The Fake Son Is A Billionaire Young Master

It does not matter

Atlas returned to the Grador's estate the next morning, looking more disheveled than the village rat.

His clothes were crumpled and his hair was disheveled, showing signs of a turbulent night. He awoke to discover that he was in a different room and that a crumpled piece of paper was stuck to his forehead as a sobering reminder of how he had spent his last night.

Upon entering, he encountered his younger brother, Robert, a year his junior but twice as haughty.

With a smug demeanor that made him seem like a second skin, Robert relaxed in a chair with his legs crossed. With a look of contempt, he looked directly at Atlas, his arrogance unwavering.

"Where have you been?" Robert asked, arrogance leaking from his voice.

Atlas responded coldly and distantly, showing no sign of warmth. He shot back, bitter in his words, "It is none of your concern."

But Robert was not so easily deterred. "It will be Father's concern when he inquires about your absence," he remarked, a smirk playing on his