Chapter 6

CLAIRE

Cassie pulls up at the familiar gate of Levi's Villa. And the bitch doesn't slow down, driving right past the security kiosk like she owns the damn place.

I've never felt this much anger burning right through me. It's like I've been delivered like an order from Temu.

She pulls the car to a stop near the manicured fountain, the engine idling loudly.

Cassie finally turns off the ignition. She takes a deep breath, smoothing the skirt of her black suit. When she looks at me, I swear I have the urge to punch her in the face. But she’s still my freaking sister.

“Forgive the man,” she says. “It’s better this way for everyone. And don’t be so hard on him. He didn’t set this up, I promise you. This is all me. Don’t blame him, okay?”

She reaches out a hand to touch my cheek—something she hasn't done since we were kids.

Before the damn hand can touch me, I slap it away, the sharp crack echoing in the car. My entire body tenses, forgetting the stitches, forgetting the pain.

I stare her down and without waiting for her to say another word, I yank the door handle. It takes all my strength, but I shove the heavy door open, stumbling out onto the gravel drive.

I turn back just long enough to lock eyes with her, offering her the middle finger.

“Fuck you, Cassie!” I holler and make a beeline for the front door, not caring who sees me or what security footage captures this raw, explosive exit.

The mahogany doors are slightly ajar—strange. But I'm too angry to care. I shove the door open the rest of the way, stepping inside.

I don't even get two steps when something soft but heavy hits me squarely in the head: a cushion.

Someone threw me a fucking cushion as a welcome gift.

Great. Just great.

Before I can finish processing that, a high-pitched shriek slams into my ears, followed by an ornament that whizzes right past my ear and shatters against the wall behind me.

“Jesus!” I duck and spin, adrenaline rushing through me.

“What the hell!” I yell, my heart slamming in my chest.

“LEAVE ME! I SAID LEAVE ME!”

That's Graham's voice.

And behold, it is Graham's voice but with a touch of chaos.

Cushions everywhere.

Broken glass strewn all over the place.

Maids covering around, some sweating profusely, some running up and down, some have their hands on their heads, and others hiding in a corner, pretending not to see this disaster.

And standing in the center of this debris field is Graham, eyes blazing, tears streaming down his face. He’s holding a bronze fireplace poker, pointing it toward the source of his distress: Levi, who’s standing like a sandcastle that will be swept away at any second. Helpless. Exhausted.

Can I take a moment to thank the Lord for saving me from the accident, to meet this day, my doctor deemed me ready to go home?

“Ma'am.” One of the maids sees me.

I smile and wave at her. “How is everything going? I hope no one died.”

“No one died, ma'am.” another one answers.

And of course, the one person who might meet the face of death today is that boy if he doesn't behave himself.

Levi’s eyes lock on me. I ignore him, smiling at Graham but with my teeth. “Graham, honey. Drop that thing in your hand. Or you might hurt someone.”

Graham turns to me, and the way he looks at me is enough to tear a hole through my skull.

“You bitch, it's your fault!” He snaps, pointing a finger at me. “You caused this.”

I chuckle, scanning everyone's faces. “You guys are actually seeing this, right? He's pointing a finger at me.” I chuckle again. “And he called me a bitch.”

“Grah—.”

“Shut up!” Levi is cut off before he can even get the chance to discipline him.

“You lied to me. You told me she doesn't want me while you stole her from me.”

I frown. Wait. Is this what I think it is? Is Sam manipulating this child?

I drop the sarcasm instantly. My focus snaps entirely to Graham. “Graham, calm down. Put the poker down, right now.”

I turn my head just enough to bore holes into Levi. “Levi, do something! He’s going to hurt himself, or you!”

Levi flinches, looking terrified of his own son. “What do you want me to do? I can't touch him or he'll call the police, and Sam will say it’s child abuse! She’ll use it to take him! I can't, Claire, I can’t!” he pleads, holding his hands up in a gesture of absolute defeat.

He is completely paralyzed. And just like that, I know exactly what kind of man Levi is: a victim of his own lies. A coward who is so afraid of losing his son in a custody battle that he lets the boy swing a weapon around the foyer.

I don't wait for him to move. I take two quick, confident steps toward Graham. But then…. I stop.

What am I even doing? I shouldn't involve myself in all of this. This is not my problem. It should have been my problem only if Levi had told me sooner.

I can't take this. This isn't the life I envisioned. A life threatened by forces I don't completely understand.

What's Sam's ultimate goal in all of this?

I shake my head, shifting backward. “I can't.”

Levi sighs. “I'm so sorry, Claire. You shouldn't have seen this. I should have fixed this before you got back—”

“Levi, just… save it.” I cut him off, eyes sweeping through the mess. When did things turn upside down? One day? Just one fucking day, and now Graham is behaving like a feral child—not that he was a shining example of decorum in the first place—and Levi suddenly looks so… weak, confused, helpless, drained, afraid.

What did Sam do to him?

How much power does Sam have over him to make him seem less of a man and more of a terrified, spineless hostage in his own home?

I pivot, ignoring the trembling Graham and the paralyzed Levi.

“Where are you going?” He panics, finally moving from his position.

I stop at the edge of the stairs and turn to him. “I'm leaving.”

His face turns pale. “What?”

“I'm taking a timeout. I'll only be back if you sort everything out and be a man. Which I doubt will happen any time soon.” I say and walk out on him, straight to my room to pack my bags and every damn possession.

I don't know where to go, but I'll manage. I always manage.

“C-Claire, please.” Levi stutters, running after me.

I don't spare him another glance. I climb the stairs two at a time, ignoring the throb in my ribs. I reach for the room, snatch a designer carry-on bag from the closet shelf, and throw it open.

Levi is right behind me, begging, pleading, promising to fix everything. But I'm too drained to care or even listen to his rambling. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to remember it.

I just don't.

“Claire give me a week. Just one week. I'll deal with Sam. I'll put her in her place.” He says as I yank my remaining clothes and jewelry into the bag.

I zip the bag, and he's still talking, losing his composure. I brush past him, dragging my luggage with me, and thankfully he doesn't stop me, doesn't grab my wrist or hug me from behind. That's what I like about him; he does know how to respect a woman.

I ignore him, walk out the door, and slam it in his face.