CHAPTER 20

"You guys are together, right?"

Those were the first four words Fiona, Clara's mother, said to her after not hearing from her for weeks. Clara had expected her to care about her more, to ask about her well-being, but instead, she went straight to ask the question that bothered her most. This was exactly why Clara feared calling her.

Clara folded her fists. She prepared the words in her head, each one sharp and charged. She was seconds away from leaning into yet another argument with the very person she had called for help. Her lips parted, ready to spit out all her pent-up frustration—but something stopped her. A silent whisper of reason. She exhaled, but her jaw remained locked. She decided to let it go.

“It’s not about him,” Clara muttered into the phone, her voice lower now. “That’s not why I called.”

Fiona was silent on the other end for a second, then asked coolly, “Then why did you? What could possibly be more important than your relationship with the Alpha?”

That was it. Clara couldn't take it any longer; her constraint loosened immediately.

“Can you stop being selfish for once in your life and help me, your daughter?” Her voice shook slightly at the last part. She wasn't scared of her mother; rather, she was scared of the word, daughter.

Fiona scoffed, her pride was fully evident in her tone. “I’m the selfish one? Clara, you’re the one who’s thinking only of yourself. Have you paused to consider what the family stands to lose with all these stunts you’re pulling? Your relationship with Jace—”

“It’s not about what we stand to lose,” Clara interjected in a sharp tone. “It’s about what you stand to gain.”

Fiona didn't reply to that. She didn't say anything for over a minute.

Clara soon began to feel like she had hung up on her. Then came a sigh from the other side, heavy and hesitant.

“What do you want, Clara?” she asked in a low and calm tone.

Clara hesitated, she didn't know how to react to her mother's sudden shift in tone. Personally, she didn't know whether to believe it or not; her mother had given her enough reason not to trust her.

She gave it a second thought, was it worth it, telling her? Was she really ready to cross that line between them?

Fiona sensed the pause, so she spoke up. She further softened her voice. “Look… I’m sorry. I just… wanted what was best for you.”

Clara blinked fast. Her emotions rose with every word. “Then maybe, maybe you should let me decide what’s best for me,” she replied quietly.

“I understand,” Fiona said, calmer now. “So, what do you want?”

Clara exhaled. Now she has to go from full-on defensive to needy. Funny how she spoke with pride a few seconds ago, and now, she has to come all the way down. “I want to make a casserole. But I’m having a hard time with it," she said softly.

A second passed, and then Fiona chuckled. A warm, slightly teasing sound. “A casserole? You, Clara, you want to cook?”

"Mum!!!!!" Clara half-yelled playfully.

"Never thought I would hear the day my daughter would want to cook," she continued playfully.

Clara let out a little whine, drawing her knees to her chest. “Don’t mock me, Mum…”

“Oh no, I’m enjoying this very much,” Fiona said, a smile in her voice. "So I'm guessing you need my help," she said. Clara could practically hear the smirk in her voice.

"Yes," Clara replied sadly.

“Okay, tell me—what did you do?”

“I used the leftover chicken, added some cream, threw in vegetables… then I just kind of… layered it with cheese and shoved it into the oven,” Clara explained hurriedly, practically rushing over the words.

“Oh dear,” Fiona sighed, holding in a laugh. “Okay, I see where this went sideways.”

“What?” Clara asked, picking up a pen and a note.

“First of all, chicken casserole needs some form of binding base. Not just cream—you need either a roux or a condensed soup if you’re going quick and seasoning, Clara. Did you even season the thing?”

Yikes. Clara nearly slapped herself. “No.”

Fiona gasped playfully. “Blasphemy. Listen closely, here’s how you make a proper chicken casserole…”

Fiona detailed each step, starting from sautéing onions and garlic to preparing the chicken stock and thickening the sauce with flour. She listed spices, gave oven temperature tips, and even reminded Clara to pre-toast the breadcrumbs if she wanted a proper crunchy topping.

Clara scribbled notes like a high school student preparing for finals. “Wow,” she muttered. “That actually sounds… doable. Simple even.”

“You’re welcome,” Fiona said proudly.

“Thanks, Mum.”

Fiona went silent for a few seconds again. “You should’ve spent more time in the kitchen with me, you know. Maybe then you’d have known this already.”

Clara rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, yeah… I’ll survive.”

There was a beat of silence.

Fiona’s voice came again, this time she sounded serious. “So… how are you, really? When do we get to see you? We miss you, Clara.”

Clara stiffened. Her chest tightened at the sound of those words. She stood up quickly, grabbing her phone with one hand and holding the notepad in the other.

“I’ll call you back,” she said hurriedly. “I’m starving and the casserole’s calling.”

Fiona didn’t argue, but Clara heard the soft disappointment in her mother’s sigh. “Alright. Take care of yourself, Clara.”

“I will.”

As the call ended, Clara let the phone fall gently to the table and heaved a long, deep sigh. She rubbed her palms against her jeans and walked over to the kitchen counter.

She set to work, following each step precisely as Fiona had instructed—preheating the oven, combining the sauce, seasoning, and layering everything with care. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the apartment. Oddly, she found the act quite comforting and fun.

Just as she was about to sprinkle the final layer of cheese and pop the pan into the oven—

Her phone rang.

She froze.

Her eyes darted to the screen, heart skipping a beat.

Who could be calling her now?