Chapter 7. Whispers of Danger and Unspoken Fears

"Oops, my hand is so slippery."

The sharp sound of a porcelain cup shattering on the café floor made Claire jump. Natalie stood in front of her with an innocent look, while a spill of latte coffee stained Claire’s scuffed work shoes. The annoying woman had come back to the café where Claire worked today.

"Clean this up, Claire. It was an accident," Natalie said, wearing a satisfied smile.

Claire clenched her hands at her sides next to her tray. She could feel the café patrons’ eyes turning toward them. Her breath quickened, but she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to swallow the anger that had risen to her throat.

"Alright, I will clean it up," Claire replied in a low, trembling voice.

"That’s more like it. A good waitress should be obedient," Natalie giggled, deliberately stepping on one of the cup shards before sauntering out of the café.

Claire knelt down to pick up the porcelain pieces. Her finger was nicked slightly, but she didn’t care. She just wanted this night shift to be over. Because of the incident and a pile of extra work from her manager, Claire was only able to leave the café when the clock hands were almost pointing to eleven at night.

She walked sluggishly toward the station. Her phone had died from a dead battery, so she had no idea that dozens of messages and missed calls had come in over the past three hours. When she finally reached the penthouse door, Claire felt her energy was completely drained.

The door opened, and the first thing she saw was Julian standing in the living room with his arms crossed. His face looked stiffer than usual. His gaze was sharp, locking onto Claire’s movements as she just took off her shoes.

"Do you know what time it is?" Julian asked. His voice was cold, sounding like a warning bell.

Claire flinched, her shoulders slumping. "Sorry, I came home late."

"What’s the point of having a phone if you can’t be reached?" Julian stepped closer. There was a flash of anger in his eyes that he tried to suppress, but Claire saw it as hatred.

"The battery died, Julian. I was busy working and didn’t have time to charge it," Claire defended herself in a hoarse voice. She felt like crying from exhaustion, but she held it back. "I know I haven’t made dinner yet, but I really just finished work."

Julian’s brows furrowed. "What kind of job makes you come home this late?"

"There were so many customers today, so I had to work overtime," Claire answered honestly.

Julian fell silent for a moment. He looked Claire up and down, noticing the coffee stain on her shoe and the small cut on her finger. "Quit that job. You don’t need to work like that."

Claire looked up, her eyes glistening with tears but looking stubborn. "No. I like my job. At least there I feel useful and can earn my own money without having to keep relying on you or Grandpa."

Julian stared at her intently, his jaw tightening. He wanted to argue, wanted to say that he could buy the entire café building if he wanted, but seeing the spark of pride in Claire’s eyes, he finally just let out a rough breath.

"Suit yourself," Julian muttered, turning toward his study.

Claire breathed a sigh of relief. She walked to the kitchen to make something quick to eat. As she was cutting vegetables, she heard Julian’s voice coming from behind the slightly ajar study door. Her intention to call Julian to eat dinner together immediately vanished.

"Make sure this cover stays clean," Julian’s voice sounded very low and dangerous. Claire froze, her knife stopping mid-movement. "If he dares to resist and won’t confess, just torture him until he talks. I don’t need trash that keeps their mouth shut."

Violent trembling seized Claire’s hands. She pressed her ear to the kitchen wall, her heart beating so fast it hurt. Cover? Torture?

Claire’s mind raced with possibilities. Was Julian actually a national intelligence agent on a secret mission? Or could it be that her husband was a professional hitman? She suddenly realized. This luxurious penthouse, the insane security system, and all the branded items here could not have come from Grandpa Blackwood. Julian was the cast-aside grandson. There was no way Grandpa would give him this much luxury without the rest of the big family knowing.

Claire swallowed hard. She felt as if she had just married a monster hiding behind a neat suit. She hurriedly set the food on the table with hasty movements, trying not to make a sound.

When dinner began, the atmosphere felt extremely tense for Claire. She sat across from Julian, but her eyes kept staring down at her plate. Every time Julian’s spoon clinked against his plate, Claire unconsciously flinched slightly.

"Why aren’t you eating?" Julian asked.

Claire jumped, almost dropping her fork. "Oh, this, I am eating. I just don’t have much of an appetite because I’m so tired."

Julian noticed Claire’s odd behavior. The girl was usually talkative or at least brave enough to look him in the eye when speaking. Now, Claire looked like a rabbit facing a wolf. She deliberately kept her distance, sitting a bit farther away, and her movements were very stiff.

"Is something bothering you?" Julian put down his spoon, staring at Claire intently.

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing at all," Claire answered too quickly, her voice a little high from panic. She tried to give a fake smile that looked very forced. "I just need to sleep."

Julian narrowed his eyes, sensing that something was wrong, but he decided not to press further. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his phone, which had just vibrated.

"Grandpa sent a message," Julian said, drawing Claire’s attention back.

Claire lifted her face slightly. "Grandpa? What did he say?"

"We’re asked to come to his residence tomorrow. There’s an important matter he wants to discuss with both of us," Julian put his phone back. "Make sure you don’t come home late again tomorrow."

Claire nodded quickly, almost like a reflex. "Alright, I’ll come straight home after class."

Julian stood up from his chair, making Claire instinctively push her chair back a little. Julian noticed the gesture. He paused for a moment, looking at Claire with an unreadable expression before finally walking toward his bedroom.

As soon as Julian disappeared behind the door, Claire leaned back in her chair and let out a long breath she had been holding. Her hands were still shaking. She stared toward Julian’s dark study, remembering the words about torture and cover.

Who are you really, Julian? Claire wondered to herself. She felt her life, which had previously been full of family drama, had now turned into a thriller movie that could take her life at any moment. Yet, beneath her fear, a flicker of curiosity began to grow, mixed with worry about what Grandpa would discuss tomorrow.

Is this related to Julian’s true identity that she suspects? Claire could only hope that tomorrow would not end as badly as she feared.