Chapter 10

~CLAIRE'S POV~

I had had many unexpected visitors since returning to New York, but Monica's mother showing up at my penthouse door looking like she had escaped from a horror movie hadn't been on my bingo card.

The woman sat hunched on my pristine white sofa, picking at her fingernails until they bled, her bloodshot eyes darting around my living room like she expected monsters to jump out from behind my expensive artwork.

She smelled like stale cigarettes and unwashed clothes, a sharp difference to the lavender and vanilla candles Alexander had lit to try to mask the scent.

"Miss Sterling," I said carefully, setting down the tea service I had prepared more out of shock than hospitality.

"You said you had something important to tell me. That I was in danger?"

Alexander raised an eyebrow from his position on the opposite sofa, his body language screaming protective mode even though he was trying to look casual.

The woman's hands stilled for a moment, then she grabbed my wrist with surprising strength, her nails digging into my skin.

I flinched, more from surprise than pain.

"Monica is evil," she whispered, her voice hoarse and desperate.

"She's not my little girl anymore. She would kill me if she knew I was here. You have to stay far away from her. She won't be happy if we make her sad."

Alexander immediately moved to remove her grip from my arm, his voice taking on that cocky, protective tone I had grown familiar with.

"That's quite enough…."

My phone rang, cutting through the tension. I glanced at the screen and showed Alexander, who nodded for me to take it.

I moved to the far side of the room, keeping one eye on Monica's mother as I answered.

"Marcus?"

"Miss Winfred, I did that background check you requested an hour ago."

"And?"

"Helen Sterling has been in and out of psychiatric facilities for the past two years. Multiple stays for paranoid delusions, depression, and what appears to be early-onset dementia. Monica has been handling all her care and medical bills."

My heart sank a little. I had been hoping for a reliable witness, not another victim of Monica's manipulation.

"I see," I said quietly. "Thank you, Marcus."

I ended the call and stood there for a moment, tapping my phone against my palm while I processed this information.

Then I scrolled through my contacts until I found the number Marcus had gotten for me earlier.

Monica answered on the third ring, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Hello? Who is this?"

"Hello, Monica. This is Claire."

There was a pause, then that fake enthusiasm I remembered so well. "Claire! Oh my God, I'm so happy you called! How are you?"

I rolled my eyes so hard I'm surprised they didn't fall out of my head. "Your mother is at my place."

"What? How did she?…I'll be right there. Don't let her leave, please."

The line went dead.

I walked back to where Alexander was sitting stiffly next to Helen Sterling, who was now rocking back and forth and mumbling under her breath.

"That was fast," I said, settling back into my chair and picking up my teacup. "She'll be here in thirty minutes."

Alexander leaned forward slightly. "Are you sure it was wise to invite her here?"

"I didn't have a choice." I took a sip of my tea, watching Helen's hands shake as she reached for her cup. "Besides, this should be interesting."

Monica arrived in exactly twenty-eight minutes, which meant she had either broken several traffic laws or had been closer than she had let on.

She burst through my front door like a woman possessed, her perfectly styled hair slightly messed from running, her designer coat askew.

"Mom!" She rushed to Helen's side, dropping to her knees beside the sofa. "What are you doing here? You scared me to death!"

Helen immediately tried to pull away from Monica's touch, her eyes wide with what looked like genuine fear.

"No, no, I don't want to go back," she whimpered. "You're a bad girl, Monica. A very bad girl. You're going to hurt me again."

I watched Monica's face crumple, tears immediately springing to her eyes. If I didn't know better, I might have believed the performance.

"Oh, Mom, you're breaking my heart. I was so worried when the nurses called and said you had wandered off." Monica's voice cracked as she reached for her mother's hands.

"I love you so much. I would never hurt you."

Alexander and I exchanged a look. I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes again.

Helen continued to fight against Monica's touch, her voice rising. "You hurt the baby! You hurt everyone! I won't let you hurt the nice lady too!"

I felt my blood chill. The baby?

Monica's tears came harder now, her shoulders shaking. "Mom, please don't say things like that in front of people. You're confused."

I checked my watch slowly, the sound of my bracelet clicking against the crystal face echoing in the suddenly tense room.

