The boy hesitated. “But… he might drop out next year.”

  Her smile faded. “Why?”

  The boy scuffed his shoe against the dirt. “His uncle said their family is too poor to afford two kids in school.”

  The boy continued, voice bitter. “It’s bullshit. That Jasper—the idiot who always ranks last—is the one staying. And he’s a total bully. He and his gang pick on Atticus all the time.”

  Clarissa’s chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

  The boy sighed. “Jasper steals from him. Clothes, shoes, even his school supplies. Last time, he bragged about wearing Atticus’ expensive branded clothes.”

  Clarissa’s stomach turned. She reached into her wallet, pulling out another bill. “Thank you for telling me.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Wow! Thanks, pretty sister! Why are you asking about Atticus? Are you his relative?”

  Clarissa smiled faintly. “No.” Her fingers tightened around the wheel. “I’m his friend." She looked at the boy again. “One more thing—where’s your school?”

  The boy eagerly pointed her in the right direction, and as Clarissa drove away, her mind was already made up.

  Clarissa had once thought that even if Atticus wasn’t destined for wealth and privilege, at the very least, he would grow up safe in James’ care.

  Looking back now, she realized how na?ve she had been.

  Something about Atticus had always lingered in her mind. That boy—brilliant, striking, a quiet force of nature—yet suffering, always suffering. Sleep never came that night.

  By sunrise, she had made up her mind. She drove straight to Atticus’ school, then she knew that Atticus had dropped out.

  Clarissa clenched her fists. She thanked the principal, got in her car, and gripped the wheel tightly. Schools in the countryside lacked resources. Scholarships were probably scarce, and even if they weren’t, James clearly had no intention of supporting Atticus’ education.

  But she did. Money wasn’t an issue. With that thought, she turned the car around and headed straight for James’ house.

  By the time Clarissa arrived, the sun had dipped beyond the horizon, casting the village in deepening shadows. A fire flickered from the house across the yard, crackling against the quiet of the night.

  Jasper had just returned home when he noticed the luxury car parked at their doorstep. His eyes lit up.

  The moment he spotted Clarissa, his breath caught. The last time he had only heard her voice—rushed, distant. He hadn’t actually seen her. Now, standing before him was a woman unlike any he had ever laid eyes on. Slender. Elegant. Stunning.

  His gaze roamed her body hungrily, an glint in his eyes as he rubbed his palms together and stepped forward. "Who… who are you looking for?"

  Clarissa had been lost in thought when she heard the voice. She turned, catching Jasper staring at her. Predatory. Intrusive. Lustful.

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  Her stomach churned with instant disgust. Jasper was taller than her, but his face was unremarkable. What stood out was the air of greasy arrogance, the unmistakable stench of a bully.

  Clarissa exhaled sharply. “I’m here to see Mr. James. I need to discuss something. Is your family available for guests?”

  Jasper grinned. “Convenient! Super convenient! You should stay for dinner—my mom’s making roast beef tonight.”

  Clarissa barely heard him. Because something had caught her eye. A shadow—small, crumpled—lying just beyond the house, in the dim light of the fire. Clarissa turned her head fully—and froze. There, in the straw shed, Atticus lay bound, motionless.

  The sight sent a bolt of cold horror through Clarissa’s chest. “Atticus!” She dropped to her knees beside him, hands trembling as she reached out.

  He was deathly pale. His lips were cracked, the edges of his mouth tinged with dried blood. His blue pants—soaked in dark crimson. The air smelled of iron and decay.

  Clarissa gasped. The ground beneath him was wet—not just from rain. The puddle beneath his body was red. His hands and feet were bound tightly. His body was limp.

  She thought—is he…? Her shaky fingers pressed against his nose—a faint breath. Still alive.

  Relief flooded her, but it was brief—because then she saw his leg. Clarissa slowly lifted his torn trouser leg—and bile rose in her throat.

  A chunk of flesh was missing. Raw, jagged, torn right down to the muscle. Blood and dirt clung to the open wound, the exposed skin angry and inflamed. Even the slightest movement caused more blood to spill.

  Atticus' eyes flickered open, red-rimmed and weary. The sight sent a fresh wave of anger through Clarissa.

  The boy who had once stunned her with his sharp, almost ethereal beauty now looked broken. "Clarissa… why are you here?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

  Clarissa swallowed the lump in her throat. "Don’t talk. I’m taking you to the hospital. Just hold on."

  It was only then that she truly took in her surroundings. A doghouse.

  The boy—a human being—had been left here like a worthless mutt. A dog bowl sat in front of him, the water inside murky and untouched. Clarissa’s fingers curled into fists.

  "What’s all the fuss about?" James and Naomi emerged from the house, frowning at the commotion. Naomi's sharp gaze immediately turned to Jasper.

  "Jasper! Why are you still outside?"

  But Jasper wasn’t listening. He was too busy staring—his expression twisted in disbelief. This goddess-like woman—this ethereal, untouchable beauty—knew Atticus?

  Clarissa had already hooked an arm around Atticus, lifting him carefully, supporting his weight. But the moment her furious gaze landed on James, she snapped.

  "Mr. James," her voice cut through the night, sharp as a blade. "Even if Atticus isn’t your biological child, he’s still your nephew. And you—" she seethed, her voice trembling with rage, "have treated him worse than a stray dog. Are you even human?"

  James paled. Clarissa had done her research. He received two to three thousand dollars in government subsidies for taking Atticus in. The cost of his tuition was barely eight hundred.

  James never had to pay a single cent out of pocket. They took him in for the money. Not because they cared.

  James opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked away, guilt flickering across his face. But Naomi? Naomi was a different beast.

  Her lips curled in a sneer, hands slamming onto her hips. "Who the hell do you think you are, bitch? Coming into my house and spewing nonsense! This is our family’s business! Get lost while you still can—"

  Clarissa didn’t let her finish. "Shut up." Her voice rang loud, cold, and commanding.

  Naomi flinched.

  "It’s abuse. And I’m calling the police. Right. Now."

  Silence. Clarissa’s voice didn’t waver. "You’d better pray Atticus makes it through. Because if he doesn’t, this won’t just be child abuse—it’ll be murder. And I swear to God, I will personally make sure your entire family rots in prison."

  James’ face drained of color. Naomi let out a screech. "You little bitch! You dare threaten me?!"

  Clarissa’s lips curled into something cold and deadly. "Threaten?" She tilted her head, voice like silk over steel. "Oh, sweetheart, this isn’t a threat. This is a promise."

  Her gaze cut through them like glass. "I have money. I have power. And I have zero patience for garbage like you. If you don’t believe me, try me."

  And with that, she turned her back on them—She didn’t waste another second. With swift, practiced ease, she helped Atticus into her car and slammed the door shut.

  The engine roared to life, kicking up dust as she sped off into the night.