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19 | Clara Saint

"𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐨..."

𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐤

I observed the subtle shift in Vincent's expression as his father entered the room, and it wasn't the warm, welcoming change one would expect upon seeing a loved one. No, this was different—there was an air of tension and unease in the atmosphere.

Why would Vincent invite his father if he was so afraid? But then, it dawned on me that Vincent hadn't extended the invitation; his father had simply walked in unannounced. He was supposed to come yesterday but cancelled on us.

Vincent's father approached me, and I couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance between father and son. Both were tall, formidable figures, like giants in their own right. His father raised my chin, examining my face with a cold intensity, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

Suddenly, Vincent stepped forward, his protective instincts flaring as he grabbed his father's arms and forcefully pushed him away from me. "Do not touch my wife," Vincent's voice was stern, a clear warning to his father.

His father responded with a sardonic smirk, his gaze briefly shifting between Candice and his son. "Hear that, Candice? He thinks because he's five inches taller than me, he scares me. I built you," he growled, his possessiveness clear.

Candice released a soft sigh, seemingly disapproving of her husband's behaviour. Her subtle reaction hinted that she wasn't entirely in agreement with how his father conducted himself.

"You didn't build me. I built myself," Vincent retorted defiantly, his eyes locked on his father. "Now, what are you doing here? You've never visited us yesterday when you were invited, so what's with the sudden appearance?"

His father sighed, glancing around before he spotted a maid. "Get me a vodka, two ice cubes, and whatever she wants," he ordered, his demeanour still dominating, while the maid glanced at Vincent, silently seeking permission to comply with the request.

Vincent nodded at the maid, instructing.

"Let's take this conversation to the breakfast room." I decided to chime in.

"Now that sounds more like it. I'm feeling hungry," his father said.

His father, followed by Candice, walked past Vincent, and they made their way to the breakfast room. I couldn't help but worry for Vincent, and I felt compelled to offer some advice. "Vincent, don't let him get into your head," I whispered, trying to convey my concern.

"Not now, Clara," Vincent replied in a hushed tone as he followed them into the room.

Once we reached the breakfast room, I took my usual seat, and Vincent dragged a chair over and joined me. The maid placed his drink in front of him, followed by doing the same for his father. Vincent absently swirled the glass, the clinking ice breaking the silence.

"So, an heir coming soon, I hope, or did you fail to do that too?" His father chuckled, his words laced with a bitter undertone. Vincent let out a sigh, and it seemed like he was preparing for another confrontation.

I watched as he shifts in his seat, the way his fingers slide up and down his thighs.

Before I knew it, I spoke up, the words slipping out in a moment of pressure, "I'm pregnant, two weeks, so you can say that he didn't fail." I lied through my teeth, hoping to ease the tension in the room.

But Vincent's piercing glare told me I had made a mistake by fibbing.

His father's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he stood up, exclaiming, "Congratulations! You finally did something right! We finally have an heir to the empire!" He couldn't hide his excitement.