Chapter 5

Claire Richards picked up the last two pawns. Normally, chess ends at checkmate—one decisive victor. But Fiona clearly couldn’t accept defeat. She pursed her lips and shamelessly declared, "Fine, you won that round—but look! My queen was also about to mate you! That means I win too!" She blatantly moved her bishop to a square it had never occupied, pretending it completed a nonexistent checkmate. Claire stared at her like she was witnessing a mental breakdown. "So by that logic… I can just keep playing?" Without waiting for a reply, she slid her rook across the board, placing Fiona’s king in check again. "Checkmate. Again." For the next minute, Claire dismantled the board—sacrificing pieces, locking Fiona’s king into a corner, leaving no legal moves. Fiona’s face paled, then flushed scarlet. "Another round!" she demanded. Round two. Then three. Then four… Claire toyed with her—dragging out games to humiliate her with slow, inevitable losses, or crushing her in four moves with brutal efficiency. She didn’t bother hiding her amusement anymore. Fiona finally burst into tears, her pride in tatters. "Enough." Lucas snatched the chessboard from the table, his voice glacial. Seeing him intervene, Fiona threw herself against his chest, sobbing like she’d suffered some grave injustice. Lucas murmured something low, comforting. Helen stormed over, jabbing a finger at Claire. "It’s just a game! Why are you so vicious? This is why people like you never fit in here—petty and insecure!" … The voices around Claire blurred into static. Lucas’s face—once luminous in her memory—now seemed faded, like a sun-bleached photograph. Strangely distant. Whatever. Twenty more days. Let him go. Expressionless, Claire dropped her remaining pieces onto the board and stood. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. As she turned, a few drops of blood splattered the marble chessboard. Only when the cold air stung her palm did she notice—her nails had bitten into her flesh hard enough to draw blood. "Claire!" Lucas’s voice cracked with something like panic. He moved to follow, but Fiona clung to him, her wails crescendoing. Claire stepped out of the Bennett estate without looking back. Her phone wouldn’t stop ringing on the drive—it was Lucas again. She blocked his number without hesitation. Then she texted Helen: Fifteen billion. Not a cent less. If you don’t pay up, you’ll regret it. Helen nearly had a heart attack reading that message. Claire kept driving. Somewhere along the way, the sunny skies turned gloomy. Rain started falling, and her thoughts drifted along with the raindrops. Out of nowhere, a bright yellow motorcycle cut across in front of her. Startled, Claire slammed on the brakes. Then—bam! A loud crash came from behind, slamming her forward. Her head hit the steering wheel hard. Pain seared through her forehead. Through the rain-speckled windshield, the world ahead looked soaked in red. She quickly grabbed a tissue and wiped the blood from her eyes. She’d been rear-ended—and the yellow bike that had startled her was long gone. Knock knock— Someone rapped on her window. Claire lowered the glass.A man around fifty stood outside, glasses perched on his nose and a polite, almost bookish demeanor. Holding a plain black umbrella, he gave a small apologetic smile. “Hi miss, I was the one who rear-ended your car. It's our fault, totally. But, uh, my boss is in a bit of a rush. Would it be alright if we exchange contacts, and later you can send over the repair estimate? We’ll definitely take care of it.” “I think it’s better if we let the traffic cops handle it.” Claire was already in a foul mood, and after being startled twice in a row, her emotional tank was pretty much at full tilt. She opened the door and stepped out, walking to the back of the car where the Bentley had left a deep dent in her rear bumper. Frowning, she snapped a few pics for evidence and called the police. Seeing she was firm about not settling privately, the man didn’t push it. He got back in his car and updated his boss. “Sir, she’s not willing to settle. What should we do…” The downpour intensified. The wipers swept across the windshield, only to be instantly blurred again by the pounding rain. Inside, a man lounged casually in the backseat, eyes lazily fixed on the woman outside. She stood there with one hand pressed to her forehead as she spoke on the phone, rain soaking through her clothes. Her white blouse clung to her skin, lashes heavy with water, droplets sliding down to her lips… “Sir?” Kenneth Hall called softly. The man lowered his eyes slightly and glanced at his watch. “Michael is on his way. I’ll leave first. You stay and handle it.” “Yes, sir.” Claire climbed back into her car. A few minutes later, the police arrived. Right behind them was a sleek silver Maybach. Both vehicles came to a stop at nearly the same time. Claire got out again. From the Maybach, besides the older man, another figure stepped out—a tall, composed man with sharp features and an aura that screamed high status. His skin was pale, eyes deep-set and piercing. Noticing her gaze, he looked over. That one glance felt almost like a warning. That face… she could’ve sworn she’d seen it before. He handed the suit jacket draped over his arm to Kenneth. “Give this to her,” he said, not even sparing Claire another look before getting back into the Maybach. Kenneth rushed over, holding out the jacket. “Miss, your shirt’s soaked. You should wear this.” Claire looked down and finally realized her blouse had turned nearly transparent, revealing even the outline of her bra. Flustered, she accepted the jacket and slipped it on. “Thank you.” While Kenneth quietly spoke with the officers, the Maybach faded into the distance, swallowed up by the rain. Claire caught just a flash of the man’s side profile—sharp, flawless. The suit still carried his body warmth, and the faint, clean scent of sandalwood pushed back the damp chill clinging to her. The police gave their report. Both parties came to an agreement and exchanged numbers. Kenneth offered to take her to the hospital for her forehead injury. Claire politely declined. Her emotions had calmed by now, and thinking back to her earlier outburst, she felt a bit embarrassed and apologized. “Sorry about earlier. I was just in a really bad mood—it wasn’t your fault. I’ll get the suit dry cleaned and mail it back.” Kenneth didn’t say she didn’t need to return it. Knowing his boss, he probably wouldn’t take it back anyway. Still, he nodded kindly. Claire headed to the hospital alone. Meanwhile, Lucas was trying and failing to reach her. The storm outside only made his anxiety worse as all kinds of terrible thoughts ran wild in his head. That’s when he got the call—something had happened to her.