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26 | Clara Saint

"𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞..."

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐧𝐝

The moment I entered the house, away from the prying eyes of my men, I felt the weight of the decisions I had made press down on me. Dropping to my knees, I couldn't suppress the flood of emotions that surged within. I sobbed into my hands, the echoes of his betrayed gaze haunting me. The glow in his eyes had died, extinguished by the truth I couldn't deny. It had to be done, for he deserved it, and because in this world, trust was a luxury I couldn't afford.

"Miss Saint?" Amira's voice echoed down the hall as I composed myself. I looked up to see her standing with Christian. "We can leave?"

"Oh no, no, it's fine," I forced myself back up, opening my arms for Christian to walk into. His dark eyes glowed, a toothy smile spreading across his face as he fell into my embrace. I kissed the side of his head, ruffling his cute, fluffy hair. "Did you miss Mummy?"

"Dada."

"No, Mama," I chuckled, picking him up against the side of my hip. I made my way to the kitchen, Amira following behind me.

But then I paused.

Something felt wrong, something smelled wrong.

Something was burning.

"Amira, did you cook anything?" I whispered, concern knitting my brows. Amira raised a brow in response.

"No, ma'am." Just as she took a step into the kitchen, a sudden gust of intense heat threw me backward onto the floor. My hand instinctively reached out to shield Christian as I collided onto my back. His cries joined the blaring alarms that resonated through the mansion.

Groaning in pain, I struggled to sit up. I looked down at Christian, relieved to find him seemingly unharmed. However, my eyes widened as the acrid scent of smoke filled the air, and the realisation struck me.

Someone planted a bomb.

I force myself up from the ground, holding onto Christian tightly as the guards rush inside- forcing me out of the mansion and towards the car.

But only then, the entire rows of car blew up.

And yet again, my back collided against the crowd, my arms wrapped so tight around Christian. I couldn't get up, I couldn't even breathe properly. The ringing sound comes through one ear and doesn't leave the other, Christians crying echoes throughout. I then feel him being ripped out of my arms suddenly, and a foot pressing against my throat.

I gasp, grabbing onto the persons ankle as my eyes shoot open.

Under the dim light, her scarred face looms above me, a chilling proclamation of familial ties. Laughter echoes, punctuating her claim on Christian. With a desperate surge, I grab her ankle, breaking free from the suffocating grip around my throat. A side kick lands on her hip, dislodging the knife from her hand.

Seizing the advantage, I deliver a powerful punch to her face. In a quick maneuver, my arm wraps around her neck. But, my triumph is short-lived as I glance up to witness a man holding a knife to Christian's throat. Panic tightens my chest.

"Let me go, or he dies, Clara," the ominous voice commands. Dread fills me, and I release my sister. Christian's cries pierce the air. "Get down on your knees," the ultimatum is delivered, and my own men stand behind her, betraying the illusion of power. Kneeling, I submit to my sister, realising that sometimes, power holds no sway in the face of the ruthless game of family