Clara’s POV

I was still confined to a hospital bed, my body weak and unsteady, as if it hadn’t quite caught up with everything that had been taken from me. My arms throbbed constantly, sore from the blood loss, and even sitting up for more than a few minutes made the room spin. But none of that compared to the ache lodged deep in my chest—the kind of pain no medication could touch.

I was mourning my baby.

While I lay there, trapped between white sheets and beeping monitors, the world seemed determined to remind me how little my suffering mattered. News of Mark and Nina reached me without mercy. A former acquaintance forwarded a video from a high‑profile charity gala—Mark in a tailored tuxedo, laughing easily, his hand resting possessively on Nina’s waist. She leaned into him, glowing, triumphant.

Another clip followed not long after. A private dinner party. Mark feeding her cake with a fork, bending close to murmur something in her ear. Nina laughed, tilting her head back, utterly unashamed.

He looked relaxed. Unburdened.

Like a man who had lost nothing at all.

When I was finally cleared for discharge, I left the hospital alone. No car waiting. No driver. No assistant. Not even a courtesy check‑in. I walked out clutching a flimsy hospital bag, confronted with the brutal realization that I had been erased from their priorities completely.

The thought of returning to the estate made my stomach knot. Every hallway, every room felt contaminated by memory. But all my personal documents were still there—passports, legal papers, everything I needed to leave. I didn’t have a choice.

And then, because the universe apparently wasn’t finished with me, I saw them.

They stood just outside the maternity wing. Nina looked radiant, already basking in attention like this was her moment to claim. Mark hovered close, one hand resting at the small of her back, guiding her like a prized possession.

A nurse passed by, smiling brightly. “Mr. Hale, your wife looks wonderful today.”

My throat tightened, but I didn’t correct her. I didn’t have the energy.

I turned away, ready to disappear.

“Clara.”

Mark’s voice sliced through the hallway. I froze mid‑step. My shoulders stiffened, but I didn’t turn right away. Of course he noticed me. Of course he couldn’t let me fade quietly.

I finally faced him across the polished floor. “I wasn’t following you,” I said flatly. “I was discharged today. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Before he could respond, Nina slipped her arm through his, clinging to him like she belonged there.

“Babe,” she said softly, fake concern dripping from every word, “maybe she should ride with us. I feel kind of bad. She donated blood for me, remember? The least we can do is help her get home.”

I almost laughed at the audacity.

Mark brushed his thumb against Nina’s cheek. “You’re too generous,” he said, then glanced at me. “Fine.”

So I got into the car. Not because I wanted to—but because I needed my papers before I could disappear for good.

I slid into the backseat and stared straight ahead.

Then I saw it.

A pair of women’s underwear lay crumpled beside me, stained unmistakably white. The sight punched the air from my lungs.

Nina twisted around in her seat, her lips curling into a smug smile. “Oh wow,” she giggled, “I can’t believe I left those here. Remember, babe? After what we did in the backseat last week?”

Mark laughed casually, eyes still on the road. “You nearly wrecked the upholstery.”

She hummed happily. “You didn’t seem to mind when I was on your lap outside the estate. Or when I unzipped you during that long drive and kept you entertained.”

“Traffic’s more bearable with you around,” he replied easily.

“And that time you had to pull over because I wouldn’t stop?” she added, grinning. “You were practically shaking.”

My stomach churned. I turned my face toward the window, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. My hands curled into fists in my lap, nails digging into my skin.

While they carried on like I didn’t exist, I quietly pulled out my phone and opened an email from my cousin, Nico. My heart fluttered when I saw the flight confirmation.

Below the details, he’d added a message:

Here’s another flight option. It leaves tonight at 9 PM. I really hope you make this one.

A small smile touched my lips.

I typed back quickly:

Thank you. I’m sorry I missed the last flight.

Almost immediately, his reply came through:

What actually happened that day? You don’t have to protect me.

My fingers hovered. Nico had always been my shield. If he knew the truth, he’d start a legal war—and I didn’t want more destruction on my conscience.

So I answered instead:

I’ll explain soon. I just need to leave first.

Leaving was all that mattered now.

Up front, Mark laughed softly, apologizing to Nina for something trivial, playing the attentive partner. Yet I could feel his gaze flicking toward me, searching for a reaction.

