Five

Chapter 5:

Clara stared at her. "Why are you in my home?"

"Julian brought me here last night," Victoria replied smoothly.

Clara walked past her into the grand foyer, stopping abruptly as Julian emerged from the kitchen carrying a warm bowl of poached eggs and artisan broth.

Julian could cook?

Clara felt a cold knot form in her stomach. Once, when she was bedridden with a severe fever, Julian had returned home late from a corporate meeting and complained that he was hungry, asking her to prepare dinner.

When she had weakly suggested, "You should learn basic cooking so you don't starve when I am ill," he had wrapped his arms around her and laughed arrogantly, "Why learn when I have you to take care of me forever?"

Now, he was serving Victoria like a devoted partner. Victoria was his princess; Clara had merely been his domestic manager.

Julian cast a cold glance at Clara before leading Victoria to the dining table. He carefully placed a plush cushion behind Victoria's back.

"I have little appetite," Victoria murmured, pouting slightly.

"You must eat breakfast, Victoria. It is important for your condition." Julian picked up the spoon and fed her personally.

Victoria took a small bite, then shook her head. "It's too salty."

"Is it?" Julian tasted it himself. "Ah, my mistake. Let me prepare a fresh bowl for you." Without a hint of impatience, he returned to the kitchen.

Exhausted beyond endurance, Clara walked upstairs to the master suite to gather the rest of her belongings.

Inside, she found the bedsheets crumpled, her decorative pillows tossed onto the floor, and Victoria's designer garments hanging in her wardrobe. Her own clothes had been carelessly piled onto an armchair.

Suppressing her anger, she marched downstairs. "Who slept in my bedroom last night?"

Julian looked up from the kitchen counter. "Victoria will be staying here permanently."

"This has been my residence for years. Did I give my consent?"

Julian frowned. "The deed is in my name. My consent is all that is required."

Clara stood frozen. He was right. The estate belonged to the Maxwells family.

When she graduated from medical school, she had rented her own apartment, but Julian had insisted she move into his estate for his convenience. Though she paid no rent, she had personally managed and funded every household detail for eight years. She owed Julian Maxwells nothing.

"Julian and I are renovating the house for our upcoming wedding," Victoria added with a gentle smile. "We can certainly set aside a guest room for you if you wish to stay."

"Unnecessary," Clara replied flatly.

She turned, went upstairs, packed her remaining items into a single hard-shell suitcase, and walked back down to the foyer.

"Clara," Julian called out, his voice sharp with warning. "My patience is limited. If you walk out that door with your bags, this breakup becomes permanent. There will be no second chances."

Clara paused at the entrance. She turned to face him, retrieved her set of house keys from her pocket, and placed them cleanly on the marble console table.

"That suits me perfectly," she said, holding back her emotions. "Goodbye, Julian."

She pulled her suitcase out into the morning air. Standing at the gates of the estate she had called home for eight years, she felt a profound sense of isolation. She had no lease, no temporary lodging booked, and nowhere to go immediately.

Her phone chimed in her coat pocket, a notification from Arthur Pendelton.

"I am currently in Seattle," the message read. "The weather is crisp today, though work demands are heavy. I had a quick breakfast before my morning briefing, and I have an executive dinner tonight. I expect there will be endless toasts... I have never cared much for corporate dinners."

His messages were surprisingly detailed, almost like a steady update on his day. Clara found it unexpected, but his follow-up text provided an immediate answer to her predicament.

"By the way, my property at No. 8 Kensington Private Estate is fully accessible to you. You may move in whenever you wish; consider it our home. Of course, if the location does not suit you, we can select another residence upon my return."

Kensington Estates, it was the very same ultra-exclusive gated community, mere streets away from Julian's property.

Carrying her luggage, Clara walked down the private drive to No. 8. She entered the digital code Arthur had provided, and the heavy door unlocked to reveal a spacious, quiet interior.

The architectural footprint mirrored Julian's estate, but the interior design was entirely different. Where Julian's home was filled with warm, tailored furnishings that Clara had curated over years, Arthur's residence was a minimalist expanse of white marble and dark slate. There was not even a sofa in the main reception room.

Did anyone actually reside here?

Clara walked up to the second floor. Of the four bedroom suites, only the master room contained furniture, a single, immaculate king-sized bed and no wardrobe. It was obvious Arthur rarely stayed here and had completed only basic renovations.

After settling her luggage and preparing a quick tea, Clara headed straight to St. Jude's for her shift. Settling into her work, she realized how light she felt without the constant weight of Julian's demands.

That afternoon, a message arrived from Julian.

"You left several medical texts in the study. Pick them up tonight."

