Naomi’s face lit up with greedy calculation. "Well, he’s good-looking and smart. We should get at least… eighty, maybe a hundred grand?"

  James stiffened. "Naomi!"

  But Clarissa didn’t even blink. "Fine."

  Naomi’s smirk widened. "See? A reasonable lady. Give us the money, and we’ll disappear."

  Clarissa’s gaze darkened, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Take the money. But if you ever come near him again… I’ll make sure you regret it."

  James nodded quickly, yanking Naomi back before she could say another word.

  Clarissa turned on her heel, walking back into the ward without another glance.

  Atticus lay motionless, his breathing steady, the IV drip hanging from his arm. The hospital gown swallowed his thin frame, making him look even smaller than before.

  Clarissa's chest tightened at the sight of him. He’s barely more than skin and bones. She sighed, deciding to let the coin go for now. He needed food first. She’d search for it later.

  As she turned to leave, Atticus’s eyes fluttered open. They were eerily clear—not a hint of confusion, no haze from sleep.

  Slowly, he glanced at his arm, noting the IV. Then, with a careful movement, he sat up and lowered his gaze. On the floor, just to the right of the bed, a single coin lay still.

  It was tails up. Atticus reached down, picked it up between his slender fingers, and… flipped it over. Now, it was heads. Satisfied, he set it back where he found it and lay down again.

  The door burst open. Jasper’s family flooded in. Jasper stopped when he saw Atticus awake, his lips pressing into a thin line. Jealousy flickered behind his dull gaze.

  This little bastard was about to be whisked away to a new life—a life of privilege, surrounded by wealth and beautiful girl.

  Naomi, crossed her arms and let out a sharp laugh. "Tch. Guess it pays to have a pretty face. Didn’t take long for you to hook some rich city girl, huh?"

  "Shut up," James snapped.

  But Naomi just rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. Look at this brat. How the hell does he look anything like your dead brother? He’s like some kind of… male succubus. Just one look and—bam!—women are throwing money at him. Hell, she’s paying a hundred grand for him, isn’t she?"

  James’s patience snapped. "Enough! You wanna see me in jail that bad?"

  Naomi fell silent. James turned his attention to Atticus, his expression stiff. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "Listen, Atticus. We just can’t afford to keep you anymore. It’s not that we don’t care, but life’s tough, you know? Maybe this is for the best. That girl’s from a rich family. You’ll have a good life with her."

  Atticus lay still, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. James froze. Something about that smile unnerved him. It was… too calm, too knowing. For a boy who had just woken up from a near-death state, it felt less like gratitude and more like… mockery.

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

  "Uncle," Atticus murmured, his voice deceptively soft, "you should be happy. You got your payday and got rid of the burden in one shot. A win-win, right?"

  James’s face blanched. "You—"

  Atticus’s smile widened, his gaze darkening with something unreadable. "Don’t worry. I won’t forget the kindness of my dear adoptive family."

  Before James could react, the door swung open. Clarissa strode in, her eyes immediately locking onto Atticus. "You’re awake!" Relief flooded her voice as she rushed to his bedside. "Are you okay? Did they do anything to you?"

  Atticus’s expression softened. "Nothing."

  Clarissa helped him sit up, careful not to disturb the IV in his hand, then lifted a spoonful of warm porridge to his lips. He didn’t refuse.

  Naomi, watching the scene unfold, snorted. "Tch. Look at them. Like a damn love scene." She elbowed James. "We’re wasting our time here. Let’s just get our money and go."

  Ignoring James’s warning glare, Naomi sauntered forward. "Miss City Girl."

  Clarissa didn’t even look at her. "Clarissa."

  Naomi smirked. "Miss Clarissa, then. We agreed on a deal. Shouldn’t we be getting paid?"

  Clarissa finally turned her gaze on her—cold, sharp, unyielding. "Go home and wait. I’ll contact you."

  "How do we know you won’t just take off with him?"

  Clarissa tilted her head, her expression turning almost… amused. "You’re not in a position to negotiate with me."

  "If you’re that concerned, I can call the police right now and let them take your husband instead."

  That shut her up. Naomi paled, her bravado crumbling. She might be cruel, but she wasn’t stupid. If James went to jail, she and Jasper would be out on the streets.

  With one last glare, she stormed out, dragging James and Jasper with her.

  Finally, the room fell into silence. Clarissa turned back to Atticus.

  Atticus turned his head away after barely finishing half the bowl of porridge. "I'm full." He hadn't eaten in two days—so his body couldn't handle more just yet.

  She set the bowl down. "Do you want to sleep a little longer?"

  "Okay." Atticus closed his eyes without protest, slipping into sleep almost instantly.

  Clarissa tucked the blanket around him, her fingers lingering for a second before she finally pulled away.

  Then, she started searching again. The missing coin had to be somewhere. After rummaging around, she finally spotted it on the bed opposite his.

  Clarissa picked it up, flipping it between her fingers. Heads. She let out a quiet sigh of relief—then chuckled softly to herself.

  An hour later, Atticus stirred. He opened his eyes to the sight of Clarissa standing by the window, speaking on the phone.

  Her voice was soft, almost distant. The light framed her in a way that made her look untouchable. Ethereal.

  She turned when she heard him move, her expression shifting instantly. "You're awake?" She stepped closer, sitting in front of him, her posture suddenly hesitant. "I… I need to talk to you about something."

  Before she could continue, Atticus spoke first. "They told me you wanted to take me in?"

  Clarissa stiffened. Atticus’s gaze was unreadable, his voice almost too calm. "Clarissa, you're still too kind. But do you even know what kind of person I am?"

  She hesitated. If I tell him the truth—that if I didn’t interfere, he’d be in jail, miserable, despised—would he even believe me?

  Atticus let out a quiet chuckle, his eyes drifting toward the window. "I’m not Jason’s son. I’m not even Belle’s son."

  He turned back to her, his voice steady. "The truth is, I don’t even know who I am."

  "They’re right," he continued. "I’m a bastard. A stray. Someone my own family discarded without a second thought. And to top it all off…"

  His lips curled into something bitter. "I killed the only person who ever showed me kindness."

  "Atticus—"

  "Belle died because of me."

  Clarissa’s chest tightened. "No. She died of illness. It had nothing to do with you."

  But Atticus only smiled. That eerie, quiet smile. "Does it matter? The fact remains—I’ve been thrown away. Again. For the third time." His voice was so even, so detached, as if he were speaking about someone else’s life instead of his own.

  Clarissa felt something sharp pierce her chest. Being abandoned. She had felt it, too—the day she was left in a trash can as a newborn. If not for the nun at the orphanage, she wouldn’t have lived to see the world. They were the same.