As they ordered their meal, the conversation slowly unfolded, delving into deeper, more painful topics. Clara spoke of her loneliness, her grief for her mother, and the sense of abandonment she felt both by her mother for dying too soon, but mostly by her father when her mom had still been alive.
Her father listened, his expression one of regret. “I know, sweetheart. I made so many mistakes. I let my career andresponsibilities overshadow what was truly important – you and your mom.”
“How could you do it?” she asked, desperate to understand. “How could you abandon her when she needed you most?”
Her father swallowed loudly before speaking and Clara didn’t miss the unshed tears that glistened in his eyes. “It was pure selfishness,” he admitted.
“When I lost my mate, I thought that I’d never recover from it—it nearly destroyed me. But I managed to find some semblance of happiness again, no, alotof happiness actually, twenty-five wonderful years of it only to learn that it was going to be snatched away from me a second time. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t watch as she got sicker and sicker knowing I was going to lose her too.”
He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket then used it to scrub at his eyes.
Clara couldn’t help the tear that slid down her cheek at her father’s confession. He was right, hehadbeen selfish. No one wanted to watch the person they loved die, but weren’t two people supposed to be there for each other, especially after they had promised for better or for worse? He had broken that oath, not only to his wife, but to Clara, too. And yet, as she stared at him now, she couldn’t bring herself to continue hating him for it because once again, her father was alone, but she had people in her life who cared about her.
“I forgive you,” she said at last.
The emotional release was swift—she felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.”
“So, tell me,” he said, trying to force a smile onto his lips. “What have you been doing in your life since we last saw each other?”
“Well, there is something important that happened recently. I…I met my mate.”
He sucked in a sharp breath as the surprise registered then his eyes softened. “I’m so happy for you, Clara. I do want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
“I know, Dad.”
The evening progressed with a newfound ease as Clara and her father navigated through years of unspoken pain. The walls between them, that had been built up over time, began to crumble with each shared memory and honest confession.
As they were finishing their meal, a waiter approached their table—a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard and a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“A note for you, sir,” he said politely, handing a folded piece of paper to her father.
With a frown, her fork paused mid-air and she watched as her father unfolded the piece of paper. His usual composed demeanor faltered, and his eyes widened in alarm.
“What is it?” she asked. “What does it say?”
He passed the note to her without a word.
The message was succinct but chilling: “Tell your daughter to back off or you will pay the price—with your life. She’s in deeper than she thinks. We’re on to her.” The ominous words sent a shiver down her spine.
“Clara, what is this?” her father asked, his voice tinged with both concern and suspicion. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Are you involved in some sort of criminal activities?”
He leaned forward, his wolf’s instincts evident in his gaze. “And don’t even think about lying to me. I will know.”
Clara hesitated, weighing her options. Could she risk exposing her job? Working for the CIA, officers were trained to repeat the same cover story to everyone they knew. After all, if people knew the identity of all CIA field officers, they could easily bekidnapped and tortured for information—whether they had any or not. But her father’s life was at stake. Didn’t he deserve to know the truth? Her father’s earnest plea and the gravity of the threat on his life left her with little choice.
“Dad, I’m not involved in anything criminal,” she said at last. “I work for the CIA.” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.
Her father’s expression shifted through shock, realization, and then to a protective resolve.
“The CIA? Clara, that’s…”
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” she said, glancing around the restaurant with newfound paranoia. Who had sent the note? Was it CN-6, or Ortega? And how did they know where to find her – were they following her, or her father?
Clara’s father reached across the table, placing a reassuring hand over hers.
“I trust you,” he said. “You’ve got good instincts. And don’t worry about me. I can look after myself.”
