Chapter 6: Clara

"This is a mistake! A parlor trick!"

The booming voice of Adrian’s father shatters the silence of the private dining hall. He slams his fist onto the mahogany table, sending crystal champagne flutes toppling over. The expensive liquid pools across the polished wood, dripping onto the pristine carpet, but nobody moves to clean it.

The board members are already on their feet. The laughter that filled the room just minutes ago has evaporated into thin air. They glance at me, then at the security guards flanking me, and finally at the flash drive Vivian left resting on the table.

"Mr. Von, we need to review our positions," one of the senior investors stammers, backing away from the table while clutching his briefcase like a shield. "If the Vancouve Conglomerate has acquired the debt lines, our merger is legally dead."

"Sit down!" Adrian’s father roars, his face turning red with anger. "We are the Von Group! We do not bow to a—to a street stray playing a charade!"

But his authority is gone. One by one, the board members slip out of the double doors, whispering frantically into their phones. Within moments, the grand dining hall is empty, save for the family that once took everything from me.

Adrian stands frozen at the head of the table, looking as though he has been struck by lightning. His dark eyes trace the sharp lines of my emerald blazer, the pristine cut of my hair, and the indifference on my face. The shock of my transformation seems to strip the air right out of his lungs.

"Clara..." he breathes, his voice cracking as he takes a tentative step forward. "This isn't real. You’re Clara. You don't have a family. You don't have money."

"My name is Anastasia Vancouve, Adrian," I reply, my voice empty of the warmth I used to give him. "And you are standing in a room paid for by my father’s conglomerate. You have exactly sixty seconds to vacate the premises before my security clears you out for trespassing."

"You arroganut little—" Adrian’s father steps toward me, his hand raised in a blind fit of rage.

Instantly, the four bodyguards step in front of me. The lead guard places a hand on his holster, his expression deadpan. Adrian’s father freezes, his chest heaving.

"We are leaving, Father," Adrian cuts in, his voice shaking with a mixture of panic and humiliation. He grabs his father’s arm, pulling him back.

He looks at me through the space between my guards, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles twitch. "This isn't over, Clara. You think you can just buy your way into high society and erase me? I am your husband. We are legally bound. You will answer my calls, or I will make your life a living hell."

I don't bother responding. I turn my back on him, walking out of the dining hall.

The cool night air hits my face the moment I step through the club’s glass entrance. The valet has already pulled my sleek, black luxury towncar to the curb. Harrison stands by the rear door, holding an umbrella to shield me from the sudden, heavy downpour that has begun to slick the city streets.

I step into the vehicle, the heavy door closing with a soft thud that seals out the noise of the city.

"Clara! Wait!"

Through the tinted glass window, I see Adrian bursting through the club doors. He has abandoned his father and his mistress inside. He sprints down the limestone steps, his tailored tuxedo soaking wet within seconds. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead, and his face is twisted in desperation.

He throws himself against the side of the towncar, his hands slamming against my window.

"Clara! Open the door!" he screams, his voice muffled by the thick, bulletproof glass. Rain pours down his cheeks, mixing with the sweat of his panic. "We need to talk! Think about Luna! You can't do this to us! Open the door!"

For six years, I was the one begging. I was the one crying in the dark, wondering what I did wrong, starving myself so our daughter could have a generic inhaler while he adjusted his gold cuffs and slept with Vivian.

Now, as I look at him through the glass, I feel nothing but emptiness. He is a pathetic man trying to cling to a cage that has already been broken.

My security detail moves efficiently. Two guards grab Adrian by his wet lapels, throwing him away from the vehicle. He stumbles, his expensive leather shoes losing traction on the wet pavement, and collapses hard onto his hands and knees in a puddle. The media he invited to capture his corporate triumph are now snapping furious photos of him, face-down in the dirt.

The towncar pulls away smoothly, the engine humming quietly as we merge into the neon-lit traffic.

Harrison sits across from me in the spacious cabin, opening a secure leather folder on his lap. "The media coverage of the dinner is already being suppressed by our PR team, Miss Vancouve. The public will only see the financial default of the Von Group tomorrow morning. Your father has also confirmed that Luna’s vitals are completely stable at the estate."

"Good," I say, leaning back against the leather seat, staring at the blurred lights of the city outside. "What is the status of their residential property?"

"The grand limestone estate where Adrian and his parents reside is legally tied to the corporate debt we acquired this afternoon," Harrison explains, his finger tracing a line on the document. "Technically, the Vancouve Conglomerate owns the deed as of three o'clock today. We have the legal authority to issue a standard thirty-day notice."

I turn my head away from the window, my eyes locking onto Harrison’s.

"I don't want to give them thirty days, Harrison," I say, my voice dropping to a whisper. "They didn't give me thirty days to find fifty thousand dollars for my daughter's life. They gave me a single night."

Harrison pauses, his pen hovering over the paper as he catches the drift of my intent.

I pull my phone out, checking the time. It is just past midnight.

"Prepare the foreclosure execution," I command coldly. "Send our private security detail and the moving trucks to the Von mansion first thing in the morning. Evict the Von family from the Vancouve-owned estate by tomorrow morning. Let them taste the ashes of the world they built on my tears.