CHAPTER 122: CLARA

[Fair Warning: This Chapter contains scenes of domestic violence and physical abuse, If this is a sensitive subject for you, please proceed with caution or consider skipping, if not, happy reading]

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Victor’s car pulled up at his driveway with him feeling like the walls were closing up on him.

His mind didn’t even register that he had parked the car and walked out of it, not even bothering to close the doors.

His world was crumbling before him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He couldn’t start pointing fingers without any proof, neither could he fight back in any meaningful way.

Everything he had was slipping through his hands and as if trying to hold sand with open fingers, the harder he clenched, the faster it drained away.

Victor stumbled up the steps of his porch, his legs heavy as lead. The key fumbled in the lock before he finally shoved the door open. His house—his sanctuary, even that would be soon taken from him.

The moment he stepped in, the sound of footsteps was heard coming down the stairs.

They sounded like the person was in no hurry as you could clearly count the interval between their steps.

Victor looked up and met with the eyes of the owner of the steps, Clara.

She had black hair and brown eyes, her silk robe loosely tied around her frame as if she had just woken from a nap—or perhaps from one of her endless hours of lazing about.

She was a beauty no doubt, which was the reason Victor had married her in the first place.

She stopped just before reaching down the stairs and looked at her husband who just arrived.

"Victor?" she called out with a smile,"You’re early, did something happen at the office?"

He said nothing in response as he continued looking at her.

When she saw his face, the pleasantness dropped out of her eyes and she hurried down the last three steps, dropping the last of her practiced calm and nervously asked, "What’s wrong? Tell me."

He only held up his phone. The screen showed the terse email header that had wrecked his morning: ACCOUNT ACCESS SUSPENDED.

She read it over his shoulder, the color draining from her face far quicker than his had.

"Suspended?" Claire repeated, her eyes widened, "what does it mean by suspended? Did you try calling the bank? What did they say?"

Her questions came without stop and Victor knew exactly why this was so but he didn’t say anything just yet, he just simply replied to her questions, "It means I cannot have access to my account until further notice, at least that’s what the bank told me."

Before she had the chance to process his words, he dropped another bomb, "our house might be seized soon," Victor finished, his voice low, almost like he couldn’t believe the words himself.

Clara froze, wondering whether she had misheard his words or maybe he was making some kind of joke or something, but his face held zero amusement.

"Seized?" she whispered at first, then her voice rose sharply, "Seized?! What the hell do you mean seized, Victor?!"

Her brown eyes darted wildly, as her face started showing panick.

She ripped the phone out of his hand, scrolling furiously through his messages, emails, anything that could prove he was exaggerating. But all she found was red notices, frozen accounts and mortgage default warnings.

Her breathing quickened as the panic really set in. "No, no, no, this can’t be happening! You told me everything was handled! You promised me we’d never go back to living like rats!" She clutched at his shirt, shaking him slightly. "Fix it, Victor! I don’t care what you have to do—call someone, bribe someone, threaten someone—I don’t care what you do, just fix it!"

Victor’s jaw clenched as he forced himself to stay still under her grip. His temples were pounding from the stress of the situation and her yelling.

"Don’t you dare stand there silent!" Clara screamed, her panic turning into hysteria. "You dragged me into this life—you gave me this house, this comfort, all of this! You think I’ll just sit and watch it all disappear? You think I’ll go back to scrubbing floors and eating canned beans? Never!"

She shoved him back a step, her voice cracking. "You better fix it, Victor. Do you hear me? You better—"

Before her words could be completed, a loud sound echoed in the mansion and Clara’s face jerked to the side and her eyes wide in disbelief.

Victor was looking at her with all the cumulated frustration turned anger, his hand still hanging in the air.

Clara’s hand slowly rose to her cheek, trembling as the stinging heat spread across her skin. Her silk robe had slipped off one shoulder as she stared at Victor with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"You... you hit me?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Victor’s chests rose and fell in utter rage. His eyes, bloodshot from anger and exhaustion, glared at her with visible fury.

"Don’t you dare lecture me about fixing this!" he said in a low tone. "You think screaming at me will bring the money back? You think your whining will scare the bank into unlocking our accounts?"

Clara flinched as he stepped forward, his shadow falling over her. "I am fighting, Clara. Every second, every thought in my head is searching for a way out of this mess and all you do is stand there screeching like some kind of fucking vulture."

Her lips quivered. Tears welled, but her pride forced her to hold them back. "I didn’t marry you to lose everything," she said bitterly, her voice shaking. "You promised me, Victor. You promised me a life where I’d never be humiliated again. If you can’t keep that promise, then what good are you?"

"What good am I?" Victor repeated with a dangerous chuckle, causing her to flinch but before she had the chance to step back, his hand was suddenly wrapped around her throat, "do you need me to fucking remind you who gave you a taste of riches? Who cleaned you up? DO YOU?"

Clara struggled to form words, to try and plead for mercy but the more she struggled, the tighter his hand got around her neck.

Soon enough, her vision started flickering in and out of consciousness as she felt herself slipping, but before darkness took her, Victor finally let go causing her to collapse against the cold marble floor, coughing and gasping as air found its way back into her lungs.

"Fuck," Victor let out before walking past her and up the stairs.

Her eyes followed Victor’s retreating figure as he climbed the stairs, his footsteps heavy and unhurried.

"Victor..." she weakly let out, but he didn’t so much as glance back at her. He disappeared into the hallway above, leaving behind only silence and the sound of her ragged breathing.

Clara sat there for a long moment, shock overtaking pain. That’s when the fear began to settle in. Victor had never put his hands on her like that before, not once through their five years of marriage. Not until today.

Tears threatened to fall, but she swallowed them down, clutching her robe tighter instead.

Her Victor—the man who once wooed her with expensive gifts, who had promised her the world and delivered—was unraveling before her very eyes.

His empire was crumbling and his money gone. And now... now, she wasn’t sure if there was anything left of the man she thought she had married.

But Clara was no fool. She had clawed her way up from the gutter once, and she refused to fall back there again. If Victor was truly finished, then she had to start thinking of her own survival.

Slowly and shakily, she pushed herself off the floor and stumbled toward the living room.

Her phone lay on the coffee table and she snatched it up with trembling fingers, hesitating only for a moment before unlocking the screen.

Her call log already had the name she needed. A number she had kept hidden from Victor for months now, just in case.

She clicked dial and the phone rung only once before the person on the other end picked up.

"Hello?"

The familiar voice was heard on the other end, one she hated so much but for her survival, she had to cling on to someone else.

"It’s me," she said, her voice still hoarse, "Clara."