POV: ClaraThe black iron gates of the mansion opened and my parents’ sedan came up the gravel driveway, looking small and fragile against the backdrop of Victor’s huge fortress.I stood on the front portico, my hands clasped so tightly in front of my silk dress that my knuckles were white. Victor stood beside me, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back. To any onlooker, we were the picture of a successful power couple welcoming kin. To me, his hand felt like a branding iron, one that was constantly in for that matter. "Smile, Clara," Victor murmured. "They’ve traveled a long way."The car stopped. My father climbed out first, looking ten years older than when I’d last seen him. His suit which was once sharp on him now hung slightly loose on his frame. My mother followed, her movements stiff and hesitant. "Welcome!" Victor called out, his voice booming with a smile that never really reached his eyes. He stepped forward, radiating the charisma of a saint. "Arthur, Ele
Read more