It’s been nine years since he died, but the wound still feels as fresh as ever. He was only 27 when Dad started giving him more serious responsibilities within the organization.
Barely older than me at this point.
“You are not your brother,” Dad says, his voice cold and unfeeling. “You never will be. And if not for his death, I wouldn’t have to deal with this nonsense you’re pulling.”
I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. Taking a deep breath, I pull the cigarette from my lips and throw it to the floor, crushing it beneath my boot.
“Yes, Father,” I say, my voice flat and emotionless. It’s completely useless to fight against him.
I end the call and throw my phone at Mitch, who catches it flawlessly.
“Give him some time, Clara,” Stephan says, stepping forward. He always knows just what to say to calm me down.
“Sometimes, I wish you were my dad,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
Stephan laughs, the sound warm and rich. “I’m too young to be your dad, kid.”
“At 48, you’re ancient to me,” I say, rolling my eyes but cracking a small smile. “Besides, you’re way better at it than he ever was.”
Stephan grins, his blond hair glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. At 6’2”, he cuts an imposing figure, his broad shoulders and square jaw giving him an air of authority. But it’shis eyes that always get me. Deep blue and filled with a quiet intensity that makes you feel like he can see right through you.
“It’s like he doesn’t even want me to do anything,” I complain, beginning to pace back and forth. I spot Lionel, still tied to the chair, his fate undecided. “I really would like to clean up this awful piece of shit.”
Stephan pats my head, his large hand engulfing my skull. “I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. Don’t worry about it.”
I sigh, knowing Stephan always gets things done. No matter how messy or complicated, he finds a way to make it all disappear.
I head toward the door, suddenly feeling suffocated by the stench of blood and sweat permeating the room.
“Heading home?” Stephan asks, his eyebrow raised.
“We both know the answer to that,” I reply immediately. “The night is young, and I might as well enjoy it before I return to my cage.”
“Then I might suggest a nice place for you to go,” Stephan says with a smile. “At least to calm yourself down before you go fight with your father again.”
“I know you’ll see my side in this.”
Stephan hands me a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it. I thank him and head to my car, where Mitch is already waiting.
“Home?” Mitch asks as I slide into the passenger seat.
“Hell, no. We’re stopping at the shopping mall first. I need to get a dress.”
Mitch raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “And why’s that?”
I flash him a wicked grin, my eyes glinting with mischief. “Because, dear Mitch, I’m going clubbing.”
three
Clara
Tonight, I'mout to fuck one, maybe two of those bastards.
If men can screw around whenever they want, why the hell can’t I? No strings, no bullshit—just raw, unapologetic release.
I step into the Versace store, the plush carpet cushioning my stiletto-clad feet. The scent of expensive perfume and leather handbags wafts through the air, mingling with the soft strains of classical music playing in the background.
I make my way toward the evening gown section, my eyes scanning the racks of designer dresses.
