CHAPTER 5

Clarissa

​I had signed Drake's divorce papers and finalized my marriage with Valentine.

But defying Drake came with a price. Yesterday, when he finally realized I wasn't going to crawl back, he made his next move. He hired another quant to imitate the work I had spent years building and withdrew my twin sister’s medical support. For three weeks after my resignation, he had kept her bills paid—not out of kindness, but as a bargaining chip, hoping the fear of losing her would force me back under his control. But he was wrong.

Even the air smelled like victory, but I was just getting started. When he realizes I am Mrs. Gaston, there will be nothing he can do to stop me from protecting my sister anymore.

But victory came with its own complications. Maybe including a ‘no sex, no love and no feelings’ clause with Valentine was the right call after all. The first night was a mistake born from anger but a marriage built on desire would be another cage. Aside from that, I was terrified—not just of becoming attached to him, but of letting him discover how fragile my health was and how complicated my pregnancy history was.

I stood in the bedroom that didn't used to be mine, looking at the sparse remains of a life I was more than happy to leave behind. For five years, this room had been my prison, a place where I counted the hours until a husband who didn't want me came home. Now, it was just four walls and a ceiling.

I was packing up my remaining belongings into my car—or at least, that was the plan. Valentine had different ideas. He had insisted on sending a sleek, black luxury SUV and a driver who was currently waiting in the garage to ferry my things to the Gaston mansion.

I had told him I could handle my own things, but the look he gave me…that possessive, commanding glint in his eyes told me that Mrs. Gaston doesn't do "manual labor."

Downstairs, the house was a chaotic mess of lace, silk, and arrogance. Beatrice and Brenda were in full swing, preparing for the wedding that would be happening tomorrow. Drake had been on a call since morning, his voice echoing through the hallway as he barked orders at his assistants, desperate to make sure the "Hudson-Gaston's subsidiary" merger looked perfect to the public eye.

As I dragged my final suitcase down the stairs, the wheels clicking against the hardwood, I saw them. Brenda was lounging on the sofa, scrolling through her phone with a smirk, while Beatrice was busy setting up the dining table for their "pre-wedding" family dinner.

Brenda looked up, her eyes narrowing as she saw me. "Still here, Clary? I thought the trash was supposed to be picked up this morning."

I didn't stop. I didn't even slow down. "The trash is staying right here, Brenda. I’m just taking the valuables out before the place gets too crowded with cheap imitations."

Beatrice snapped her head toward me, a silver fork clutched in her hand like a weapon. "You have a lot of nerve speaking like that in this house. You should be on your knees thanking Drake for letting you stay this long. An overused, barren woman like you belongs in the streets, not under our roof."

I reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, looking Brenda dead in the eye. She looked so smug, so sure that her brother was moving up in the world.

"You know, Brenda," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "I used to wonder why you were so bitter. Then I realized you’re just a leech. You’ve never had an original thought or a penny of your own. You’re just waiting for Drake to sell another piece of his soul so you can buy another handbag. It’s pathetic."

Brenda’s face turned a violent shade of red. "You bitch!" she shrieked, springing off the sofa. She lunged at me, her hand raised to deliver a slap that she’d been wanting to give me for years.

I was faster. I dropped the handle of my suitcase and caught her wrist mid-air, squeezing until her fingers went limp. The shock on her face was almost better than the victory itself.

"Don't you ever put your hands on me again," I whispered, leaning into her space. "I’m not the woman you used to bully. That woman died the day Drake brought his mistress into this house."

"Let her go!" Beatrice screamed, rushing over. She started cursing me, the usual words flying from her mouth like venom. "Barren! Failure! Scum! You think you’re something because you’re leaving? You’ll be begging at our door within a month when Drake is the most powerful man in the city!"

I let Brenda’s arm go with a flick of my wrist, watching her stumble back. I looked at Beatrice, and for the first time, I felt absolutely nothing. I wasn't hurt, no anger…

"I’ve held onto your insults for so long, Beatrice, that they don't even bother me anymore. They’re just noise," I said. "Keep your words. You’re going to need them to explain yourself very soon."

"Don't talk to my mother like that!" Drake’s voice boomed from the study doorway. He walked in, looking stressed and exhausted, his phone still clutched in his hand. He looked at the scene…Brenda rubbing her wrist, Beatrice trembling with rage, and then at me.

I smiled at him.

"We'll meet again soon, Drake," I said, picking up my suitcase. "And by then, we will know who shouldn't be talking to their mother like that."

He stood there, speechless, his jaw working as he tried to find his footing, but no words came out. He just watched as I walked out the front door and stepped into the waiting luxury car.

The drive to the Gaston mansion was quiet. The moment the gates opened and the car pulled up to the front, the staff were already waiting. They treated me like a queen, taking my single suitcase as if it were filled with gold.

When I entered the master suite, I found Valentine standing by the window. He initially refused my request for separate rooms, claiming that a 'contract' worked best when the parties were in close proximity, but he relented after I reminded him of our clauses. He didn't even look up from his phone as I walked in, but I could feel his eyes tracking my movement.

The next morning, the mansion was buzzing. Valentine was up early, prepping for the wedding, his voice low and commanding as he handled business calls throughout the morning.

I sat there, watching the sunlight hit the diamonds Valentine had placed there for me.

A soft knock came at the door, and a staff member entered, carrying a large, elegant box. "For you, Madam. Mr. Gaston’s compliments."

I opened the box to find a designer dress that was breathtaking, a deep, royal blue silk that screamed elegance. I turned to Valentine, who was finally putting his phone away.

"What is this, Valentine?" I asked.

He walked over, his presence filling the room. He reached out, his fingers grazing my shoulder as he looked at my reflection in the mirror.

"Get dressed," he said, his voice a low vibration. "You're going with me to our daughter's wedding, Mrs. Gaston."

My heart skipped a beat. It felt like a dream. I had spent the last twenty-four hours imagining the look on Drake’s face when he’d walk into the Gaston mansion and see me standing beside Valentine.

But dropping that bomb at the wedding hall? In front of all the guests, his family, and flashbulbs and cameras?

Walking in as his mother-in-law was more than just a face-slap. It was the ultimate introduction.

"I hope you're ready for the drama," I whispered, looking into Valentine’s dark eyes.

Valentine smirked, his hand moving to my back. "Clarissa, I *am* the drama. Let's go."