Claire Ward Novels & Stories

Quinn asked her friend worriedly. Claire nodded with a look of determination on her face. She replied, “I’ll be ok… I’m going to put that bitch in her place and avenge my father by exposing Adam Hart.” “Ok, you look hot, girl,” Quinn whistled when Claire stood up from the vanity mirror after doing her make-up. Her mermaid gown hugged her figure perfectly and Quinn nodded in approval, “Go get your man.” Claire left Thalia with Quinn and proceeded to the venue of the wedding. Her heart was pounding erratically in her chest, her stomach twisting and turning at the thought of what she was about to do.

Pov: Narration Claire finished wiping the last glass, her hands still trembling. The air in the café felt charged. She hadn’t understood half of what the crying woman and Mr. Wilson were shouting about. Something about an engagement, a business deal, a car crash. But the woman’s final words clung to the silence like frost: “She’s working at Wakefield.” Claire frowned, placing the glass on the shelf. Working where? A cold prickle danced down her spine. She didn’t work at Wakefield. She worked here. And at the diner on 5th. The only ‘Claire Hart’ in this city was her.

Diane asked, her voice softening just a fraction. "Yes. Claire is confirmed. She’s arriving on the morning flight from London." Claire. A tiny, fierce woman who had been Diane’s only friend during those miserable years at the corporate office before Marcus convinced her to quit and become a "full-time wife." Claire was the only one who had called after the gala. She was the only one who didn't ask if the diamond was real, but instead asked if Diane was sleeping okay.

"Count me in as permanent member of the team." "We never didn't count as a member of the house." I remarked gently. "But glad to know that your done going back and forth. Glad to see you on a permanent side." Claire was dressed in causal jeans and comfortable shirt that showed off her true beauty when she wasn't stuffed inside her work uniforms. Her usually kept up hair black hair, had been untangled and washed over her in waves. She still wore no makeup, but it wasn't like she needed it. She was beautiful enough.

Now, for the first time, I really heard it and understood what it meant. I was still processing this revelation when I felt Savannah stiffen beside me. I followed her line of sight and saw Claire, with Adrian on her arm. Claire stood tall and straight in a midnight blue gown that made her look like a queen. She walked with a dignity and sense of purpose that made her beautiful. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Savannah sneered, fingers digging into my arm. “Look at her. Claire actually had the nerve to show up here?” “She looks… good,” I managed to say.

The majordomo is there, and he waits for Hannah to signal him before the guards open the doors and he announces, “Tara and Clare, formerly of the Toronto pack.” The “formerly” part of the sentence has to sting. So does, I imagine, the part where their last names have been stripped from them. Even from across the throne room, I see Tara flinch. But Clare holds her head up regally as they approach, and they both curtsey when they reach the dais, but I jump up and nearly tackle them. “I’m so glad you’re okay!” I don’t care that tears roll down my face while I hug them. Clare steps back and motions to her clothing. “I’m wearing overalls and an unraveling acrylic sweater from Value Village. Do I

She moves with confidence, like she owns the place, leaving me standing dumbfounded at the door. I close it quickly and follow her to the living room. She’s already by the window, holding my Rubik’s cube in her manicured hands. “Excuse me,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. “Who are you, and why are you in my house?” She turns to me, her smile unwavering. “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Claire. Claire Shaw.” The name hits me like a slap. Shaw. As in Shaw Dynasty, the Patterson Empire’s biggest rival and direct competition for the ten-billion-dollar investment deal Rex is after.

Edward’s silence stretched too long. Claire glanced down at her leg. “I’ll stand again before I beg for a seat at that table.” --- Hours later, Claire sat on her hospital bed, dressed in slate-gray sweats, hair pulled back into a simple braid. She dabbed foundation on the worst bruises. She would not attend her father’s memorial looking like roadkill. A voice drifted through the hallway. “…such a shame, really. If she hadn’t insisted on that marriage—” “She threw herself at Jasper. Elodie was always the right Luna.”