How is that fair?"

  James' gaze flicked to Atticus. "Is that true?"