Claire’s mouth twitched, nearly cracking into a laugh.
She and Ethan had never slept together.
She wasn’t some self-pollinating plant that could conjure a pregnancy out of nothing.
She swallowed the urge to laugh and gave Margaret a questioning look instead.
“The old lady only relinquishes control of her shares when there’s a baby on the way in the family,” Margaret said.
“And frankly, I’d rather it be you than Rosalind.”
“Whether you go through with it is your call.
I won’t force the issue.
But if this doesn’t work out cleanly, you may need to hold off on finalizing the divorce a bit longer.”
Claire agreed without hesitation.
People gravitate toward whatever benefits them.
Compared to her cheating husband, her mother-in-law was, in her own twisted way, treating her with more decency.
Trading one lie for a lifetime of freedom seemed like an easy calculation.
She still knew what mattered.
That night, Claire stayed at the old estate.
Back in what had once been hers and Ethan’s room, her eyes kept drifting to the wedding photo on the wall.
She remembered the night they’d gotten their marriage license, coming back for dinner Margaret and the old lady had dragged her into the tea room for a lecture, an old servant nearly yanking her ear raw teaching her “proper” family etiquette.
Ethan hadn’t come to rescue her for a long time that night.
By the time she’d finally made it back to the room, exhausted, he’d just finished hanging that photo staring at her image in the wedding gown with an expression so warm, so tender, it had felt straight out of a romance film.
That memory used to fill her chest with something soft and pink and hopeful.
Now, with the illusion stripped away, she was seeing it clearly for the first time.
He never loved her.
He would never look at her photo like that.
Claire dragged a chair over and took the frame down off the wall.
She pried it open and unfolded the photo inside.
Underneath her half, tucked flat where no one would ever look, was a second photo Rosalind.
Both women in wedding gowns, both beaming at the camera.
Claire recognized it instantly, Rosalind’s wedding photo with Julian.
Ethan had cut Julian’s half away entirely, keeping only Rosalind.
Hidden where no one could find her.
Loved quietly, completely, in secret.
Just like this whole marriage.
She was the cover story.
With her standing in the way, he got to protect Rosalind without a single restriction.
Claire stared at the photo for a few seconds, then bolted for the bathroom and threw up into the toilet.
She hadn’t eaten much that night, and what little there was came up completely down to the bile.
She curled up shivering on the cold tile, gripping her collar, gasping for air.
With every breath, those old pink bubbles turned into cold steel needles, slicing straight through her chest and throat.
She didn’t know how long had passed before she dragged herself back to bed and saw her phone light up.
From Weston: Is this her?
The photo showed a bedraggled, soaking-wet silver-white kitten staring warily into the camera fur matted everywhere except the unmistakable black tuft over one ear.
Like someone drowning who’d finally found shore, Claire fired back instantly.
“Yes!
That’s her!
Is she hurt?”
Weston: No.
The vet says she’s just stressed and a little shaken up.
Coming to get her tonight?
Her heart broke a little, but there was no way she could get away tonight.
She typed carefully.
“Uncle, could you have her taken to a pet hospital?
Ask them to keep her overnight, I’ll pick her up tomorrow.”
Weston: Fine.
She sent over Whisper’s feeding habits and quirks for the vet, and got back only another Fine in response.
By the time Claire thought to ask which pet hospital, Weston had stopped replying entirely.
Probably turning in for the night, she figured.
Which, honestly, felt like a good sign.
People who survived a disaster tended to have good luck waiting for them afterward.
The next morning.
Claire accompanied Margaret to the hospital.
Margaret glanced at her pale face.
“You really do look like early pregnancy.”
Inside the room, Claire sat beside the elderly matriarch while Margaret pulled out a stack of medical reports, gestured toward Claire, and watched the old woman’s face light up with joy.
Margaret then leaned in and murmured something behind her hand, her expression flickering between resentment and something almost like regret.
Claire couldn’t catch a word of it, no sound, no clear lips to read so she simply stared out the window instead.
On the lawn below, a familiar man and woman stood talking.