I gave him nothing.

That same irritation I’d seen in his eyes before surfaced again. He hated being ignored.

“You’ve been glued to your phone since we got in,” he snapped. “Who are you talking to?”

“Just reading the news,” I replied calmly, eyes fixed on my digital boarding pass.

He didn’t believe me.

Without warning, he reached back and ripped the phone from my hands. Anger surged through me—not fear, just pure, burning rage.

“What’s the passcode?” he demanded.

I laughed softly. “The day we met. You know—the day I made the biggest mistake of my life. Shouldn’t be hard to remember. You were charming for about five minutes before becoming unbearable.”

He scowled and tried once. Twice. Three times.

Locked.

Nina leaned over, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Just drop it, babe. It’s not like she has anyone left to talk to. Or any pride. Who else would bother replying to her now?”

She winked at me.

I stared back at her, silent.

And for the first time, I realized something important.

They thought I was broken.

They had no idea I was already planning my escape.

Clara’s POV

When we arrived at the estate, he guided his nauseated, morning-sick mistress up to the master suite, his hand firm on her lower back. He instructed the chef to prepare her favorite dishes, then lingered in the doorway for a moment as if savoring her approval.

On his way back downstairs, he caught sight of me trudging toward the guest wing, dragging my suitcase behind me like it contained everything I had left in the world.

He paused mid-step and muttered over his shoulder to the chef, “Prepare two more plates—the ones Clara likes. Set three places.”

That snapped my attention. Did I imagine it, or was that the faintest hint of regret? A pathetic attempt to show he cared, even just enough to set a table for me while his mistress rested in our bedroom?

I didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity or scream at the nerve. He couldn’t even remember the exact day we met, yet now he expected the chef to prepare my favorite roasted lamb with rosemary as if a dish could erase betrayal.

I clenched my teeth, said nothing, and kept moving.

The guest room door closed quietly behind me, the click of the lock sounding heavier than any insult. The silence was suffocating, as if the walls themselves acknowledged I didn’t belong here anymore.

I set my bag on the edge of the bed and knelt to unzip it. The moment the zipper slid open, my stomach dropped.

Every single item of clothing—torn. Shredded into neat, deliberate strips. Whoever did this wanted to make a statement. My heart sank.

Then I noticed what remained: tucked deep in the lining, my passport, my plane tickets, and every other document I couldn’t afford to lose. Untouched. Protected.

I sat back for a moment, stunned, anger and disbelief warring for dominance. And of course, I didn’t have to guess who was responsible. Nina. Only she would be petty enough to mutilate my belongings while leaving the things that mattered most. But there was no time for confrontation—not yet. I had to focus on leaving this place in one piece.

I crouched by the bed, shoving the remaining salvageable items into my bag, when the door creaked open behind me.

Nina appeared, one hand dangling a small black bottle. Her eyes swept the room as if she were critiquing an art gallery, nose wrinkling like she had just smelled something offensive. Then her gaze landed on me—and if looks could kill, I’d already be nothing but ash.

“Well, Clara,” she purred, tilting her head with that fake sweetness that always made my skin crawl, “you really are something. After everything I’ve humiliated you with in front of every socialite, every investor, every influential person in the city, you still cling to this place like it’s your lifeline.”

Her voice dripped mockery.

“Oh, right. Your grandmother passed last month, didn’t she? Now that your only family is gone, I suppose it makes sense. You’re desperate, clinging to Mark like he’s the only anchor left in your life.”

Then she giggled. Light, cruel, infuriating.

“Remember how you begged him to fly you out to see her one last time? You want to know why he didn’t?”

She waved her phone like a weapon.

“Because he promised to take me to the coast that day. We watched the sunset together. That kiss photo? That’s when it was taken.”

Her words sank into me slowly, spreading like cracks across glass. The more I processed, the hotter my blood became.

She had done this deliberately. She had known. She had flaunted that photo, reminded me of the helicopter, reminded me of the one day I’d fallen to my knees, begging him to let me see my grandmother one last time. And he had chosen her.

The weight of it pressed down on me, jaw tightening, fists clenching at my sides. My control snapped.