Alexander smirked, recognizing my impatience for what it was—a power play.

"How much longer are you planning to continue this drama?" I asked coolly. "Because I have somewhere to be."

Monica looked up at me with red, swollen eyes. "I'm so sorry, Claire. She gets confused and says terrible things." She stood up, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

"Thank you for calling me. I don't know what would have happened if…."

"I didn't do it for you," I cut her off. "Maybe you should keep a better eye on your mother."

Monica gestured to a woman in scrubs who had been waiting quietly by the elevator. "Jenny, could you please help my mother into the car?"

The psychiatric nurse nodded and gently coaxed Helen to her feet. As they headed toward the door, I called out, "Aren't you going with them?"

Monica paused, her hand on her purse strap. "Claire, could we talk? Just for a few minutes?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Is there something else you forgot to mention back when you were screwing my husband in my living room?"

The words hung in the air like a slap. Monica flinched, but then straightened her shoulders and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight.

"Why are you acting like this? We used to be best friends. We used to tell each other everything."

The word 'friends' hit me like a physical blow, and I yanked my hand away from hers with more force than necessary.

"Alexander," I said without taking my eyes off Monica, "could you give us five minutes alone?"

Alexander hesitated, his protective instincts warring with his respect for my independence. "If she starts crossing any lines, just call for me."

After he left, Monica immediately shifted into victim mode. She sat down heavily, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her.

"Claire, I know you have every right to hate me," she began, her voice small and broken.

"But I need you to know that I never meant for things to happen the way they did. Richard and I... it just happened. We tried to fight it, but….."

"Cut the shit, Monica." I remained standing, looking down at her with what I hoped was complete indifference. "Say what you came to say."

She looked up at me with those big, wounded eyes that used to make me want to fix everything for her.

"Are you acting this way because you still love Richard? Because that would be understandable. After all, he was your everything."

I scoffed. "Is that what you think this is about?"

"I lost the baby," she said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. For a split second, my carefully created armor cracked, and I felt a hint of the old Claire-the—one who would have immediately rushed to comfort her friend in crisis.

"What?"

"I had a miscarriage three months later after you left." Monica's tears started fresh, and these looked genuine.

"I was so scared to tell Richard. He was so excited about becoming a father, and I just... I couldn't bear to see the disappointment in his eyes."

I felt my will waver for just a moment. A miscarriage was a devastating loss, no matter who it happened to. But then I remembered who I was talking to.

"And you're telling me this because...?"

"Because I need you to understand that I'm not some evil villain who stole your perfect life. I'm just a woman who made mistakes and is trying to live with the consequences." Monica stood up, taking a step closer to me.

"I still love Richard, Claire. Do you?"

The question hung between us like a loaded gun.

"If you still love Richard," I said slowly, "would you give him to me?" Monica stared at me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"Or do you want me to love your husband?" I pressed.

Monica said nothing, but I could see the answer in her eyes. She would never willingly give up Richard, no matter what she had done to get him.

I moved toward the door, making it clear our conversation was over. "I have somewhere to be. You can show yourself out."

I paused halfway to the door, not bothering to turn around. Monica sat there looking defeated, probably waiting for some grand gesture of forgiveness that wasn't coming.

"Monica," I said quietly, "you shouldn't ask questions you're not ready to hear the answers to."

I could feel her holding her breath.

"And as for Richard..." I paused, letting the moment. "You were right about me loving him."

The admission hung in the air, and I could practically feel Monica's relief.

"But," I continued, "I want nothing to do with him now. So relax. I'm not back to steal your husband."

I finally turned to face her, noting the mixture of relief and suspicion in her eyes.

"Consider this your only warning, Monica. Stay out of my way, and I will stay out of yours. But if you or your mentally unstable mother show up at my door again with wild accusations and sob stories, I won't be nearly as accommodating."

I left her sitting there, probably trying to figure out if she had just won or lost this round.

The truth was, I wasn't entirely sure myself. Because while I had meant what I said about not wanting Richard back, the part about still loving him...

Well, some truths were more complicated than others.

And Monica didn't need to know that I was still figuring out which parts of my heart belonged to love and which parts belonged to revenge.