Marcus’s first day at Westbridge Academy came with a suit that didn’t quite fit, shoes too new to feel like his, and a stomach full of knots he couldn’t untie.
The school looked more like a college campus than a place for kids. Towers of glass and stone, trees trimmed into perfect shapes, and students who stepped out of black SUVs as if rehearsing for a movie about rich kids. They all looked confident, clean, polished—like they belonged somewhere Marcus didn’t.
Richard walked beside him through the courtyard, dressed as usual in a tailored coat that made him look like he was carved from success itself. Lily skipped at Marcus’s side, holding his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’ll do great,” she whispered up at him.
Marcus smiled weakly, but the moment she let go of his hand to chase a friend, his breathing tightened. He felt eyes on him—curious, judgmental, assessing.
They all saw it.
His posture.
His hesitation.
The way he scanned for exits.
The way he didn’t fit into the crisp, orderly picture of wealth around him.
They could smell it—the street still clinging to him.
Homeroom was quiet until Marcus walked in.
A few heads turned. A few whispers rose.
Who’s the new kid?
Is he the scholarship one?
Where’d they find him?
Marcus kept his gaze down, gripping the straps of his backpack like someone might rip it off him at any second. He found a seat in the back—safe, invisible—but invisibility was a fantasy here.
At the front of the room, a boy with slicked blond hair and a designer jacket leaned to his friend and whispered loudly enough for half the class to hear:
“Bet he doesn’t even know what a shower is.”
Laughter rippled.
Not cruel laughter—worse.
The kind that made Marcus feel like he didn’t even deserve cruelty.
Marcus said nothing.
He had learned long ago: silence keeps you alive.
But his silence didn’t protect him.
The teacher called roll.
When she reached his name—“Marcus Hayes”—the room went still.
Hayes.
Richard’s last name.
The blonde boy raised a brow. “Hayes? As in Hartwell Hayes? So you’re that… charity project?”
More laughter.
Something inside Marcus twisted.
He didn’t know whether to shrink… or explode.
Instead, he just lowered his head.
“Yes,” he murmured.
He didn’t know that outside the classroom door, Richard stood listening, jaw tightening. He hadn’t meant to follow Marcus to class, but some instinct had pulled him down the hallway—a father’s instinct, one he was still learning how to respond to.
When he heard the students mock Marcus, it cut him in a place he didn’t know still existed.
But he stepped back, letting Marcus fight his own battle.
Because he knew—if he saved Marcus from every pain, Marcus would never learn to stand in this new world.
Lunch was worse.
Whispers followed him through the cafeteria.
Kids avoided his table not out of fear—but out of judgment.
He told himself he didn’t care.
He had eaten alone far more times than he’d eaten with anyone.
Still… this loneliness felt different.
Sharper.
Colder.
As he picked at his food, a girl approached his table.
Slender, tall, with dark curly hair pulled into a ponytail and the kind of confidence that didn’t need money.
She sat down without asking, dropping a stack of books beside her tray.
“You’re Marcus,” she said casually.
He glanced at her. “Yeah.”
“I’m Naomi.”
Then she grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to adopt you. I just hate everyone else in this place.”
Marcus blinked, then almost—almost—smiled.
Naomi leaned back in her chair.
“I heard the rich kids giving you trouble. Ignore them. They’re allergic to reality.”
Marcus shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”
“I don’t doubt that,” she replied, studying him with quiet curiosity.
“You don’t look like someone who breaks easily.”
No one had ever said that to him before.
He didn’t know how to respond.
That evening, after school, Marcus returned to the mansion feeling heavy—not defeated, but weighed down by something he couldn’t explain.
Lily ran to him. “How was school?!”
He forced a smile. “It was okay.”
But Richard saw through it instantly.
He waited until Lily left the room, then sat beside Marcus on the grand staircase.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Richard asked softly.
“No,” Marcus answered automatically.
Richard nodded. “Then we don’t have to. But I’m here.”
Marcus bit the inside of his cheek.
“I don’t… fit,” he whispered.
“You’re not supposed to,” Richard replied. “Not yet.”
Marcus frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Marcus,” Richard said, turning toward him, “you’re not a mirror. You’re not meant to reflect the world around you. You’re meant to reshape it. These kids… they’ve never survived anything real. You have. And one day, that will make you stronger than all of them.”
Marcus looked at him—really looked.
And for the first time, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t a burden.
Maybe he was becoming someone.
Two weeks later, something happened that ended Marcus’s shaky peace.
It was late—past midnight.
Marcus couldn’t sleep. The old panic tugged at his bones, whispering:
You don’t belong here.
Don’t get comfortable.
Don’t trust this life.
He slipped silently down the stairs, intending to sit outside for air, when he heard a voice from the study.
Richard’s voice.
“…yes, the adoption process is complicated,” he was saying into the phone, his voice low. “But I’m not backing out. He deserves stability. He deserves a family.”
Marcus’s whole body went still.
He hadn’t known Richard was trying to adopt him.
He thought he was temporary.
A guest.
A responsibility.
A thank-you.
But this—
this was different.
“I don’t care what paperwork is required,” Richard continued. “I’m not giving up on him. Marcus stays.”
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