Chapter Five

Clarissa’s POV

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. I was staring blankly at the wall when the phone fell out of my hands and onto the bed.

My darling. My young daughter... She passed away just outside that door. While he ignored her in favor of another woman, she called for her father.

My ribs felt like they were cracked as a sob tore through my chest with such force. Grief ripped through me like fire, and I curled forward, gripping my stomach.

Once more, my phone buzzed. Devan's quiet, low voice could be heard through the earpiece.

"Clarissa... This hurts, I know. However, you must pay attention to me. Let me handle this. Allow me to destroy him for you.”

I took ragged breaths and wiped my tears roughly. "No."

"Clarissa—"

"No!" I yelled, my voice trembling with anger. "He stole everything from me. My daughter. My life. To be at peace, I'll destroy him myself.”

For a moment, the line was silent. Then Devan spoke, more softly and quietly.

"Alright. But keep in mind that you're not alone in this. And when will you be returning home, Clarissa? Your dad is really missing you.”

I pressed my palm to my forehead and squeezed my eyes shut. Home, father.

I had kept my identity a secret for so long. To live a modest life with Bruce, I buried my name and my birthright.

But something I thought was dead inside of me was awakened by him.

I hung up the phone and got to my feet, my legs shaky under me. I walked over to the mirror and gazed at the woman with the hollow eyes who was reflected back.

Blake Clarissa.

No. Montclair Clarissa.

Marcus Montclair's daughter. The Montclair Empire's heiress. A name I gave up for love. For him.

I clenched my fists until my palms were cut by my nails. Never again.

I picked up my phone and walked back to the bed. I kept my thumb over Bruce's touch. I wanted to tell him I knew everything, to scream, to curse him.

Instead, I hit the delete button.

I quickly typed after scrolling down to Devan's name.

“Get ready, I am coming home.”

A few seconds later, he responded, "Welcome back, princess."

As new tears trickled down my cheeks, I took a trembling breath. This time, no sobs of sorrow. But with anger. Burning, frigid fury.

The sun was sinking outside the window, illuminating the city skyline in a blood-red hue. Bruce believed he had triumphed. That I would always be broken.

He was mistaken.

I pressed my fingers to the glass and whispered into the fading light, my voice trembling.

"Bruce, you stole my daughter from me. I'll take everything away from you now.”

Devan had left me a message when my phone buzzed once more.

“Your dad wants you to return home. Your place is waiting," he says.”

With my chest constricted, I gazed at the words. Recollections of private planes, security convoys, tall marble halls, and the icy gaze of my father. The life I fled to become Bruce's devoted, submissive wife.

"Clarissa Montclair." I tested the name on my tongue after all these years by whispering it to myself.

Anger and resolve made my heart race. Perhaps it's time to transform back into her.

I heard the downstairs front door open abruptly. The sound of heavy footsteps reverberated up the corridor.

Bruce was at home.

I forced my breathing to slow and closed my eyes. After my tears dried, I was left with a chilly emptiness. A void waiting to be filled with retribution.

I left the guest room after putting my phone in my pocket. Backlit by the waning light, his silhouette emerged at the end of the hall.

With that recognizable fake warmth in his voice, he called softly, "There you are." "I have been trying to find you."

My heart thumping with silent anger, I approached him slowly.

"Bruce, have you?" Calmly, I asked. Too quiet.

He noticed something in my tone and scowled a little. "Obviously. Why?”

I paused a few feet from him and gave him a chilly smile.

"Because you will soon be searching for yourself as well."

Bruce's scowl grew as he examined my face. "What's wrong with you today? Since the funeral, you've been behaving oddly.”

I gave a small smile and cocked my head. “Odd? Bruce, my daughter passed away. I believe I am free to behave however I please.”

He rubbed his temples and let out a dramatic sigh.

"Don't begin, Claria. I'm worn out. The day has been long.”

I drew closer until we were only a couple of inches apart. As though he was unaffected by this, his warm, steady breath fanned across my cheek. I was surrounded by that same pricey cologne, which was simultaneously suffocating and commanding. It was dark, musky, and slightly spicy.

But there it was, underneath it. Something sweeter, softer, clinging to him like a silent charge. Jasmine and vanilla combine to create a subtle floral note. I felt a surge of recognition.

The smell of Freda.

I felt the realization rise in my throat like bile. Disgust spiraled inside me until it felt like my lungs couldn't expand, causing my stomach to twist violently. I forced myself to swallow, but the bitter, metallic taste of betrayal lingered on my tongue.

"Bruce, tell me." My voice was hardly audible above a whisper as I spoke. "Was she worth it?"

His eyes narrowed in suspicion after widening slightly. "What are you saying?"

I grinned more broadly as I sensed a strong, dark force growing within me. I whispered, "Don't worry," and brushed past him in the direction of the stairs. "You'll learn soon enough."

I spun back to face him as he firmly grasped my wrist. "What did you do, Clarissa?"

With a steady pulse, I calmly met his angry gaze. "Not yet."

I didn't flinch as he painfully tightened his hold. Rather, I bent forward until my mouth nearly touched his ear.

"But I will."

He stood there in his anger and fear as I yanked my arm free and turned to leave.