LOGINVictor looked shocked. “What?” His hand fell from his cheek.
“Why didn’t you change the lock code? You knew I had it. If you didn’t want me to come here, you could have just changed the code. Why didn’t you change it?”
For a moment, Victor went quiet.
Then he shook it off. “I’m doing that right away. I’m going to change the code.”
Then he ran his hand through his hair. Then he looked at me and said, “Please, Claire.”
I looked at him.
“Please leave me alone,” he begged through his rage. “I hate you so much that I wish you would just disappear. Please. Just disappear.”
I looked into his eyes, and in that moment, I realised how much Victor truly hated me.
My body started shaking. I started having hiccups. I couldn’t stop them. The tears that rolled down my cheeks were hot.
“I’ll disappear,” I managed to say. “If that’s what you really want. I promise. You’ll never see me again.”
I had really made my decision, and then I turned and walked out the door. One quiet step after another step.
…
The alarm woke me up in the tiny apartment I shared with my dad. I wanted to sleep more, but I couldn’t. I kicked the blanket off my legs and sat up, grumpy and rubbing my eyes. Another day.
I was twenty-four now. Five years had passed since Bonnie died, but some mornings, it still felt like it happened yesterday.
I got up and walked into the sitting room. Dad was already awake, sitting in his old chair and watching the news on our small TV. He smiled when he saw me.
“Morning, my child,” he said, his voice a little rough. “You sleep okay?”
“Not really,” I said, smiling a little as I handed him his morning pills and a glass of water. “But I’ll be fine.”
He took the pills, like he always did. “You work too hard at that shop. I wish I could do more.”
I shook my head. “We’re in this together, Dad. The fried chicken shop is ours. We’ll keep it going.”
We had opened a small restaurant right in front of our house five years ago. Bonnie had helped us a lot back then — giving us money for Dad’s medical bills and some startup cash. I never really felt how poor we were when she was around. Now I did. And sometimes I wondered if that was why I let her use my name so many times. Was it because I loved her too much, or because I was also taking from her — from Victor’s money? I still didn’t know the answer. But Victor was right. I was a bad influence. I was an enabler. If I hadn’t covered for her all those times, maybe she wouldn’t have been so reckless. Maybe she would still be alive.
I missed her so much it hurt.
I sat next to Dad for a moment, and then I stood up, and while I was leaving, I heard the news playing from the TV. I turned back.
”Victor was on the screen.
He looked different now. Thirty-four years old. More powerful. He was one of the youngest and most successful CEOs in the World. I had once dreamed of working in his firm before I had to drop out of school to help Dad run the shop.
My heart dropped. He was still so handsome, even on TV. Those grey eyes. That serious face. But something looked off. He seemed tired and stressed.
The interviewer asked him, “Do you have a girlfriend, Mr. Cavendish?”
Victor smiled a little. “Yes. She’s the love of my life.”
It hit me like a punch in the stomach. Tears filled my eyes before I could stop them.
The interviewer leaned in. “Who is she? When can we expect a wedding?”
Victor’s smile stayed small. “That’s a secret for now. But maybe soon.”
He looked straight at the camera then, like he was talking to someone only he could see. “To my love… thank you for being patient with me. I can’t wait to make you mine officially.”
Tears fell down my cheeks. I quickly wiped them away.
Dad turned off the TV. “Claire…”
I tried to smile. “It’s okay, Dad.”
He sighed. “I know how much you still like him. Victor is a fool for not seeing how much you cared."
I couldn’t deny it. Dad knew me too well. He had watched me love Victor quietly for years. After that day in Victor’s house, I kept my promise. I stayed away completely.
I wondered if he ate well. If his headaches had gotten better. If he was lonely. At least I had my dad. Victor had no family member left. I still cared deeply about him but I never approached him. I disappeared just how he wanted me.
I looked down. “Maybe it’s time to really move on. He’s getting married. It’s not going to be me.”
Dad was quiet for a moment, then said, “I hope it doesn’t work out anyway.
“Dad!” I said, surprised.
He looked a little guilty but also stubborn. “I just wish I was some kind of genie so I can magically bring you two together. So you could be happy. At least grant you one wish.”
I moved closer and hugged him. “You make me happy, Dad. Really. Now sit tight. I’ll bring you the first batch of chicken.”
He smiled. “Extra spicy, like I like it.”
I laughed softly. “Yes, Dad.”
I went outside to our small shop in front of the house. The sign read “Papa & Daughter Fried Chicken.” I started heating the oil and preparing the chicken. A few early customers came by, and I served them with a smile, even though I was tired.
Later in the afternoon, I noticed one of the old shelves shaking. It reminded me how weak Dad had become. He used to fix things like that in minutes. Now, I would have to find someone to help.
I sighed. “I really need to find a way to pay off that loan for Dad’s treatment…”
Just as I said it, the door opened hard. Three loan sharks walked in. The leader looked very angry.
“Where’s our money?” he barked. “We’re done waiting!”
I stepped back, heart racing. “Please, I’ll pay. I just need more time. I promise.”
The leader laughed. “You’ve had enough time. We warned you what would happen if you kept playing games.”
One of the other men started throwing things around — knocking over chairs, pushing tables, making a mess of the counter. “We’re going to burn down this shop now.”
Dad came outside, looking worried. I stepped in front of him. “Dad, go back inside. Please.”
The leader grabbed my arm hard and pulled me toward him. “We’re taking you with us until your father pays up.”
I tried to pull away. “Let me go!”
That’s when a cold, deep voice came from the doorway.
“Let her go.”
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







