Chapter 4

Clara's POV

By the time I pushed through the crowd, the window table was already deserted.

Following the directions given by a server, I found a private dining room tucked away at the very end of the hall.

The moment I pushed the door open, Lorelei was slipping out through a side exit. Only Vincent and Leo remained inside, the little boy sitting quietly on a chair nibbling on a piece of cake.

Seeing that it was me, Vincent marched over in three long strides, grabbed me by the collar, and jerked me toward him with enough force to lift me off my feet.

His voice was a venomous whisper. "Clara, did you do this on purpose? Did you intentionally bring the boy here just to humiliate me?!"

Choking against the fabric, my face flushed crimson as I clawed at his fingers.

His very first question was whether I had deliberately tried to make him look bad.

The cake slipped from Leo's little hands, hitting the floor as he wailed at the top of his lungs, screaming for Mommy.

Vincent shoved me back and slammed the door shut with a deafening bang.

He pulled a checkbook from his jacket, quickly scribbled a signature, and slapped the check onto the table.

"Two million dollars." He shoved the check toward me. "The boy stays with me. Take the cash and disappear. From this moment on, you are never to show your face in front of me or Lorelei again."

I looked at him. "He stays with you? Then who is his mother?"

Vincent glanced coldly at Leo. "His mother is Lorelei."

From start to finish, not a single word of apology crossed his lips.

All those years together, bearing his child—to him, it was all worth a single piece of paper.

A piece of paper tied to a condition: never appear before him and his real wife again.

Once, I thought he might have had unavoidable hardships, that one day he would sit down and explain everything to me.

He had explained it now. With a ballpoint pen.

I stared at that check for a long time before slowly lifting my gaze.

My voice was raspy. "Leo just got discharged from the hospital. He still has a fever and can't be left alone. Can we postpone discussing my departure for a few days?"

I needed time. Even just a few days would do.

Vincent narrowed his eyes, studying me for several seconds. "Fine. I'll give you three days."

I took Leo's hand.

His tiny palm was ice-cold, gripping mine tightly.

I led my child out the door, never sparing Vincent a second glance.

On the ride home, I sent a text to Julian: *Look into Vincent Pierce and Lorelei Vance for me. Everything you can find, as detailed as possible.*

Barely two hours later, Julian called back.

He gave me the full story. "Years ago, right after Vincent took over the family business, he crossed some dangerous rivals. They hired thugs to ambush him in an underground parking garage. Lorelei was his secretary at the time and happened to go down with him to grab some files. She threw herself in front of an iron pipe meant for him. Her right arm shattered on impact, and even after surgery, the nerve damage was permanent. She can never lift it past her shoulder. Vincent married her that same year out of sheer gratitude. He pampers her endlessly; the whole upper crust knows about it."

Hanging up, my resolve only hardened.

Part of me had once wondered if there was anything left to fight for. Now I knew I had nothing.

Her broken arm was real, his debt of gratitude was real, and the vow he made on that stage was real.

I had to get out of this place. Staying even one more day made me sick to my stomach.

Late that night, Leo was fast asleep, still murmuring "Daddy" in his dreams.

He rolled over, clutching the hem of my shirt with his eyes closed, asking softly, "Mommy... does this mean I get to see Daddy every day now?"

My throat tightened. Unable to give him an answer, I gently patted his back until he drifted back to sleep.

I walked out to the living room, digging through my purse for the debit card Vincent had given me years ago.

All of Leo's formula, all of my mother's medications over the years—everything had been paid for with this card.

I had always believed this money was earned through his blood and sweat on construction sites. Whenever I wanted to buy a new coat, I would put it back and think about it for days.

What I had been trying to save was my own little glimmer of hope: *He works so hard out there, so I have to protect this home for him.*

Now, the money in this card was nothing more than a sick joke.

I pulled open a drawer and shoved the card to the very bottom.

From this moment on, I would never spend a single cent from that account again.

The next morning when I woke up, the apartment was dead silent.

Normally, my mother would have been in the kitchen simmering oatmeal by this hour, but today the stove was cold.

A handwritten note sat pinned beneath a cup on the dining table.

*Clara, I have to go demand an explanation to his face. Don't come looking for me. I'm going alone.*

Clutching the note, I scrambled for my phone.