The woman laughed, bright and easy, while the man crouched down to slide slippers onto her feet.
Anyone who didn’t know better would’ve mistaken them for a couple deeply in love.
Certainly not a widow and her brother-in-law.
A tap landed on Claire’s shoulder.
She turned to find Margaret staring at the same scene, jaw tight.
“Vixen,” she muttered.
Then, to Claire: “The old lady wants you.”
Claire crossed the room.
The matriarch, as always, barely acknowledged the daughter-in-law she considered beneath her, cloudy eyes and papery hands settling instead on Claire’s flat stomach.
Her lips moved slowly.
Claire read them: Give me a great-grandson.
You’ll finally earn some honor through your son.
Claire managed a stiff smile before Margaret pulled her away to the next room.
Margaret handed over two share transfer documents.
One transferred from the matriarch to Claire.
The other, from Claire to Margaret.
They’re using me as a pass-through.
“Sign.”
Claire signed the first, set the pen down.
Margaret’s brow tightened.
“Claire.
Are you under the impression you’re keeping a piece of the Ashford company for yourself?
Do you understand what happens if you overreach here?”
Claire signed back, careful and deliberate: Five million upfront, as a deposit.
When you hand over the divorce certificate and the remaining five million, I’ll sign the second one.
Once Vera finished translating, Margaret’s face soured.
“You’re getting sharper by the day.
Fine.
We trade in a week.”
Margaret pocketed the documents and, before leaving, wrote out a check for five million.
Claire went to see her audiologist.
She’d ordered a new external processor the night before.
The moment she put it on, a wall of sharp electric feedback and noise crashed over her.
Slowly, it cleared into shape
“Mrs.
Ashford, how does that feel?
The latest model costs more, but the battery lasts longer, the signal’s stronger, and the coil’s been reinforced this time.”
Claire smiled.
“I can hear you perfectly.
Thank you.”
Worth every bit of the half-million price tag compared to her old one.
This time, she paid for it herself.
She walked out of the hospital lighter than she’d felt in days.
She texted Weston.
“Uncle, what’s the address for the pet hospital?
I can go pick up the phone I mean pick her up now.”
He sent a location: Begonia Court, Building 2, Room 2201.
Claire blinked.
“Wait”
That address was right next to her own new apartment.
She rang the doorbell, confused, and when the heavy security door swung open, sure enough Weston.
Maybe it was her imagination, but there seemed to be something almost warm in his eyes today.
Or maybe it was just the outfit no sharply tailored suit this time, just a relaxed beige knit sweater that softened him considerably, the kind of thing that made the damp, chilly weather outside feel a little less bleak just by looking at it.
“Uncle…
why isn’t she at the pet hospital?”
His expression darkened again instantly.
“No beds available.”
…
Probably because she wouldn’t stop disturbing his sleep, Claire guessed.
She hurried to follow him inside, then froze at the entryway.
“Uncle, do I need to change shoes?”
“Yes.”
She opened the shoe cabinet and searched.
Men’s dress shoes.
More men’s dress shoes.
What am I supposed to change into?
Someone’s oxfords?
Weston’s voice came flat from the living room.
“No women’s slippers here.
There’s an unused pair up top, those’ll do.”
Claire’s eyes landed on a pair of light gray men’s house slippers.
She hesitated.
Wear his slippers?
Something about that felt deeply strange.
When she still hadn’t moved after a long moment, Weston came back to check.
His frame filled the doorway, expression unreadable, maybe irritated.
“Need me to put them on for you?”
Claire yanked her own shoes off immediately and jammed her feet into the oversized slippers, shuffling into the living room several sizes too big.
“Uncle…”
“Cat’s in the bedroom.”
Something in Claire went very still.
Ethan wouldn’t even let me into his bedroom.
How am I supposed to just walk into Weston’s?
She hurried in anyway and immediately spotted a white dress shirt lying on the neatly made bed, a suspicious lump shifting underneath it.
Cocooned, apparently.
The silver-white kitten poked her head out from inside the shirt, and Claire nearly dropped where she stood.
Meow