Chapter 2

Clara's POV

The next morning, Mallory floated down the stairs in a silk slip, dark hickeys visible on her pale neck.

She strolled to the dining table and picked up a delicate white bone china teacup.

It was the only heirloom left by my late mother.

"Clara, this cup is hideous. Where’d you dig up this garbage?"

Mallory gave me a smug, venomous smile, and loosened her fingers.

"Crash!"

The cup shattered against the marble floor.

"Oops. My hand slipped." Mallory covered her mouth, her eyes gleaming with provocation.

I crouched to gather the shards, my knuckles whitening.

Mallory suddenly stumbled back two steps and let out a piercing shriek, falling beside the sofa. "Clara! I know you hate me, but it was just an accident! Why did you push me?!"

The study door was yanked open.

Julian bolted down the stairs and scooped Mallory into his arms.

Mallory's eyes brimmed with tears as she cowered against his chest. "Julian, my ankle hurts so bad... Clara blamed me for making you pick me up last night. She called me a shameless parasite..."

Julian’s face darkened in an instant.

He glared down at me on the floor, his words laced with venom:

"Apologize to Mallory. Right now."

I tightened my grip around a porcelain shard, letting the sharp edge cut into my palm. "I didn't touch her. She threw herself down. There's a camera in the living room. Check the footage."

"Stop lying!" Julian snapped. "Mallory grew up sheltered! Why would she hurt herself just to frame you? It’s just a damn cup. Stop taking your petty jealousy out on her!"

His gaze burned with disgust. "Apologize, Clara. Don't make me put my hands on you."

I looked up at my husband.

Blood dripped from my fist, dotting the polished stone.

Suddenly, the corner of my lips curled up. I let out a soft laugh. "I'm sorry, Miss Kane."

Triumph flashed behind Mallory’s tears as she buried her face deeper into Julian's chest.

Julian carried her upstairs, tossing cold words over his shoulder: "Clean up the mess. And you're staying home tonight. You're not setting foot outside."

Night fell.

Julian brought a glass of warm water into the bedroom and set it on the nightstand.

His voice softened as he reached out to stroke my hair. "I was too harsh earlier. You haven't been sleeping well lately. Drink this and get some rest."

Every single night, he brought me this exact glass of water.

Staring at the clear liquid, a wave of nausea hit me.

I obediently picked it up and drank it all right in front of him.

The second Julian left the room, I darted into the master bathroom, shoved two fingers down my throat, and threw up every last drop into the toilet.

At two in the morning, soft footsteps crept down the hall.

The bedroom door handle turned with a faint click.

The heavy stench of stale tobacco hit the room, followed by a tall, shadowy figure reeking of liquor pressing down onto the bed.

It was Julian's best friend, Patrick Bennett.

I lay beneath the sheets, body rigid as stone.

I dug my nails into my palms under the duvet, forcing my breathing to stay slow and steady.

Patrick tugged at my collar and paused for several seconds, as if verifying the sedative had kicked in.

Outside the cracked door, Julian’s hushed voice came through, bone-chillingly callous:

"The dose was heavy enough. She won't wake up. My father is breathing down my neck about an heir. Get it done quickly."

Patrick let out a low chuckle. "Relax, Julian. Servicing Clara on your behalf is my specialty."

Under the blanket, I bit down on my lip until I tasted thick, coppery blood.

Hidden inside the headboard's fabric seam, the pinhole recording device flashed with an imperceptible red light.

Capturing every single word.

By morning, Patrick was long gone.

I climbed out of bed, slipped into a sharp trench coat, unhooked the tiny recording drive, and slipped it into my designer wallet.

I walked out of the villa and dialed my college best friend, Nathan Reed.

Thirty minutes later, inside a private conference room at a secluded downtown law firm.

Nathan pushed the door open, followed by senior attorney Vincent Cole.

Seeing the bandage around my knuckles and the dark shadows beneath my bloodshot eyes, Nathan’s brow furrowed as he rushed forward. "Clara, what happened?"

I placed the recorder on the table, alongside Julian’s signed infidelity agreement from years ago and a thick folder detailing his covert asset transfers.

My eyes were dead calm—no tears, only arctic resolve.

"Attorney Cole, I need you to do three things for me."

"First, notarize every piece of this evidence and lock it into a maximum-security vault."

"Second, dig up everything on Mallory Kane's past, along with Patrick Bennett’s dirty little secrets."

"Third..."

I raised my gaze, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper:

"I want Julian Sterling ruined, humiliated, and stripped of every cent he owns."