The Claim

“What?!” Clara Hayes raised her voice, but immediately dampened it, aware that she needed to keep her composure.

“Goodness!” Abigail Hayes, her mother, exclaimed, taken aback by Clara’s sudden reaction.

“Why are you so surprised? Victor also apologized to Amelia because he was too busy at work,” Abigail added.

 “You have such a good mate, you know?”

Clara’s heart skipped. The words sliced through her, leaving her simultaneously angry and stunned. She had never expected Victor Quinn to take Amelia from her mother’s house, much less to actually think of her birthday in any meaningful way. His life had been one of reckless indulgence: nights lost to drink, lust, and debauchery, yet now he suddenly acted as though he cared.

Her mind raced. What had sparked this sudden display of responsibility? Was it guilt? Or a carefully calculated attempt to manipulate her? She didn’t know. And she didn’t like not knowing.

Abigail noticed Clara’s long silence and prodded gently, “Clara, what’s wrong?”

Clara forced a calm voice. “Ah… it’s nothing, Mom,” she lied, attempting to mask the turmoil in her chest. “I was just having trouble on the road. I’ll call you again later, bye.”

Beep.

She ended the call and pressed the phone to her chest. Anger swirled inside her, mixing with worry and a low, instinctive fear that Victor’s interference could harm Amelia, even indirectly. She hated that she had to rely on a call from him, hated the fact that she had to swallow her pride and contact him in any way. But he had her daughter, and she couldn’t let panic take over.

Hands trembling slightly, Clara dialed Victor’s number. She barely had to wait a moment; Victor picked up immediately.

“Yes?” His voice was casual, dangerously indifferent, as if nothing had occurred between them in the past hours, as if the heated divorce confrontation had been some trivial misunderstanding.

“Where’s my daughter?” Clara demanded, her tone sharp and controlled, trying to contain the tremor of fear that rose like wildfire in her chest.

“You mean our daughter, Amelia?” Victor’s voice carried amusement, his grin audible even over the phone.

 “She’s still choosing whatever toys she wants for her birthday. We’re in a toy store.”

Clara’s pulse quickened. Her instincts, the subtle stirrings of something primal within her—something she could feel in her bones—sharpened. Her wolf’s intuition screamed danger. She didn’t trust him, not for a second.

“Give the phone to her, NOW!” Clara ordered, her voice trembling.

Victor chuckled lightly and passed the phone to Amelia, who immediately chimed in with glee.

“Hi, Mommy!” Amelia’s bright, innocent voice filled the room. “Where are you now, Mom? I thought you’d pick me up at Granny’s home.”

Clara swallowed hard, fighting to keep her voice calm. “Ah, M—Amelia, are you good there?”

“Yup! I’m with Daddy! Why aren’t you here? I want to celebrate with Mommy and Daddy together!”

Clara’s throat tightened. Her daughter’s happiness was both a balm and a blade, piercing her heart with guilt she didn’t deserve but couldn’t escape.

“Ah—Uh… Mom has a little trouble on the road. You should have fun with your dad first. Buy anything you want there,” Clara said, forcing the words carefully, smoothing over the jagged truth so Amelia wouldn’t sense her mother’s fear and anger.

The child’s laughter echoed in her ears. She could feel her wolf’s senses prickling at the edges, her body responding to the tension, her muscles coiling as if ready to leap, to protect.

“Dear, would you mind giving the phone back to Dad?” Clara said gently, willing Amelia to stay safe in the illusion of normalcy.

“Okay!” Amelia’s voice chimed, and Victor took the phone back, leaving Clara’s pulse racing.

Victor’s casual, almost playful tone returned immediately. 

“So, what else do you need?” he asked.

Clara’s hands curled into fists. The audacity of him—his complete lack of conscience, the way he had treated her and yet acted as if nothing had ever occurred—it was infuriating. He had no remorse, no acknowledgment of the pain he caused.

For twelve long years, their marriage bond had been a battlefield of control and submission, of love and betrayal. 

And now, even as Clara stood on the edge of freedom, Victor still tried to cage her.

“What the hell do you want, Victor?” she demanded again.

“What do you mean?” he said, feigning innocence. “I missed Amelia’s birthday because I was busy. Of course, I have to keep my promise to her.”

Clara’s jaw tightened.

“What? Just because you left, you think you can cut me out of her life?” Victor continued. 

“I’m not stupid, Clara. If we get a divorce, I bet you’ll try anything to prevent me from seeing Amelia—unless I send child support. It’ll happen sooner than you think. You should remember, you need me if you want the best for yourself and Amelia. Otherwise, you’re nothing.”

Clara closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe slowly. She could feel her anger battling her rational mind, the need for control battling the instincts of the wolf coiling within her.

 Victor’s words, as degrading and manipulative as they were, would not win this time. She had already survived his cruelty for years; she would survive this moment.

“Victor,” she said finally, her voice calm.

 “Just tell me which mall you’re at. I will take Amelia with me.”

“To where?” Victor’s tone was condescending. “A shabby motel where it’s dirty and God knows who’s crawling around? Yeah, sure. Good luck leaving the luxury place we had.”

 The wolf in her snarled, the corners of her senses itching to leap, to claim what was hers, to protect her daughter. But she restrained herself, knowing that patience would serve her better.

“Any place is better than living with you,” Clara shot back, her voice firm. “Just tell me where you are. I’ll bring Amelia.”

Victor leaned back against an invisible wall, his grin audible even over the line. “Well, if you insist….” His voice carried amusement tinged with disgust. He clearly didn’t understand her resolve.

“If you want to meet Amelia,” he continued, “either return home—or you can meet her at my mother’s birthday party tomorrow. I’ll be there with her.”

Clara froze. 

The choice was a knife twisting in her chest. Returning home would mean facing him in the very environment where he had humiliated her, where Amelia had been a silent witness. 

Victor’s voice softened—not in kindness, but in a calculated manipulation that made the wolf inside her bristle. 

“Not like I wanted it, but my mother invited you, right? After all, you’re her good daughter-in-law,” Victor added, dripping with condescension. “Oh, how wrong she is.”

Clara’s mind raced. Her options were limited, the pack dynamics clear even in the mundane world: Victor exerted dominance, his ego feeding on intimidation, while she had to maneuver carefully to protect her child. 

She bit her lower lip. Victor had put her in an impossible position: she couldn’t return home, yet she needed to see Amelia, to ensure her safety. 

Every fiber of her being screamed against giving him that satisfaction of control, but her maternal instincts overrode everything else.

So, her decision crystallized—not out of choice, but necessity. She would meet him at Elena Quinn’s party. She would retrieve Amelia, and shield her from her toxic Ex mate.

Victor’s voice floated in her ears one last time.

“So,” he said, “where do you want to meet Amelia? Home, or my mother’s birthday party?”

Clara didn’t answer immediately, her mind already calculating, already preparing for the confrontation tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she will meet Victor. Tomorrow, she will claim her daughter.