Chapter 4

Clara POV

I had hated her for it, for not fighting harder, for letting herself be consumed by grief. I had blamed her for my father' s indifference, for the holes he left in our lives, for the terrible silence that descended upon our home. But now, looking back, I understood. The betrayal had been an assault, a spiritual murder that left her with nothing but a shattered heart. My hatred for her had slowly, painfully, turned inward, a bitter poison that had festered in my own soul.

After her funeral, a small, somber affair, I had fled. I packed a small bag and left, seeking refuge in a distant city, hoping to outrun the ghosts that haunted me. I didn't blame Camden then. No, never him. I saw him as a victim, just like me, caught in the crossfire of our parents' mess. He was the innocent one, the one I had to protect. So, I entrusted him to Hailey, my best friend, my confidante. "Look after him," I had begged her, my voice raw with grief. "He needs you."

Hailey had nodded, her eyes wide and earnest, promising she would. She moved into our new apartment, filling the void my mother had left, cooking and cleaning with a practiced ease that surprised me. "Thank you, Hailey," I had whispered, my heart aching with gratitude. "You're a lifesaver."

For a while, it worked. The three of us – Camden, Hailey, and I – became an inseparable trio. We were a unit, a makeshift family, finding solace in each other's company. Camden, always attentive, always loving, poured all his affection into me. He bought me extravagant gifts, a diamond necklace for my birthday, our first designer watch. "For my queen," he would say, his eyes sparkling with adoration. He threw me lavish birthday parties, inviting all our friends, showering me with attention. When I had my period, he would cancel important meetings, bringing me hot tea and cuddling me on the couch. "My fragile Clara," he would murmur, stroking my hair. I never doubted his love. Not once. He was my rock, my future, my everything.

Then came the day it all shattered. The anniversary of my mother's death. A year had passed. I wanted to visit her grave, to lay flowers, to mourn quietly. But Camden had a big pitch, a crucial meeting for his company. "I'm so sorry, love," he had said, kissing my forehead. "I'll make it up to you. Promise."

"It's okay," I told him, though a part of me felt a dull ache. "Go. I'll just go to the office later, catch up on some paperwork."

Later that afternoon, a sudden impulse, a sense of unease, led me to his office anyway. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light escaping into the dim hallway. A strange sound emanated from inside, a low moan, then a gasp. My blood ran cold. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird desperate to escape. I pushed the door open, slowly, hesitantly. And then I saw them.

Hailey. Her red hair splayed across Camden's desk, her body entwined with his. My husband. My best friend. In his office. My office. The world tilted. A silent scream ripped through me, tearing at my throat, but no sound came out. My knees buckled.

Camden looked up, his eyes widening in shock, then hardening with a cold, ruthless anger. He moved, swiftly, instinctively, shielding Hailey with his body. "Clara!" he roared, his voice filled with fury. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get out!"

Something snapped inside me. The silent scream became a roar. I picked up the nearest object, a heavy paperweight, and hurled it across the room. It shattered a framed photograph of us, smiling, happy. I grabbed a stack of papers, ripping them to shreds, then swept a vase of flowers from the desk, sending water and petals cascading to the floor. "Get out!" he yelled again, but I was beyond hearing. I was a hurricane, a force of nature fueled by pure, unadulterated pain.

He sustained a cut on his arm, but he didn't falter. He stood firm, a protective shield over Hailey, holding her close, whispering reassurances. I watched them, my heart a raw, bleeding wound. I wanted to tear them apart, to make them feel the agony that consumed me. But I couldn't move. A strange terror held me captive. This wasn't the Camden I knew, the man who promised me forever. This was a stranger, a ruthless protector of the woman who had stolen my life.

My voice, when it came, was a choked whisper. "Hailey," I rasped, "How long?"

Hailey began to cry, a performative, tearful sob. She slid to her knees, clutching at my legs. "Clara, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! We tried to fight it, we really did, but... we're in love. Please, Clara. Forgive me. Let us be together. You deserve someone better than Camden. Someone who truly appreciates you."

Her words, her pathetic pleas, were like a cruel echo. You deserve someone better. I remembered those words. I had said them to her, just a few weeks ago, when she complained about a boy who had broken her heart. I had consoled her, held her, promised her I would always be there for her. And now she used my own words against me, twisting them, spitting them back with poisoned intent.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and bitter. "When?" I asked again, my voice barely audible. "When did it start?"

Hailey simply shook her head, unable to speak, her sobs racking her body.

"It started a year ago, Clara," Camden said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. He stepped out from behind Hailey, his eyes fixed on mine. "Just after your mother's death."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. A year. A year of lies. A year of deceit. A year of pretending.

"You said you were sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling. "You said you were there for me. You said you loved me."

"I did love you, Clara," he said, his voice flat. "But it wasn't the same. I kept it from you because I didn't want to hurt you. I was going to tell you after the anniversary. I was going to ask for a divorce then."

"A divorce?" I screamed, the word tearing from my throat, raw and anguished. "You want a divorce? For her?"

He nodded, his face impassive. "Yes, Clara. I want a divorce. And I want Hailey. Everything else, you can have."

The world crashed down around me. My mother' s face flashed before my eyes, her despair, her silent suffering. I understood it all now. The crushing weight of betrayal, the agonizing realization that the person you trusted most, the person you loved most, could slice you open and leave you bleeding. My past actions, my blindness, my foolish love for Camden, had all been a cruel irony. I had pushed my mother away, blinded by my loyalty to him. And now, I was living her nightmare.

I didn't leave quietly. No. The next few weeks were a spectacle of vengeance, a whirlwind of destruction that would leave no stone unturned.