His features were perfect—no flaws at all. His eyes were deep black, like the ink of a starless winter night, and in the blink of an eye, they seemed to shimmer with the flight of a thousand butterflies. Beneath his eyes, a small teardrop-shaped mole added a touch of allure to his already striking face.

  Clarissa couldn’t help but think, Whose child is this? He’s so beautiful.

  She adored children, so she bought a small cake from the vendor and walked over to him. "Hey, little brother, want a small cake?"

  The boy’s brows twitched slightly as he glanced at her, but he didn’t take the cake. Instead, his gaze slid to the corn in her hand, and for a split second, his eyes softened.

  Then, without a word, he turned and bolted away.

  "Hey?" Clarissa blinked, momentarily confused, watching him disappear. What a strange kid.

  The vendor, noticing her surprise, leaned in and said, "Girl, I wouldn’t mess with that kid if I were you. He’s trouble."

  "Do you know him? Whose kid is he? He’s so beautiful."

  The vendor sighed. "What’s the use of being pretty? His father’s a murderer, and his mother’s sickly. Atticus, poor kid, he’s got a miserable life." He paused, then added, "Life and death are fate, and wealth is all in God’s hands. People like us can barely take care of ourselves, let alone pity someone else."

  He continued talking, but Clarissa was distracted, still thinking about the child.

  "Girl, I think you’re beautiful, and you've got good luck. But trust me, stay away from him. You don’t want trouble. Girl? Hey, girl? What’s wrong with you?"

  Clarissa snapped back to reality when the vendor called out to her a third time.

  "You… what did you say his name was?"

  "Atticus. Why? What’s wrong?"

  Clarissa stood still for a moment, stunned. Atticus...

  She had almost forgotten that she was still hungry as her mind spun. The name echoed in her head.

  Atticus. That name was the most significant in the entire story.

  The plot had been a ridiculous, love-drunk, Mary Sue story, with all the men swooning over the heroine. But Atticus was different. He didn’t care about the heroine or anyone else. His focus was solely on his career. He was ruthless, cold, and played every wealthy family, the hero and heroine, like puppets.

  He was cruel—far more terrifying than the so-called villainess. Clarissa always thought that if it weren’t for the plot, Atticus could’ve wiped out everyone else in the book with a single move.

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  Later, the author had rushed to finish the story. To make the heroine look even more perfect, they had forced Atticus to suddenly grow a conscience, get touched by her kindness, and, in a dramatic twist, end his own life by swallowing a bullet.

  But what she had just seen was clearly just a child.

  The boy couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old.

  Could it be? Or is it just a coincidence?

  When Clarissa reached her front door, she paused for a moment. Clementine should be out shopping by now. The original owner of this body never ate leftovers—only freshly cooked meals—and Clementine doted on her enough to cater to that habit.

  Just as Clarissa reached for her keys, a voice rang out from next door.

  She turned her head—and met those mesmerizing eyes again. That kid lived right next to her?

  Clementine’s home was a simple, three-story residential building, with multiple connected houses and neighbors on all sides. It wasn’t much, but the soundproofing was decent. Other than being a little old, it was actually quite similar to the apartment Clarissa had lived in before.

  The boy looked surprised to see her, and for a moment, their gazes locked across the short distance.

  Now that she knew he might be the Atticus—the biggest villain in the whole book—Clarissa no longer felt comfortable greeting him so casually. She quickly looked away, turned the doorknob, and stepped inside.

  At dinner, the thought of him still lingered in her mind.

  "Clarissa, is something wrong? Does the food not taste good today?"

  Clementine’s voice was cautious, almost hesitant. She was still nervous around Clarissa, always speaking with a hint of humility.

  Yesterday, Clarissa had finally agreed to let her call her by name. Clementine had been so happy about it that she barely slept that night.

  Clarissa snapped back to reality and shook her head. "No, it’s great."

  She took a few bites before glancing up at Clementine. "Mom, I wanted to ask you something. Do you know the kid next door? His name is Atticus."

  "Atticus?" Clementine’s expression darkened slightly. "Of course. How could the neighbors *not* know about him? That poor boy… Only eleven years old, and already gone through so much."

  Clarissa’s grip on her chopsticks tightened. "He’s eleven?"

  Clementine nodded. "That’s what people say. But the poor thing is so small and scrawny, he looks younger. The nine-year-old boy next door is a whole head taller than him."

  Clarissa hesitated for a moment before asking, "What happened to his father?"

  Clementine sighed. "Gambling. His father racked up a huge debt with loan sharks. When they came to collect, they tried to take the boy as payment. That set the man off. He snapped and started fighting them. Killed two of the five men, and the other three were critically injured. They gave him over thirty years in prison—he’s probably never getting out." She paused. "I heard he committed suicide in prison recently."

  Clarissa stayed silent.

  "His mother took it hard. She was already sick, but after that… she just collapsed. Can’t even get out of bed now. She probably won’t last much longer."

  Clementine let out another sigh. "It’s such a shame. Atticus is actually a good kid. He practically raised himself. With a father like that, he had no choice. But he’s brilliant—top of his class. A real prodigy. Skipped three grades in elementary school! He could’ve had a bright future… But with the life he’s been given, I’m afraid he’s already doomed."

  Clarissa didn’t reply.

  The book had never mentioned any of this. The author never wrote about Atticus’ childhood—only exaggerated his cruelty and bloodlust. He was the embodiment of pure evil, the ultimate villain, a demon with no humanity. Like a devil straight out of hell.

  Clarissa shook her head, forcing those thoughts away. It doesn’t matter. Whether he’s that Atticus or not, it has nothing to do with me.

  She had no interest in playing the role of some tragic supporting character. All she wanted was to live a peaceful life. At worst, she’d just avoid provoking him.

  After dinner, Clarissa got up to help with the dishes, but Clementine quickly stopped her.

  "No, no, you shouldn’t do that. Let me handle it. You go rest—"