Clara Afton Novels & Stories

Nocté reached out to the dying newt and closed his eyes. “Come back, my lady! Nothing can help him.” Agnes's voice brought the girl back to the grotto. Nocté’s body, seized by a sharp weakness, became numb. The left arm stopped obeying. She turned to Agnes and began to wade through the water, slowing her pace until she stopped: the cold cooled her conflagrant mind, the maid's scream got in her ears, and the girl lost consciousness. *** The Black Cliff. Sixteen years ago

Quentin is the one who told me that mom drowned and my father is the one who saved me. The way I remember it, Eliza Bancroft died after she was speeding on a winter day. The car went through the barriers of the bridge and it sank. The real story is much darker. The official story that Clara is likely to uncover is that she suffered a heart attack in her sleep. She never left the house on that winter day. Three stories. One truth. "Which movie is this?" I forced myself into conversation. "I have no idea. We will look it up later. Come sit with me!" She sang. I got under the warm blanket. I drew her close to my side and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. "This feels right Linc, right?"

Clara carefully observed her surroundings. She was afraid that she would be discovered by security. She had never been a stalker before. To execute the plan perfectly, she gathered all of Jonathan's information. She wanted to make sure he fell in love with her quickly. Marble will return to her.

“But so will we.” Outside, the town slept beneath a sky deceptively peaceful. But beneath its calm surface, something stirred. The fire had not been an accident. The separation had not been fate. And Clara Wilson was no longer a frightened girl fleeing smoke. She was a woman standing at the edge of truth — with her brother beside her, and the man she loved waiting in the shadows to protect her heart. And somewhere in Ashford Hollow, someone was beginning to realize that the past they tried to bury had finally risen from the ashes.

“Ariyah was my great-great-aunt. She vanished from Terrell in 1889. They said she eloped and disappeared.” “But she didn’t,” Ashani murmured. “She came here. Or was brought here.” Clara closed her eyes. “And she became the Drowned Vessel.” ⸻ That night, Clara dreamed again. She stood at the base of the black spire, deeper this time. The sea above her was not water but sky, and floating within it were the broken remains of cities she didn’t recognize—walls of salt-stone and shell, drifting in forgotten silence. Something moved between them.

The office door opened again with a gentle click, the brass bells above it chiming softly. Clara stepped inside, carrying a thermos and three ceramic mugs. She wore a soft grey sweater, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She smiled warmly at Adonis, entirely comfortable in her own skin, the old defensive posture of the high-end escort completely replaced by the grounded grace of a woman who had reclaimed her own narrative. "I saw the lights from the cottage," Clara said, setting the thermos down on the desk and pouring the steaming tea. "I figured the legal vanguard of the city must have made landfall."

She leaned forward and kicked Lucas in the right spot—the same place she had kicked before. Lucas cursed and pushed her away quickly. Once again, Clara made good use of the opportunity. She pressed the button next to the door and ran out, leaving Lucas shouting and cursing behind. She didn’t fucking care about what happened to him. The only thing on her mind was to find a taxi quickly and go home with Anthony before they worried and started searching for her in the heavy rain. Not many people visited the cemetery during the rainy season, so there weren't many cars parked there. Clara found Elena opening the car window and waving at her. She rushed into the car—ignoring Lucas and all the mess

The days passed quickly and Klara recovered under Aurora’s care but the urge to kill Ralph for ruining her innocence didn’t minimize a bit. She came to Cylantra with good intentions to reunite their families and for that she endured his humiliation, his harsh words, his assaults, his molestation, even though she liked his touches she endured when he denied her kiss and when he hurt her physically.

It was so extremely ordinary and happy until it wasn't so anymore. Clara Caley had slipped in the shower after she came back from work and had hit her head. It was quite a blow, but she thought it wasn't anything important, ignoring it. Back then Jake was the only one home. His father was working late, and Aiden was at a friend's house. Clara had lied down for a quick nap, telling Jake to wake her up after an hour, yet she died in her sleep. When Jake went to wake her up, he couldn't. No matter how much he called her, how much he shook her, how much he screamed and cried, Clara Caley wouldn't wake up.

“I don’t understand. Ashton… the old news reports… everyone said he died in an accident in Switzerland.” Clara shook her head slowly, a weary sadness in her eyes. The single lamp cast long shadows across her face, making her look like an ancient oracle delivering a terrible truth. “He never set foot in Switzerland, Avery,” she said, her voice a low, mournful whisper. “He never even left the grounds of the mansion. Rose made sure of it.” The statement was so contrary to the established narrative that Avery’s mind struggled to grasp it. “But… how? The stories, the obituaries…”