Chapter 3

Cameron returned the next afternoon.

He wasn't alone.

Claire came downstairs to find Cassandra Foreman curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a cashmere blanket, looking pale and fragile.

"Claire," Cassandra said, her voice a sweet, innocent whisper. "I hope you don't mind. The doctor said I need someone to look after me, and Cameron insisted I stay here."

Claire knew it was a lie. Cameron would never "insist" on something so troublesome. This was Cassandra's own doing.

"I don't mind," Claire said quietly.

Cameron came down the stairs then, adjusting the blanket around Cassandra' s shoulders with a tenderness that made Claire' s stomach clench.

"Claire," he said, not looking at her. "Cassandra needs to rest. You can take care of her."

It wasn't a request. It was an order.

Cassandra smiled sweetly. "Oh, I couldn't possibly impose. I'm sure Claire is still weak from... everything."

"She's fine," Cameron said, his tone dismissive. "She's got nothing better to do anyway."

The words were a casual gut punch. He saw her as nothing more than a servant, a convenience.

Claire bit her lip, tasting blood. She nodded silently.

"I'm a little hungry," Cassandra said, looking up at Claire with wide, innocent eyes. "Could you make me some porridge? The kind you make for Cameron. He says it's his favorite."

Claire' s hands clenched into fists. She had never cooked for anyone but Jessie and, by extension, Cameron. She was an artist, a painter. She had been coddled and cared for her entire life.

She wanted to say no. She wanted to scream.

But then she felt Cameron's eyes on her, cold and warning.

She unclenched her fists and turned toward the kitchen without a word.

It took her half an hour to make the porridge. When she brought it out, Cameron was gone, having taken a work call in his study.

Cassandra was alone in the living room. The sweet, fragile mask was gone. Her eyes were sharp and mocking.

"You really are a pathetic dog, you know that?" she sneered. "Ten years, and he still treats you like dirt."

Claire set the bowl on the coffee table.

Cassandra wrinkled her nose in disgust. "This is too hot. I can't eat it. Make it again."

Claire hesitated. She took the bowl, intending to go back to the kitchen.

Suddenly, Cassandra grabbed the bowl from her hands and deliberately poured the hot porridge all over her own arm.

She let out a piercing shriek.

"Ahh! It burns!"

Cameron burst out of his study, his face dark with fury. He saw Cassandra clutching her red, scalded arm and Claire standing over her with the empty bowl.

He didn't ask what happened. He lunged forward and grabbed Claire' s wrist, his grip like a vise.

"What the hell did you do?" he roared.

Cassandra was already crying, her voice choked with fake tears. "It's not her fault, Cam! I just said it was a little hot... I didn't mean to make her angry."

"I didn't-" Claire started, but Cameron was already shaking her, his eyes blazing.

"Shut up! I warned you. I warned you not to touch her."

He threw her hand away from him with such force that she stumbled backward, hitting the wall. The impact jarred her teeth.

He carefully lifted Cassandra into his arms, his voice softening. "It's okay. I'll get a doctor."

As he carried her away, Cassandra looked over his shoulder at Claire. Her lips curved into a triumphant, vicious smile.

Claire slid down the wall, her body trembling. The fight drained out of her, leaving only a vast, hollow exhaustion.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, making herself small.

"Jessie," she whispered into the silence. "Please... come and get me."