Semua Bab Beware Dear Ex, I’m Back For Revenge: Bab 131 - Bab 140

CLARALucas opened the door and just stood there, staring at me. Shirtless, eyes tired, like I woke him up from sleep. His eyes brightened on seeing me and he straightened, rubbing said eyes with the back of his hand.“Where is Connie?” I asked straight.He stepped aside for me to come in. I did.“He’s… in his room? Hi, love.” He said, shutting the door behind me.I turned to face him. “What the hell is going on with him, Lucas?”He folded his arms. “Be specific.”“Don’t play dumb. The cuts. The blood. The video he sent me.”Lucas’s jaw clenched. “He sent you that?”“Yes. And he said you were abusing him. That you drink, and hit him, and don’t even apologize anymore.”Lucas scoffed, shaking his head. “Are you kidding me? You’re falling for that again?”“He sent pictures, Lucas. A video. He looked scared. Hurt.”“He looked like a damn actor. That’s what he is. A manipulative little punk.”My brows furrowed. “He’s a child.”“He’s not just a child, Clara. He’s Connie. You know exactly wh

CLARAZayn had started acting strange. It didn’t happen overnight, but it felt like it did. One minute he was texting me back in seconds, calling me between shifts, checking up on me like I was the only thing keeping his head above water. The next, it was silence for hours, a few distracted replies here and there, and a weird, tight way he smiled whenever I brought up Connie or anything remotely close to it.The other day, we had a conversation,"Did you delete the video?" I had asked him. He stared at me blankly for a while like he did not know what to say. Then he nodded once, tearing his eyes away from me,"I did.""It’s up on Trace, Zayn. I didn't send it to anyone but you—"He scoffed, his eyes darkening. "What, so I sent it out? Because you did not send it to anyone else, I sent it out?"I could see that he was trying to be calm but failing. I tried a smile,"I'm not… I did not accuse you, Zayn. I just… it's confusing.""Ever thought of the fact that his rebel of a nephew could

CLARAI sat quietly in the corner of the hall, sipping from my glass as I watched the evening unfold just the way I had imagined it in my head. The lights were gold and soft, not too loud, not too dull. The decoration screamed money, but not in a desperate way. A calm, rich touch sat on every inch of the place. Flowers arranged neatly in low vases lined the edge of every table, the champagne was flowing, the food came in courses, and there were ushers in black outfits moving around with practiced smiles, whispering instructions, adjusting details, offering napkins and drinks like this wasn’t the kind of event people got killed in.The hall wasn’t too large, but they had made good use of space. The ceiling was high, the chandeliers were massive and still subtle. The chairs were white and silver. The theme was black and blush pink, but it blended so effortlessly with the table setup and soft lighting that you almost didn’t notice they were using colors at all.There were camera men at

ZAYNI sat in the car for a long time after parking in the hospital lot. My hands were steady, my body calm, but my mind was loud. The post was gone now. I had taken it down about two hours ago, even though it was already too late. People had saved it, re-uploaded it, screen recorded it, added music to it, slowed it down, added captions. Some had started hashtags. Others were tagging Clara’s name in it now, even though my account was anonymous. The internet didn’t need names. They had faces. And the moment someone recognized the boy in the video as the son of a Sinclair, things began to heat up very fast.Sinclair Holdings was trending now. Not even in a scandal-clean way. In a way that made you know something heavy was brewing. The kind of trend that could ruin a man if it wasn’t handled properly. The comments were still rolling under the reposters. Some with sympathy, some with sarcasm, most with rage.“This is why men like this shouldn’t be allowed to raise children.”“Why hasn’t

CLARAI left the therapist’s office feeling worse than when I went in. She was soft-spoken as usual, her hands crossed neatly on her notepad, and the way she kept nodding while I stumbled over half of what I was trying to explain made my head heavier. I didn’t say too much. I didn’t cry either. I just let it sit in my chest, all the pain and confusion and weight, while she asked me things like, “Why do you think that moment stuck with you?” and “What would it look like to release some of this?”I gave mostly blank answers. Or short ones. “I don’t know.” “I guess I felt stupid.” “I think I just wanted things to stop.”I was less honest than the first time. This wasn’t working. I could either keep deceiving myself, or accept that.After forty-five minutes, she told me we could stop there. She gave me a kind smile that confirmed to me how useless our meeting had been. “Have a nice day.” She finally dismissed me with a soft smile. I nodded."You too."I sat in my car for a while after th