Chapter 4

Clara’s POV

My silence didn't bring peace.

Instead, it made Bianca, desperate to take my place as Damian's wife, feel intensely threatened.

To purge me from the Sterling family once and for all, she staged a pathetic poisoning scheme.

She slipped a heavy dose of laxatives into her own water glass, then clung to the porcelain toilet, dry-heaving violently.

She called Damian in tears, sobbing that I had tried to poison her.

By the time Damian rushed home, Bianca was lying pale and frail in bed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Beside her was a doctored screenshot—a grainy, edited image of me tipping a vial over her cup.

The house staff lined the hallway with their heads down, daring not speak, but their eyes cut straight toward me.

Damian didn't bother investigating.

In front of every servant in the house, he jabbed a finger in my face. "If you ever lay a hand on her again, I swear to God I'll pull the plug on your father's ventilator. Try me."

The color drained from my face.

My lips trembled, but I didn't offer a single word of defense.

I knew explanations were useless; he had never trusted me. Speaking up would only convince him that I was cornered and defensive.

To avenge Bianca, Damian went after my father.

He called the hospital and canceled my father's imported life-support medications. He stripped him of his private VIP suite, relocating him to a noisy, cramped six-bed ward. The specialized nurses were dismissed.

When the hospital called me, my hand shook so violently I dropped my phone onto the floor.

I sprinted to Damian’s study, barging in without knocking.

I dropped to my knees before his desk, my voice raw and broken. "I'm begging you... please restore his meds. Move him back. I'll do whatever you want."

Damian reclined against his leather executive chair, completely still.

He looked down at me like I was a stray dog groveling for scraps. "Kneel before Bianca and beg for her forgiveness. If she accepts, I might reconsider."

I gritted my teeth, kneeling in silence.

In the end, I went to Bianca's room.

I needed to see just how far this woman was willing to go.

Bianca ushered me inside and clicked the door shut.

The fragile, sickly facade vanished instantly.

She sat at her vanity, applying crimson lipstick in the mirror without even glancing at me. "Do you honestly think you're still Mrs. Sterling?"

She spun around, leaning in until her breath hit my ear, her voice dropping to a vicious hiss. "Your father's life is in my hands. If I want him dead today, he won't see tomorrow."

"Get the hell out of this house."

"Otherwise, I'll make sure he rots in agony, and you won't even get to say goodbye."

I stared into her eyes.

There were no tears in mine—only a vast, frozen void.

Without a word, I turned and walked out.

I went straight to the hospital.

Six beds were shoved into the public ward. My father lay in the far corner.

His monitors had been disconnected. The IV port remained taped to the back of his hand, but the drip bag was completely empty, with no nurse around to replace it.

Across the room, visitors chatted loudly over the blare of a mounted television.

Nobody cared about the comatose man who had been lying there for seven years.

I stood beside his bed and took his hand.

It felt thinner than before—just skin stretched tight over fragile bone, ice-cold to the touch.

I pressed my cheek against his knuckles. I didn't sob, but my shoulders shook silently.

I gently smoothed down the peeling medical tape on his hand, then pulled his sleeve down over his elbow. My movements were tender, terrified of causing him pain.

Only later did I learn that the moment I left the estate, Bianca had dashed into Damian's study, throwing herself into his arms and weeping.

She claimed I had threatened to slit her throat and called her a homewrecker. She wailed that she was terrified for her life.

Holding her close, Damian's face had darkened with rage.

He became utterly convinced that I was a venomous, heartless monster who would stop at nothing to eliminate Bianca.