“You think this is funny?” I hissed, voice low and sharp. “You think destroying what little I have left makes you something? Like you could ever be his equal?”

Nina raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a predatory smile. “I don’t need to be his equal. I already have everything.”

“You have nothing,” I spat back, teeth bared. “You’re a parasite. A leech sucking scraps from his life, from mine!”

Clara's POV

She shrugged, lips curling with satisfaction. “Still more than you’ll ever have.”

That did it.

I knocked the phone out of her hand. It skidded across the floor and cracked loudly against the marble.

Before my mind could catch up, my body moved. I surged forward, fingers closing around her throat, rage roaring through me so fast it stole my breath.

The small black bottle slipped from Nina’s grip and struck the floor with a dull, hollow sound. The cap rolled. And then—

The smell hit.

Gasoline.

Sharp. Acrid. Violent. It flooded the air in an instant, searing my nose, burning my throat as it spread across the room like a living thing.

We struggled—hands shoving, nails clawing, bodies crashing into furniture. She kicked wildly, heel striking something metallic. Maybe it was a lighter. Maybe it was a spark from metal scraping stone.

Either way, the fire didn’t hesitate.

Flames exploded outward, hungry and fast, licking the curtains, racing along the walls like they’d been waiting for permission. Heat slammed into my skin. Smoke poured in, thick and black, swallowing the room whole.

My body—still weak, still recovering—betrayed me. My lungs seized. I collapsed, coughing so hard it felt like my chest might split open. The world tilted, spinning through fire and shadow.

The last thing I saw before everything went dark was the ceiling igniting, flames crawling across it like something alive.

“Clara!”

A voice tore through the smoke.

“Sir, it’s not safe! Security is on the way—you can’t go in there!”

“Move!” Mark shouted. “She’s still inside!”

I tried to open my eyes. Was it real? Or was my mind playing cruel tricks on me? Had he really said my name? Had he actually come for me?

“N-Mark,” Nina cried weakly. “I’m here too. Please—save me. Save our baby.”

For a heartbeat, hope flared inside me. Pathetic. Fragile. Dangerous. I wanted to believe—just for a second—that he’d fight for me. That I still mattered enough to run into fire for.

Then reality crashed down.

He hadn’t charged in because of me. He hadn’t come because he cared. He came because people were watching. Because the press would hear about it. Because a billionaire CEO couldn’t afford to look like a coward.

And the moment Nina called out?

He didn’t hesitate.

He lifted her like she was priceless, shielding her from the smoke, carrying her out while I lay choking on the floor, fire and darkness closing in.

Time blurred. Minutes—or maybe longer—passed.

After ensuring she was safe, he tore through the estate, shouting my name, searching every wing.

But I was already gone.

I still don’t know how I made it out.

The fire was everywhere, roaring in my ears, stealing the air from my lungs. Smoke shredded my throat, dizziness crashing over me in brutal waves. But something raw and desperate took over—pure instinct.

I crawled. Dragged myself. My fingers brushed against my bag. I grabbed it with shaking hands, clutching it to my chest like it was the last thing tethering me to life.

I stumbled toward a window already cracked from the heat and threw myself through it.

Glass tore at my skin as I hit the lawn outside, rolling hard, gasping. My legs collapsed beneath me. My chest burned. But I was alive.

I didn’t look back.

One of the service corridors must’ve been untouched—or maybe the fire just hadn’t reached it yet. I don’t remember much. Just staggering through smoke-free darkness, barely upright, until I found the rear exit.

Cold night air hit my face as I fell outside, coughing violently, body shaking uncontrollably.

No one saw me.

No one followed.

And I didn’t stop.

Not when my knees buckled. Not when I had to grip street signs, lean against parked cars, drag myself forward inch by inch. I kept going because I knew—deep down—that if I stopped, if I let myself be found again, I wouldn’t survive a second time.

I disappeared into the city.

Hours later, I boarded a flight bound for the Northern Territories.

Just before takeoff, my phone vibrated.

A message from Mark.

[Stop playing games, Clara. I don’t have time for this.]

I stared at the screen, feeling nothing.

Then I powered the phone off and leaned back in my seat as the plane began to move—finally, mercifully, carrying me away.