Chapter 3

Clara’s POV

Damian brought home countless women.

I thought I had grown completely numb.

Until Bianca Frost moved in.

Bianca was his latest flame, and by far the boldest.

Within a month of living at the estate, she had mapped out every single one of my boundaries.

For my tenth birthday, my late mother had given me an antique music box. After Mom passed away, I kept it by my side wherever I went. It wasn't worth much—the varnish had peeled away over the years. But I kept it tucked in the back of my nightstand, and nobody was allowed to touch it.

One afternoon, while I was at the hospital visiting my father, Bianca slipped into my bedroom.

She dug the music box out of the drawer, weighed it in her palm, and casually dropped it onto the hardwood floor.

The wooden shell split in two. Brass gears and springs scattered everywhere.

Not satisfied, she lifted her foot and ground the sharp stiletto of her designer heel into the brass gears, splintering the delicate metal pieces across the rug.

When I returned from the hospital, I opened the door to complete destruction.

I knelt down, my trembling fingertips picking up a crushed, bent gear. The jagged metal sliced into my skin, but I didn't even flinch.

Bianca leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms with a smug smirk.

"My hand slipped," she purred. "So sorry about that, Clara."

I stood up and walked toward her, step by step.

Before Bianca could react, I seized a fistful of her hair and slammed her down onto the carpet of sharp brass shards.

Bianca screamed, flailing frantically.

Her bare arms dragged across the broken metal, opening a deep gash that gushed crimson over the floor.

"You're crazy!" she wailed.

I didn't utter a word. I just pinned her down, my knuckles white, burying her head against the wreckage of my mother's gift.

In all seven years of being married to Damian, it was the first time I had ever fought back.

That was the exact scene Damian walked in on.

Bianca was weeping on the floor, her arm covered in blood. I was straddling her, holding her down by the hair.

Without asking a single question, he charged forward and violently ripped me off her.

The force threw me against the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Damian roared.

He dropped to his knees to inspect Bianca's cuts, then turned to glare at me with eyes so cold I felt like an absolute stranger.

He dragged me out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the courtyard.

A freezing late-autumn rain poured from the gray sky, pelting my skin like needles.

In the corner of the garden stood an old brick tool shed.

He shoved the door open, threw me inside onto the wet floor, and locked the deadbolt.

"You stay in there until you apologize!" His muffled shout cut through the heavy wood, as cold as the downpour.

I was pregnant again.

I sat on that freezing concrete floor the entire night.

Rainwater seeped in beneath the door, soaking through my jeans. I curled up in the darkest corner, wrapping my arms around my belly, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. I never made a peep.

In the dark, I thought of that music box.

When Mom gave it to me, she had whispered, Whenever you miss me, just wind it up and listen.

Now the gears were destroyed. I would never hear Mom's melody again.

The next morning, when Mike unlocked the door, I was already burning with a fever and drifting in and out of consciousness. My cheeks were flushed crimson, and my lips were cracked and dry.

At the hospital, the doctors broke the news. The baby was gone.

That was the second child I lost.

The moment I returned from the clinic, the very first thing I did was check the calendar.

The seven-year agreement had less than three months left.

I slipped my hand into the secret compartment at the bottom of my wardrobe.

Inside was the cash I had quietly saved over the years. Damian gave me an allowance every month, but I hadn't spent a single penny of it on myself; I transferred it into a private bank account under a trusted identity.

Beside the bank card lay copies of my father's medical charts.

An acceptance letter from a seaside rehabilitation facility down south.

And our passports and IDs.

I didn't want anything from him.

Not the Sterling fortune, not the title of Mrs. Sterling, not a single piece of jewelry in this gilded cage.

I was just waiting for the day the contract expired so I could take my father and disappear.

Damian had no idea I had prepared everything.

He assumed I couldn't survive without his family's wealth.

He instructed Mike that my meals no longer needed to be served hot. If they were cold, so be it. The maids stopped cleaning my room, and the laundry staff refused to press my clothes, forcing me to wash them by hand.

Mike felt awful, but he didn't dare disobey his boss.

Even the hired help joined in on the humiliation.

The kitchen staff served me expired food. The cleaners swept my personal belongings onto the floor. The laundry room tossed my blouses into the wash with floor mops. Even the estate gate guards blocked my path whenever I tried to step outside.

I never argued. I took it all in silence.

I was counting down the days.

Once the date arrived, this nightmare would be over.