Chapter 2

Back in my room, I quietly started packing.

I opened the closet—cashmere coats, luxury car keys, custom suits... All the things I couldn't afford back when we were struggling, Claire had replaced one by one. The diffuser on the nightstand was blended by her own hands. Even the curtains had been swapped back to the deep jade green I used to love.

In the two years since I'd returned to the Harrison house, she'd almost become that girl again—the one whose eyes used to light up just looking at me.

But I wasn't that easily won over anymore by sweet words and soft gestures.

I only took the few sets of clothes I'd been wearing when I was forcibly brought back here. The moment I laid them in my suitcase, Claire walked in.

She grabbed my wrist, slid the onyx bead bracelet back over my hand, and gave a flat command, "Keep this. And don't you ever give it away again."

I looked up, surprised. She'd actually gone and gotten it back from Dylan.

Her eyes swept over my suitcase, and her brow tightened. "That's all you're taking?"

"There's no point taking things that aren't mine."

Something dark flickered behind her eyes. I'd set her off again.

"Fine. Since none of it's good enough for you, it's all worthless." She raised her voice. "Someone—take everything I ever bought for Wesley and burn them all. And from now on, he doesn't use a single thing without Dylan's approval."

My expression didn't change. I picked up my suitcase and walked out.

I'd barely reached the stair landing when a hard shove sent me tumbling down the steps. My knee scraped raw against the edge, burning.

Maya stood at the top, glaring down at me. "You never actually changed—it was all an act! You're just trying to drive a wedge between Mom and Uncle Dylan. I'm warning you—if you ever bully him again, I'm done with you."

Her eyes caught the edge of a small leather pouch peeking out from my pocket—a protective charm I'd carried for my father. Before I could stop her, she snatched it.

"Give it back!"

I forced myself up, reaching for it. I'd spent three days and nights in prayer at the cathedral to get that charm blessed for him.

Maya dangled it tauntingly. "Every time you mess with Uncle Dylan, I'll destroy something of yours—then you'll think twice."

She tore the pouch open and ripped the blessed prayer card inside to shreds. Fragments of worn paper fluttered down over me like ash. The last shred of restraint I had left snapped clean in two.

My palm connected with her cheek—hard. My voice came out ice-cold. "The one thing I regret most in this life is giving you my heart. Since you love Dylan that much, go ahead—make him your father. Fine by me."

Maya clutched her face, stunned speechless.

I didn't look back. I limped down to the cramped, shabby servant's room, biting through the pain.

I was just cleaning my wounds when the door slammed open. Claire stormed in, voice blazing. "Wesley, are you seriously going to take it out on a child—"

She stopped cold when she saw the bruises scattered across my body. Her voice dropped. "How did you get this banged up?"

She guided me back to the bed, tending to my injuries with surprising gentleness. For just a moment, I glimpsed the old Claire—and my eyes stung.

"Wesley." Her gaze softened. She leaned in to kiss me.

I turned my head away on instinct.

She froze. Then her hand gripped my jaw, forcing me still, and she kissed me with a kind of desperate force. The taste of blood crept between us. I stayed rigid, letting it happen, while fragments of the past flickered through my mind like broken glass.

When her hand slid beneath my collar, a wave of nausea hit me hard. I shoved her off and doubled over the bed, retching.

"Wesley!" Her face twisted. "Do you find me that disgusting?"

I wiped my mouth and looked away, voice flat. "Sorry. I'm not feeling well. If you need that, maybe go find Dylan instead."

Claire's eyes filled with pain, her voice wavering. "You're pushing me away again? I've told you a hundred times—after you left, I never let another man touch me. The only reason I look after Dylan is because your mother asked me to on her deathbed."

I met her gaze evenly. "I believe you. I know nothing happened between you."

A vein pulsed at her temple. She kicked over the trash can and slammed the door behind her.

Not long after, my phone lit up with a video call from Claire. I hesitated, then answered.

Dylan's ragged breathing filled the room.

On the screen, Claire was straddling him, moving without restraint. On the nightstand beside them sat our wedding photo. Her hand was pressed flat against my face in the frame, leaving a wet palm print.

Dylan locked eyes with me through the screen, a smug curl at the corner of his mouth. "Claire, slow down. Wesley's watching."

Claire angled the camera toward the bed, her voice laced with a vengeful chill. "Since you don't trust me, I'll give you something real to picture. Watch closely—see just how good Dylan and I are together. And don't you dare hang up until we're done."

All night, she dragged him through every corner of the master bedroom, leaving traces of their indulgence wherever they went. Every inch of the screen was soaked in color and sound that turned my stomach inside out, leaving nothing but raw disgust.

Only when the first gray light of dawn crept in did Claire finally end the call reluctantly.