"Clara, I know you are upset. If you return tonight, I will overlook this behavior."

"Where else could you possibly live? Stop this dramatic display and come home."

"Clara, reply to me."

Clara glanced at the screen, deleted his contact from her W******p, and placed his number on her block list. Eight years of memories could not be wiped away in a day, but a few forgotten books were the least of her concerns.

At the end of her shift, a reply arrived from Arthur.

Clara: "I have moved into your residence."

Arthur: "Welcome home."

Two simple words, yet a subtle warmth spread through her chest.

Clara typed back: "May I use the master bed?"

Knowing he was in a different time zone, she closed the app and walked toward the station. When she checked her phone again on the train, his reply was already waiting.

"We are husband and wife. My home and my bed are entirely yours."

Clara felt a sudden heat rise to her cheeks. Considering the time difference, it had to be past three in the morning in Seattle. Was he still awake?

Exiting the station, Clara stopped by a local market to purchase essential household items for the empty estate. As she entered, her phone rang. It was Leo.

"Clara! Help! I've been caught in a brawl!"

Clara paused. "What are you talking about?"

"It's at Jasper's lounge! Please come quickly!"

When Clara arrived at the Soho venue, she found the main lounge damaged, shattered crystal bottles covered the floor, and furniture was overturned. At the far end of the room, Julian slumped on a leather sofa, a deep cut on his forehead bleeding onto his shirt.

Clara took one look at the scene and turned to leave.

"Clara, thank goodness!" Leo rushed out from the side room, grabbing her sleeve. "Look at my arm, I was caught in the crossfire!"

Leo did indeed have a superficial slice on his forearm. Clara sighed softly; had she known Julian was the center of the dispute, she would not have come.

Jasper stepped forward, pulling Leo back. "Here is what happened: Victoria is carrying Alistair Finch's child. Finch refused to take responsibility and demanded she terminate the pregnancy. Julian went to confront Finch here tonight, and a fight broke out. Finch was losing until Victoria stepped in to shield him. Julian stopped his strike to avoid hurting her, and Finch took the opportunity to smash a bottle over Julian's head. When Julian swung back, he accidentally grazed Leo."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Where is Victoria now?"

"She ran after Finch," Jasper admitted quietly.

Clara let out a cold laugh. "How poetic."

Jasper handed her a emergency medical kit. "Julian refuses to go to an emergency room and won't let anyone near him. You are a doctor, Clara, please take a look at him."

"We are broken up, Jasper. His health is no longer my responsibility."

"Can't you just assist as a friend? He is bleeding heavily."

"I have no desire to remain his friend."

Jasper sighed softly. "Clara, please. Just clean the wound."

Clara hesitated for a moment before taking the kit. As she stepped toward the inner suite, Jasper caught her shoulder. "Do not bring up Victoria or Finch right now. He is extremely volatile."

Ignoring the warning, Clara walked inside.

Julian sat breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on the floor. Hearing footsteps, he snapped his head up. Seeing Clara, his rage flared anew. "You ignore my messages, you block my number, and you walk out of my home, did you come here just to gloat?"

Clara said nothing. She opened the kit, saturated a sterile swab with antiseptic, and reached toward his forehead.

"Didn't you say we were finished? Don't touch me!" Julian snapped, trying to pull away.

Clara knew his temper well, arrogant, stubborn, and childish when thwarted. With practiced medical efficiency, she held his chin firm, thoroughly disinfected the laceration, and applied a tight butterfly bandage.

Turning back to Jasper, she said, "The cut is deep. He requires formal sutures at a clinic."

Jasper let out a breath of relief. As he expected, Julian only permitted Clara to handle him. In Jasper's view, Julian had long grown dependent on Clara without realizing it; otherwise, a man of his ego would never have kept a woman beside him for eight years. Yet Julian remained blind to his own heart, convincing himself that Victoria was his sole devotion.

As Clara turned to leave, Julian caught her wrist tightly. "You're walking out without a word? Why did you block my number? Why didn't you return home?"

Clara pulled her wrist free. "Because we are finished. Let us sever ties completely so Young Master Maxwells is no longer burdened by my presence."

"Unblock me right now, and come back to the estate tonight."

Clara turned away in silence.

Julian gripped her shoulder from behind, his voice dropping into an urgent, bargaining tone. "Victoria has chosen to reconcile with Finch. She won't marry me now. Clara, if you come home with me tonight, I will marry you immediately."

Clara stopped. She turned around to look at Julian Maxwells, finding a look of condescending grace on his bleeding face.

"Marry me?" Clara let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, stepping out of his reach. "I do not require your pity, Julian. And I have already decided to marry someone else."