Clara noticed. This time, she couldn’t ignore it. Her skin prickled, her pulse hammering at her throat. “Mum,” her voice lowered to a whisper, “why do you keep looking at the door?”
Penelope startled, and then her hand shot out, fingers clutching Clara’s wrist hard enough to bruise. Her grip was iron, desperate. “Clara,” she whispered, voice trembling in a way Clara had never heard. “Don’t react. Whatever happens, don’t.”
The door handle turned.
Clara’s breath caught. For a moment, the whole world seemed to shrink to the sound of brass moving against wood. She looked back at her mother. Penelope’s mask had shattered. Fear and resignation carved deep lines into her face. “Mum?” Clara whispered, her throat aching.
Her mother’s answer was a whisper so faint Clara almost missed it. “Forgive me.”
The door eased open with a groan of old hinges. Clara’s stomach dropped, every instinct screaming at her to run, but her mother’s grip held her rooted to the rug.
A figure stepped into the room, the light from the corridor outlining him first. Tall, broad, the faintest scent of expensive cologne clinging to the air.
Oliver.
He strolled in as though he owned the place, his tailored suit immaculate, his smile cutting like glass. “Clara,” he said smoothly, ignoring Penelope entirely. “There you are. You’ve had us all rather worried.”
Clara’s throat went dry. Her skin crawled. She tried to tug her wrist free from her mother’s hold, but Penelope only squeezed tighter, as though she thought restraining Clara could stop the truth bleeding out.
“Oliver,” Clara forced out, the word tasting like ash. “What are you doing here?”
He arched a brow. “What am I doing here? My bride disappears, and you ask me that question? I should think I have every right to be in your family’s house.” His gaze flicked to her mother, then back to Clara, sharp and knowing. “Don’t you agree, Mrs Mason?”
Penelope flinched but nodded quickly, voice brittle. “Of course.”
Clara’s stomach twisted. “I’m not your fiancée.”
His smile widened, patronising, dangerous. He stepped closer, his voice a purr only she could hear. “Not yet. But you will be. We had a deal, Clara. I keep your parents safe, and you become my blushing bride.” His tone dropped lower, a chill running over her skin. “If you break the deal, well… then I no longer need to keep them safe.”
Her heart stopped. Her chest squeezed so tightly she thought she might pass out. She darted a glance at her mother, desperate, searching.
Penelope’s eyes were wide, shimmering with unshed tears. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, as if begging Clara to stay silent.
Oliver’s gaze tracked every twitch of Clara’s body. He reached out, brushed his knuckles along her cheek as though they were already lovers. She flinched, bile rising in her throat.
“You’ve always been so good,” he murmured. “Don’t ruin that now.”
Clara snapped her head back, her voice cracking. “You don’t own me.”
Oliver chuckled, low and cruel. “Sweetheart, after everything your father’s promised me, after everything in your name, you’d be surprised how much of you I already own.”
Her blood ran cold. “My… what?”
Her voice was barely audible, but Oliver heard. He leaned in, lips curling. “Your name’s on more than you realise.”
Clara’s breath stuttered. Her father. He’d done this. He’d put things in her name. The faintest hint of an answer she hadn’t wanted was suddenly staring her in the face.
She looked to her mother, who wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Mum.” The word broke.
Penelope’s lips trembled. “Clara, please…”
Oliver’s hand clamped gently, mockingly, around Clara’s elbow, steering her towards the door. “Come along, darling. Let’s not keep your father waiting.”
The ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet. Her mother’s perfume, the crackle of the fire, the relentless tick of the clock, all of it blurred around the edges.
Her father. Waiting.
Oliver’s hand on her elbow was deceptively gentle, his touch the way one might guide a prized possession. Clara’s legs moved, stiff, unwilling, but the grip was firm enough that resistance would only humiliate her in front of her mother.
