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Victor’s in Amsterdam for two whole weeks,” Bonnie said with a big grin as we moved through the crowded warehouse party. “No big brother watching us. We’re finally free, Claire.”
I smiled, but inside, I felt a rush of relief. Victor Cavendish was twenty-nine — ten years older than me and Bonnie, who were both nineteen. I had called him Uncle Victor for years, even though he wasn’t related to me. He was much older, cold, and handsome in a way that made my stomach flip. Intense grey eyes, deep voice that makes me quiet whenever he is speaking. He hated me because he thought I was a bad influence on his sister. But no matter how much he glared at me or tried to keep us apart, I couldn’t stop liking him. I’ve been crushing on Victor for years, but he saw me as trash.
Bonnie danced in front of me, laughing, her curls bouncing under the flashing lights. She looked so alive. She came from a wealthy family and a big house. I came from a small apartment with my dad, who worked tirelessly just to pay the bills and his medical stuff. But we had been best friends forever. She was like my sister.
She suddenly noticed something behind me and grinned. “Don’t look back, but that guy by the speakers keeps staring at you. Mostly at your boobs.” Before I could react, she cupped my breasts with both hands and gave them a little lift. “They look perfect in that dress. You should show them off more often. They’re gorgeous.”
“Bonnie!” I squealed, pushing her hands away fast. My face burned. The dress she had given me was too tight and revealing, and I felt uncomfortable, but she just laughed that bright, sassy laugh I loved.
We kept dancing until she spotted her boyfriend Sly at the DJ booth. Her eyes lit up. “There he is. My man. God, I’m so into him, Claire.”
Later, we slipped into the quieter hallway near the restrooms. That’s when we heard Sly’s voice from a side room.
“…Bonnie’s my golden ticket, man. I’ve been convincing her to go raw, and she finally agreed. We’ve been hooking up without condoms for a couple of weeks now. Victor Cavendish is loaded. If Bonnie gets pregnant, I’m set for life.”
His friend laughed. “You really think she’ll keep the baby?”
Sly sounded sure. “Yeah, I’m certain. She’s crazy about me.”
Bonnie’s hand tightened hard on my arm. We stood there frozen. When the voices stopped, Bonnie pulled me away without a word. Her usual energy was gone.
We didn’t sleep much that night. The next morning, we bought a pregnancy test. Bonnie did it in my bathroom. When she came out, her face was pale. She was really pregnant.
She sat on my bed and started crying quietly. “He planned this. Victor’s going to be so disappointed. He still thinks I’m his innocent baby sister. He buys me everything I want so I won’t need boys. He thinks I’m still a virgin, Claire. He has no idea who I really am.”
It was true. Uncle Victor had no idea who his baby sister was and the kind of life she led. I had covered for her more times than I could count over the years. Small things, mostly. A missed curfew. A boy she wasn’t supposed to be seeing. I told myself it was what best friends did.
I hugged her tight, my own heart breaking. “Why didn’t you confront Sly last night? We just walked away.”
Bonnie wiped her eyes. “There’s no need. It’s better he doesn’t know that I’m pregnant. Especially since he’s targeting my big brother for money. I don’t want Victor mixed up in this mess.”
We spent the rest of the day talking. The next morning, we went to a women’s health clinic to know what her options were. I put my name on the paperwork like she asked. I sat with her while she cried and thought. In the end, she decided to keep the baby.
“I can’t do it,” she said softly as we left. “I’m keeping it.”
I felt relieved. We got back in the car. Bonnie was driving, still emotional. Her phone rang. It was Victor. He had come back from Amsterdam early.
She put it on speaker. “Hey, big brother.”
Victor’s voice was sharp. “Bonnie, where are you? I’m home and you’re not here?”
Bonnie’s voice shook. “I’m… shopping with a friend.”
"Don't lie to me." He snapped. "I checked your location, Bonnie. What the hell are you doing in that sketchy area? Are you with that slut Claire again?"
Those words hurt. I was still a virgin. I was a good girl. But Victor had always seen me as the bad influence.
Bonnie looked at me. I shook my head, but it was already too late.
She didn’t hesitate. “I’m sorry for lying. It’s Claire. She had to get an abortion. I’m just helping her as her friend.”
Victor’s voice got louder, and disappointed. “Abortion? Are you serious right now? I warned you so many times to stay away from Claire! That girl is going to ruin your life one day, Bonnie. I told you she’s a bad influence. Get over here right now.”
The call ended.
I stared at her, shocked. “Abortion?” I couldn't believe she would pin that on me too. “Victor already hates me. Why would you lie on me like that?”
Bonnie looked confused for a second, then her face fell. “Claire… I’m sorry. I panicked. I didn’t mean to—”
I looked away, hurt beyond words. I had let Bonnie use my name as a cover so many times. I never complained. But this felt too far. It was worse because I have feelings for Victor and now he would think I had gotten an abortion? This isn't fair.
But then I looked at Bonnie. Her hands were shaking on the wheel. Her eyes were red from crying. She was already scared and going through so much. I swallowed my anger.
“It’s fine,” I said quietly. “Just… drive carefully, okay?”
