Claire took a cab to the Havenbridge University Institute of Botany.
She’d always been driven, with a genuine gift for botany skipped a grade early on, got recommended straight into the direct doctoral program at Havenbridge University.
As Professor Wren’s favorite student, she’d been offered a research position at the Institute before she’d even finished her degree.
Her hearing made outside consulting work or covering lectures for Professor Wren the kind of extra income her fellow grad students picked up mostly impossible.
So she spent nearly all her time in the lab instead, doing research and development.
“Claire, here already?
My dad mentioned you’re signing up for the rainforest expedition.
Is that actually true?”
The question came from Caleb, her senior labmate and Professor Wren’s only son.
“It’s true.
I’ll be counting on you to look out for me out there.”
Caleb grinned.
“We’re thrilled to have you, honestly.
Everyone knows what you’re capable of.
No wonder Dad’s been smiling all morning, figured there had to be good news behind it.”
“Anyway, I won’t hold you up.
I’ve got investors to meet today myself.
Go on in, he’s expecting you.”
Claire pushed open the office door.
Professor Wren didn’t even offer her tea, just shoved the registration form straight at her.
“Fill it out!
Here, here, and here.
Every line.
And don’t forget your fingerprint.”
Claire laughed despite herself.
“Professor, you’re making it sound like I owe you money and might make a run for it.”
“Less talking, more filling.”
She completed the form under his watchful eye, and he snatched it back the instant she finished, scanning it carefully.
“Here.” He slid a small pastry across the desk.
“Red bean cake.
My wife made it fresh this morning, your reward.”
Claire wiped the ink off her fingers before taking a bite.
Sweet, but not overly so.
Fragrant.
“This is really good.
Mrs.
Wren keeps getting better.”
“Do the expedition properly and Mrs.
Wren will bake you as many of these as you want.”
Professor Wren tucked the form away and poured her tea.
“So why the sudden change of heart?
Did you and Ethan fight?
What happened to your forehead?”
Claire’s grip tightened on the pastry, and a piece crumbled off onto her skirt.
She picked at the crumbs one at a time, but a faint stain remained no matter what.
Eventually she just dragged the trash can over and brushed the rest in.
“I bumped into something by accident.
You know I’m not good at arguing I never win.”
Professor Wren chuckled.
“You?
Not good at arguing?
Ethan couldn’t out-talk you if his life depended on it.”
Claire kept her head down, chewing the soft red bean filling slowly.
After swallowing, she spoke again, quiet but unwilling to let it drop.
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately about something Mrs.
Wren said, back when she was teaching me Go”
Even the right move has to be played carefully, one step at a time, without ever letting your guard down.
But the wrong move means you’ve already lost before the game’s even started.
Sometimes the smartest play in a game you can’t win…
is starting over completely.
Her voice stayed gentle, but underneath it sat something unmovable.
“Professor.
I want to start over.”
Professor Wren paused mid-pour, eyes crinkling into a smile.
“That’s not the tragedy you think it is.
You’ll understand when you’re my age as long as you can start over, nothing’s really lost.”
Claire smiled back.
He moved on to briefing her on the project she’d be assisting with, sponsored by a major corporation, the data destined for their product development pipeline.
No room for sloppy work.
That morning, Claire checked on the plants she’d cultivated in the lab, logged the latest data, then headed home to pack for the trip.
The elevator doors opened to reveal Weston Shaw and Caleb already inside.
“Mr.
Shaw, allow me to introduce you this is my father’s star student, Claire.
Youngest doctoral candidate, the Institute’s ever had.”
“Claire, this is Mr.
Shaw, the investor backing this project.
Major player out of the capital.”
Claire paused two seconds, offered a polite “hello,” and settled quietly into a corner of the elevator.
Caleb spent the ride briefing Weston on the Institute’s other ongoing research.
Weston asked sharp, pointed questions here and there, each one landing exactly where it needed to.
Ding
The elevator reached the ground floor.
“Mr.
Wren, no need to walk me out.
We’ll cross paths plenty more.”
“Of course.
Take care, Mr.
Shaw.”
Caleb shot Claire a look, signaling she was free to go.
She nodded, watched him head off, and turned to leave herself.
“Claire.”
Weston’s voice, thick with what sounded like a cold, stopped her.
“Years since we’ve seen each other, and you can’t even manage a greeting?”
Claire looked up, meeting his dark eyes, her pulse stuttering.
“Uncle.”
Something tightened almost imperceptibly across Weston’s brow.
His eyes went cold.
The temperature in the elevator seemed to drop several degrees.
Claire stood frozen, racking her brain.
What had she done to offend someone this powerful?
Was it because she hadn’t called him “uncle” last night at The Gilded Fork?
But even years ago, back when Weston used to stay at the estate as a kid, she’d always been the one he disliked most; his expression would sour the second he laid eyes on her.
If she’d fawned over him last night the way Ethan had, calling him “uncle” without hesitation, his face probably would have gone even darker.
If anything, that particular trait of his had only sharpened with age.
His eyes reminded her of a wolf’s, you never knew exactly when they’d decide to strike.
She’d been afraid of him since childhood.
If anything, that fear had only grown, sharp enough now to scramble her thoughts entirely.
She dug her nails into the soft skin of her fingertip, thinking suddenly of the hot water bottle at home, and asked carefully, “Uncle were you staying at the estate last night?”
Weston’s voice went even colder.
“No.”
Claire exhaled, unexpectedly relieved.
I’m overthinking this.
That little sloth stitched onto the bottle was probably just some maid’s handiwork.
After all these years, why would Weston remember or care about something so small?
And even if he had been staying there, why would he care whether she lived or died?
The last time he’d left the estate, she’d wanted to see him off at the airport alongside Ethan.
He’d refused outright.
Every holiday Ethan called him, he’d hang up the second her voice came through.
He hadn’t even shown up to her wedding.
No gift, nothing.
Cheapskate.
He’d found something to criticize in her no matter what she did even the time she’d actually helped fight off a group of bullies on his behalf.
While Claire mentally cataloged every grievance, Weston walked off, expression sour the entire way.
“So easily irritated.
Like a human air compressor…”
She flagged down a cab, grumbling under her breath the whole ride home.
Ashford Manor.
Claire walked into the courtyard and spotted Ethan’s Rolls-Royce parked in its usual place.
Her brow furrowed.
He’d claimed a business trip, and she hadn’t bothered calling him out on the lie after running into him at The Gilded Fork.
So why was he back?
“Ma’am” Aunt Nora jogged over, voice lowered.
“The master wants you in the study.
He’s been waiting in your room a good while now, and he’s not in a good mood.”
Claire went upstairs and knocked.
At the sound of his voice from inside, she pushed the door open.
Ethan’s face was thunderous, dark anger simmering behind his eyes, and it broke loose the instant he saw her.
“Claire.
Do you know what this is?”
He pulled out a black velvet box and slammed it down on the desk.
The color drained from Claire’s face.
Her mind went completely blank, her heartbeat the only thing she could feel, pounding hard.
He’s seen it.
So, did he sign it?
Or was it something else?