Chapter Four

Clarissa’s POV

A piercing, searing pain shot through my head as consciousness dragged me awake. I gasped, clutching my temple as the pounding behind my eyes worsened with every passing second. My throat felt dry, my tongue thick. For a moment, I wasn’t even sure where I was. Then the grief returned, crushing and suffocating. Sophia.

Groaning softly, I forced my body upright. Every bone ached. My limbs felt heavier than lead, the kind of exhaustion no sleep could fix. I staggered as I stood, bracing myself against the nightstand. My ears caught distant voices from the direction of the living room.

That’s when I heard it—a laugh I hadn’t heard in years.

I followed the sound, dread gnawing at my stomach. My bare feet dragged across the cold floor as I moved toward the hallway.

And then I saw her.

Freda.

Her presence alone hit me like a slap across the face. Her long black hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, falling perfectly down the shoulders of her crimson dress. Her lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile as her gaze swept lazily over me.

“Oh…” she drawled, her voice syrupy and poisonous. “Clarissa. You look… exhausted.”

I could barely stand straight, but I tightened my grip on the doorframe and forced my voice out. “Freda. What the hell are you doing here? What are you doing in my house?”

She smiled wider, tilting her head in mock sympathy, her perfume heavy in the air between us. She took a few steps closer, her heels clicking like small daggers against the marble. “Your house?” Her voice held false amusement. “Darling, I just came to check on Bruce. To offer my condolences, of course.”

I stiffened.

Her gaze flickered to the tears I hadn’t even realized were still drying on my cheeks. Her smile sharpened as she leaned in, close enough that her perfume suffocated me.

“Though between us… You won’t be here for much longer.”

A sharp, cold weight settled in my stomach. “What are you talking about?”

Freda’s eyes glinted like ice. She brushed invisible lint from her dress, then laughed softly—a cruel, amused sound that barely felt human.

“Oh, Clarissa. Don’t pretend you’re stupid.” Her voice dropped as she leaned in closer. “I belong with Bruce. And he belongs with me. He always has. You were just… an unfortunate detour. Now that Sophia’s gone… well. Nothing ties you here anymore, does it?”

I stumbled back, my heart pounding in my chest like a frightened animal. “Don’t talk about my daughter.”

She stepped forward. “Your daughter? The one who’s dead now?” She gave a soft, mocking pout. “How sad.”

“Get out,” I snapped, my voice cracking as I tried to hold myself together. “Get out of my house.”

She laughed. “Your house?” She repeated the words like they were a joke. “Oh, Clarissa. Don’t be naive. You really think any of this belongs to you? You were just temporary. Everyone knows that. Even Bruce.”

I felt my knees weakening. She moved closer, her voice low and venomous now.

“You’ll leave. Soon. And everything you thought was yours? Bruce. The house. His name. All of it will be mine.”

I clenched my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms. “You’re delusional.”

“I’m realistic.”

Her smile was cold, triumphant. She stepped back, smoothing her dress like nothing had happened.

“I’ll see you very soon, Clarissa,” she said sweetly over her shoulder as she walked away. “Enjoy what little time you have left.”

The door slammed behind her with a force that rattled the walls. I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air, pressing my palm to my aching chest as though I could physically stop my heart from shattering any further.

I didn’t even have time to collect myself before footsteps approached.

I looked up.

Bruce’s mother.

Her cold, disapproving eyes swept over me like I was filth on the floor.

“What is this noise?” Her voice was sharp, irritated. “Are you crying again?”

I scrambled to my feet, shaking. “Mom… Freda. She was here. She—”

“Good.” Her voice cracked like a whip. “At least Bruce will have someone decent by his side now.”

I froze. My stomach flipped in horror.

“And don’t call me ‘mom’,” she added, stepping closer, her eyes cruel. “You’re not my daughter.”

I couldn’t even speak. I couldn’t breathe. I was stunned into silence by her words.

She grabbed my chin with bony fingers, forcing me to look into her lifeless, merciless eyes.

“I told him from the start. Marrying you was a mistake. Look at you. Weak. Pathetic. You couldn’t even protect your own child.”

Her words sliced straight through me, leaving nothing but raw, bleeding pain.

“You’re not worthy of this family, Clarissa. And you won’t be here much longer.”

Tears blurred my vision as I ripped my face away from her hand. “How… how can you say that? Sophia was your granddaughter.”

Her face didn’t soften. It hardened.

“She was a mistake.”

I recoiled, physically sickened.

“She was a weak, sickly child from a weak, useless mother.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to collapse. I felt like I was going to pass out from the agonizing twisting of my chest. 

“Where’s Bruce?” I rasped, desperate to see him, even if it was a lie he’d offer.

She turned her back on me. “Busy,” she said coldly, walking away. “And now Freda will handle him. Properly.”

I sank to the floor as she vanished into the kitchen. My whole body trembled as I clutched my arms around myself, trying to hold together what little strength I had left.

My marriage, my daughter. Everything in my life was falling apart.

That’s when my phone buzzed.

I pulled it from my pocket, hope flaring in my shattered chest.

A message.

Devan: I recovered the footage. Do you want to see it now?

My heart twisted as u desperately texted a reply. 

Me: Send it. I need to see.

I locked myself in the guest room, hands shaking uncontrollably as I waited. Seconds felt like hours.

A file arrived. My heart almost burst out of my rib cage as my fingers hovered around the screen.

I pressed play. The footage flickered to life.

At first, there was nothing. Then, Bruce. Entering the house with a woman holding onto Bruce's arm as they walked into the hallway.

She turned slightly to face the camera, her long black hair cascading down her back.

Freda.

Her arm looped possessively around his. Her head rested briefly before she turned to face him, his arms going around her waist.

And then they kissed.

Not a chaste kiss. Not confusion. Not a mistake.

They kissed like they belonged to each other.

As I watched them kiss hungrily by the door, I covered my mouth to keep from crying. Bruce’s fingers buried themselves in her hair. Freda’s hands slipped under his shirt as they stumbled into the bedroom, laughing softly.

The door slammed shut behind them. My veins were so hot with rage that I thought I might burst.

But the footage wasn’t done.

Then I noticed movement. A tiny figure stood outside the bedroom door.

Sophia.

My baby.

Her small frame shuffled toward the bedroom door. She lifted a trembling hand and knocked.

Softly. Helplessly.

Her tiny fists rapped against the door over and over.

No answer. She waited. She cried.

And then, weakened, she crawled toward her room, disappearing in there 

She died there.

While they were inside.

I couldn’t watch anymore.

It was so painful to watch my daughter beg for her life like a poor vermin. I looked away from my phone, tears blinding my tears. 

I dropped the phone as a silent scream ripped through me, my body folding in on itself. My lungs refused to work. My mind shut down.

As I heard Devan's voice in my earpiece, my vision became blurry due to tears.

"I apologize, Clarissa. But at least now, you know exactly what happened."