Bonnie screamed, “Fuck!” Her hands shook harder on the wheel. “He’s going to find out. He’s going to be so disappointed!”
She hit the pedal, driving way too fast. I grabbed the seat. “Bonnie, slow down! Please!”
The tires squealed on the road. Headlights rushed toward us on the sharp turn.
ClaireHe's too perceptive. He always has been. He knows something's wrong. He's going to ask questions, and I'm going to lie to him again, and I hate myself for it."Just tired," I said, forcing my voice into something more steady. "Didn't sleep well. I'll be out in a minute."Another pause. Then, softer: "Okay. Take your time."I heard his footsteps retreat, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.You can do this. You can pull yourself together. You can walk out there and pretend everything is fine. You can smile and kiss him and act like your world isn't crumbling around you. You can do this. You have to do this. Because if you fall apart now, you'll lose everything.You're going to lose everything anyway, the voice inside my head whispered. But at least this way you get to hold onto him a little longer.I took a deep breath, turned on the faucet, and washed my face again. The water was cold, bracing. I blotted my face dry with a towel, looked at my reflection on
ClaireI barely slept.The hours after my father's call stretched thin and sharp, each minute a blade pressed against my throat. Every time I closed my eyes I heard the name again—Jasmine—and saw the shape of a future that no longer included me. I lay on my side staring at the dark, replaying Victor's voice from earlier last night. The careful way he had said I was safe. The quiet promise that he would never push. The forehead kiss. The blanket pulled up to my shoulders. He had meant every word. I knew that. And that was what made it worse. He had given me tenderness without knowing the full truth of what we were. Without knowing that I've been lying to him.My father's voice echoed in my skull. Victor’s real girlfriend is coming back to Los Angeles. The words had burrowed into my chest like parasites, feeding on every moment of happiness I had stolen with Victor. Because that's what it was, wasn't it? Stolen.But Jasmine was his past. His almost-fiancée. The woman he had planned to s
VictorI closed the door.The click was too loud in the quiet hallway. I kept my hand on the knob a second longer than necessary, palm pressed flat against the cool metal, listening. Nothing. No voice calling me back. Just the thick, waiting silence of the house.I let my hand fall.Then I looked down at myself.Still hard. Ridiculously, stubbornly hard. The front of my trousers strained against the evidence of what had just happened a few minutes ago, as if my body had decided to stage a private rebellion. I stared at it like it belonged to someone else.“For God’s sake,” I muttered under my breath. “Enough.”My body did not listen.I turned away from the door. The hallway felt longer than it should have. I made it to the kitchen on pure willpower.The refrigerator light cut a hard white line across the dark floor when I pulled the door open. Cold air washed over my face. I grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap with more force than necessary, and drank until the chill stung my t
Claire“Then what are you afraid of?”I opened my mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. The truth sat like a stone on my tongue—I’m afraid of the day you remember, I’m afraid of how much I want this, I’m afraid that if we keep going you’ll realise I don’t know what I’m doing—but none of it would come out.Instead, my voice cracked on something smaller and far more dangerous.“I’m afraid that... I—" I stopped.I tried again. The words snagged somewhere between my chest and my throat.“I—just—” My voice cracked. I took a step back without meaning to. Heat rushed up my neck. “I can’t— I mean— it’s—”I stumbled back another step. Then another.“Claire—” Victor’s hand lifted, slow, like he was reaching for a frightened animal. The sight of it made something in me panic.I turned and almost tripped over my own feet. The hallway stretched too long. I pushed through the bedroom door. It shut harder than I meant it to. My back hit the wood. I stood there, chest heaving, palms flat again
ClaireThe words landed so deeply that something inside my chest cracked open. This version of him—the one who had lost his memories—loved me with a raw, uncomplicated certainty that made me feel more cherished than I had ever known how to ask for. And that was exactly what terrified me.Because, what would happen when those memories returned? When he discovered I had never truly been his girlfriend? That everything between us had begun as a mistake he didn’t even remember making?Fear rose sharp and sudden. Tears pricked my eyes before I could stop them, spilling over almost at once.Victor’s expression shifted instantly. His brows drew together, concern flooding his face as he cupped my cheek.“Claire… why are you crying?”A sob broke free before I could stop it. Then another. Tears spilt faster, and the words came out fractured between them.“I’m— I’m crying because—” my breath hitched sharply “—you’ve changed a lot.”Victor’s eyes softened with something unbearably tender. "Change
Claire The question hung between us, soft and completely serious. Why not you? Something fluttered hard in my chest. For a second, I couldn’t find an answer that didn’t feel too small. Victor’s thumb kept moving slowly across the inside of my wrist, warm and steady. His eyes never left mine. “You’re qualified,” he said quietly, “because you already understand the thing most kitchens never learn. You just told me a restaurant is a system of care—that food is the most immediate language we have for saying you care about someone. You spoke about making strangers feel seen. That isn’t technique, Claire. That’s vision. I’ve watched you at your restaurant — the way you stay calm when everything is moving too fast. The way you read what people need before they can name it, the quiet pride you take in sending them out lighter than they came in. Technique can be taught. That kind of heart, that kind of meaning… can’t. The Cavendish Imperial Dining has perfect plates. I believe what it does







