Darla Claire Feet Novels & Stories

"Those photos you have won't do a damn thing to him. But I can help." And she did. She got her hands on the surveillance footage from the massage parlor—Zachary and Tiffany caught in the act. It was several gigabytes' worth of footage. And it wasn't just Zachary and Tiffany; it was Tiffany and a whole lineup of different men. I clicked on one file, watched for a few seconds, and immediately closed it. It was absolutely revolting.

But that wasn’t what took Cheesy’s breath away. Standing before him was a beautiful woman. Long hair, high heels, an elegant white blouse. A sweet smile and a playful demeanor. Cheesy recognized the face from social media. The woman rumored to be Daryl’s fiancée. The daughter of a wealthy businessman, with a perfect background. Perfect for the Daryl of today. Cheesy stood frozen, half her body hidden behind a concrete pillar. Her hands trembled, her chest tight. But her eyes couldn’t look away. Clara lifted her face slightly, moved closer, and—

Claire was almost within reach now. I lowered my gaze briefly to her feet. And there it was. Clear as day. She shifted her right leg slightly in front of her left and slowed the movement just enough to create imbalance. She was setting it up. The timing. The angle. The fall. Everything was deliberate. The aim was simple. Pretend to trip. Spill the drink. Destroy the dress. Destroy the moment. I smirked. Not today. Just as she moved to execute it, I caught her arm with a grip of steel.

He said and took her hands, walking them both inside. Darrell looked like he was in his late thirties. His blonde hair was neatly styled and his warm brown eyes radiated gentleness in them. He stood at about 5'11 in height with a slim build. As much as she hated it, she couldn't help but compare him with her mates. There was a huge difference between them. A very huge difference but did it change anything? No, it didn't. They walked over to the bar situated in a secluded corner of the living room. Claire took a bottle of whiskey with two shot glasses before they took a seat on the barstool.

“You ready?” Claire looked at her reflection in the mirror one last time before turning to me. “Let's get this over with.” I slipped into my silver pumps, Claire in her gold ones. Why they thought it was a good idea for me to wear heels? Beats me. With the heals, I was as tall as Goliath. Claire hooked her arm with mine and started towards the stairs. She was used to wearing heels, so she was my stability for the night.

“Enjoying yourself, I see.” Before Darren could respond, a sound from the hallway drew both their attention. Claire appeared, barefoot, dressed simply in one of Darren’s shirts that fell just above her thighs. Her hair was loosely tied back, a few strands falling carelessly around her face. For a brief second, silence filled the entire room. Ingrid’s gaze landed on her instantly, sharp and assessing. It wasn’t an outright glare, but it carried the vibe of a quiet judgment. She took in everything: Claire’s bare face, her casual posture, the fact that she was clearly comfortable here.

As soon as she was in that groggy condition, he told her, it was no holds barred, June and Roy would be allowed to do whatever they wanted with his sexy little wife. Clara looked really good in a short yellow dress that showed off her neat figure and legs, and went very well with her dark hair and oriental looks. She was wearing ridiculously high heels which must have boosted her height to at least 5'4, but she was still tiny compared to the rest of us.

TWO CHILDREN Clara continued to stare at the door through which he had left, allowing her tears to flow freely. She curled up on the sofa in a fetal position and remained there for several long minutes, waiting to regain her composure before leaving. She didn't want to ruin her friends' party, Priscila's celebration. When she felt more composed, she felt someone sit down near her legs, and upon opening her eyes, Dália was looking at her with affection. Dália ran her hands along Clara's shins, providing comfort that made Clara want to cry even more.

She swung the door wide, and I stepped inside. The air was infused with a feminine floral fragrance that welcomed my senses. Strangely, it made me feel relaxed. Clara stepped away to remove her gloves and change her outfit. When she came back, she had on a casual knee-length dress. "Where's Layla?" I asked, trying to distract myself from staring too long at her. "Diana, pick her up this morning. They were going to take a stroll in the park." I nodded. She seems a little worn out after her time gardening. I think it might be a good idea to look into hiring a house assistant for her.