Chapter 6

Chloe's POV

The people around the table looked at each other, the quiet muttering completely impossible to suppress.

"If it was really hers, how did Claire end up with it?"

"How shameless."

"She's so young, but she sure knows how to play dirty."

"Claire was nice enough to treat her to dinner, and this is how she repays her."

"Keep your voice down, don't let her hear you."

Claire set the papers down, buried her face in her hands, and let her shoulders tremble.

"Chloe," she choked out through tears, "if you liked the draft, you could have just told me. Why did you... why did you have to use me as a stepping stone? I've always treated you like family. How could you do this to me?"

I snapped my head up, instantly remembering that night my drawer had been rummaged through.

The person who slipped into my room that night was Claire. The draft I had hidden at the very bottom of the drawer was quietly stolen that very evening.

That was the night my cramps were so bad I couldn't stand up, forcing me to fall asleep early.

I shot to my feet, pointing straight at Claire. "You're the one who went into my room! I wrote those pages myself! You stole my work! Every single word in that stack you're holding came from nights I stayed up writing!"

The table fell instantly silent.

Claire's sobs only grew louder. She shook her head, keeping her face buried, refusing to say a word back—making it look as though I were publicly humiliating her.

Someone nearby tried to mediate in a hushed tone. "Chloe, come on, let's just talk this through calmly."

Zachary glanced up at me.

Without saying a single word, he reached out, picked up Claire's untouched glass of wine, and pushed it right in front of me.

"She's a guest. You caused this mess, you make it up to her," he said.

"Make up for what? The manuscript is mine," I said, glaring at him.

"Whether it's yours or not isn't up for debate today."

I stared at the glass of wine, completely unmoving.

"What?" Zachary's brow darkened. "Do I really need to spoon-feed you in front of all these people?"

My hands balled into tight fists at my sides.

I looked at the downcast faces around the table, then looked back at Zachary.

He didn't even bother to ask a single question. He just pinned the blame straight on me.

In this entire room, not a single person was going to speak up for me.

I reached out to pick up the glass, but the moment my fingertips brushed the rim, Zachary's hand shot out and gripped my jaw.

With a cruel burst of strength, he forced my head back, wrenching my mouth open.

I tried twisting away, but his fingers clamped down, wrenching my face right back toward him.

He grabbed the glass of wine and tipped the entire thing down my throat in one violent pour.

The liquid choked my windpipe. I doubled over coughing violently, tears streaming down my face.

Wine ran down my chin, soaking my shirt in an icy smear.

"Fill it up."

He gave the order to the server standing nearby.

The server's hands shook as he filled another glass to the brim.

Pinching my jaw again, he forced another full glass down my throat.

The bottle on the table emptied bit by bit as he forced glass after glass into my mouth, not stopping until the bottle was completely drained.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. Collapsing against the edge of the table, I gagged and threw up, coughing up a sour mix of wine and bile.

He released my jaw and wiped his fingertips on my shirt with sheer disgust, as if touching me was dirty.

Every single person at the table kept their heads down, none of them daring to make a sound.

"Take her upstairs. Let her cool off on her own."

Two servers helped me upstairs and led me into a guest room.

I slumped over the edge of the bed, heaving so hard I couldn't straighten my back, cold sweat drenching my forehead.

My stomach felt like it was on fire. It took me a long time just to catch a steady breath.

All I wanted tonight was a shred of fairness, and all I got was an entire bottle forced down my throat.

The people downstairs didn't even dare to look up, let alone speak for me.

Outside the window, the sky gradually darkened. The lights in the room remained off.

I thought I would be left alone for the rest of the night.

Once it was completely pitch-black outside, the bedroom door clicked open.

Claire walked in, locking the door behind her.

There wasn't a trace of distress left on her face. A smirk played on her lips, looking entirely relaxed.

"Chloe," she drew out my name, taking a seat in the chair beside the bed. "There's nobody else here, so I can drop the act. Do you have any idea how long I've had to put up with you?"

I lifted my eyes to look at her.

The faint light from the window illuminated her features. The delicate, fragile face from earlier today looked completely chilling and foreign now.

"I was fostered out as a kid and only got to visit this family once a year. I'd stand downstairs watching you have the best bedroom, wear the prettiest clothes, and even have someone like Zachary trailing behind you. And me? I had nothing," Claire said slowly.

She let out a soft laugh.

"Everything you had, I watched it all, and piece by piece, I wanted to take it for myself."

"Do you know how I felt the first time I slipped into your room?" Claire tilted her head. "Your novel was so good. I just grabbed a random page, and who knew you wrote so well? So well that I couldn't bear to put it down."

She paused, her smile turning even sweeter.

"Chloe, you have everything. What's the harm in letting me borrow one little thing?"

All these years, I had treated Claire like real family, offering her the best of whatever I had.

Turns out she had spent all that time waiting to rob me blind, even targeting the novel I wrote.

"What you stole was just paper," I rasped out. "The hand that wrote it is still attached to my body."

"Is that so?" Claire looked down at my right hand resting against the edge of the mattress and smiled.

I slumped against the bedside, another wave of nausea washing through my stomach.

I tried to push myself up, but my arms gave out, and I fell right back down.

That manuscript was written word by word with this hand.

Stolen pages could be written again. I still had this hand, and I still had the day I would leave.

"I put up with this for over a decade," Claire stood up, sliding the chair back to its spot. "Today, we finally settle the score."