Chapter 7
I watched Claude slump on the couch, the appeal of breakfast long gone. Kate walked over with a glass of milk, her voice soft and nurturing as she offered it to him. “Claire is young and playful. Please don’t be too hard on her. We’ll talk when she gets back. If she really can’t accept me, I’ll leave.” Her head bowed, her brown hair partially covering her pretty face, the image of vulnerability. Claude always had a soft spot for the gentle-hearted.
I found myself glued to the sofa, witnessing Claude draw her into an embrace, moved.
“Let’s not talk about her. I had my assistant send the divorce papers to her a few days ago p>
His words transported me back to when he was on a business trip. Only Kate and I were home, and the assistant brought the divorce papers, which I hadn’t signed.
It was then that Kate had asked me to go hiking.
Reflecting back, perhaps if I had signed those papers and left the Hart family, I wouldn’t have dragged the unborn child into such a grim fate with me.
My sorrow was palpable, yet my spirit couldn’t shed tears.
“Claude, I’m so scared of losing you,” Kate murmured into his shoulder, her gaze locking with mine, the spirit version of me. It felt like she could see me, almost as if she was flaunting that she had won Claude’s heart and soul.
I had no desire to witness their affection, yet my spirit seemed cruelly tethered to Claude, forcing me to observe their embrace. I didn’t have a heart then, yet feeling the torment of my heart sliced apart.
That night, my spirit followed Claude to the Velvet Moon Pub.
Gabrielle’s birthday was approaching, and he had begun searching for me earnestly.
Upon entering, he immediately asked the bartender and patrons if they had seen me, holding up my picture, only to be met with shakes of their heads.
“Claire, always playing your tricks,” Claude scoffed coldly.
Standing beside him, I felt defenseless. In his eyes, anything I did was a scheme, and he never believed me.
Coincidentally, an old friend from school was at the bar and came over, suggesting they drink together. “Kate’s here, too. Why don’t we all have a drink p>
Claude sat in a booth beside Kate while I hovered by the door, watching.
Their friends nudged each other, teasing, “Claude, you’re the sharpest lawyer in Crestview Metropolis. What case can’t you win p>
“Yeah, about that burden… Just sue her. She’ll lose in a heartbeat, and you’ll be free to divorce p>
“That’s right. If it weren’t for Claire, you and Kate would be the perfect couple, soaring high. With only her looks to show for, no family background, and no talents, Claire can’t hold a candle to Kate. She’s not worthy of you, Claude.” Despite the slander, Claude remained unfazed, sipping his drink.
Seeing his lack of response, Kate
tried to smooth things over. “Claude, let’s find Claire first. Mrs. Hart’s birthday is the day after tomorrow As for the divorce, you can’t rush it. Did you say you gave her the divorce papers? Maybe she ran away because she doesn’t want a divorce p>
Claude’s reaction was to down another drink, prompting the friends to drop the subject.
“I’ll head back first. You guys enjoy it. Just make sure to get Kate home safely p>
After a few extra drinks, Claude’s steps were unsteady. Kate moved to help him, but he brushed her off with a simple, “You stay p>
Concerned, one of his friends walked Claude out.
I followed them out, startled by a familiar, chilling voice.
“Well, isn’t this Mr. Hart? You had a
bit too much to drink, huh? Where’s your delicate wife? Why didn’t she come to pick you up?” It was Claude’s rival lawyer who almost violated me last time. I wished I
could strike him.
Claude’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you talking about p>
“Who else but your pretty wife? Last time you were drunk, she came looking for you and accidentally knocked over my drink, soaking her clothes. What a sight. I still dream about spending a night with her.” “Get lost!” Though drunk, Claude held back his rage.
“Fine, I’ll go. But next time, bring your wife along. Let’s ‘share’ the fun p>
Bang! Claude’s fist connected with the man’s face, knocking out a tooth.
I gasped, hiding my mouth with my hands. Was Claude defending me?
A fleeting softness touched my heart, but I shook my head, convincing myself otherwise. He wasn’t defending me. He was a lawyer through and through, understanding the one who strikes first usually loses. He was defending his dignity, unable to tolerate others tarnishing what he owned.
It was like when I went to pick him up from the bar, only to be caught by this filthy man, my clothes torn. Seeing that, Claude assumed the worst and dragged me away without a word.
Back home, he pinned me down, his words cutting, “Claire, you’re truly despicable p>
I wanted to argue, but against him, my words held no weight. He was drunk that night and used his drunkenness as an excuse to mark every inch of me.
How could I forget? It was possession, not love. He didn’t want others touching what was his. He could discard me, but no one else could have me.
And he was drunk again. His friend was stunned, helping him into the car, “Claude, should I stay with you? You’re not yourself tonight. You’re the top lawyer, always knowing the consequences of acting first. What happened?” Claude’s gaze met mine, ethereal in the night.
Rubbing his temples, he finally calmed. “It’s fine. That scum deserved it p>
As his friend closed the car door, I sat beside Claude. He was drunk. I was dead. There was no one left to pick him up.