Chapter 7

"Never forget—you were only ever Fiona’s stand-in." Ethan laid it out coldly. He expected to see that familiar flicker of pain cross Clara’s face. But instead, she simply smirked. "How convenient, Mr. Blackwood." Even her tone was icy, utterly detached. Ethan narrowed his eyes, a glint of danger flashing deep within his gaze. "Heh." Clara’s laugh was dry, indifferent. "I don’t love you either, Ethan." That wiped the smugness from his expression in an instant. "You know my background—I’m the Barringtons’ illegitimate daughter. I’ve always lived in the shadows. Maybe I’m twisted deep down. I want everything Fiona has…" Clara’s voice trailed off, as though she were genuinely reflecting. Then she paused, the corners of her lips curling. "Maybe what I really enjoy is taking what’s hers and watching her break. That gets to you, doesn’t it? She suffers, you ache—and I get pleasure from both of you squirming. I can’t help it; I really can’t stand her." She took another step forward. "You included, Ethan Blackwood." She knew exactly what could happen if she kept going—that he might truly lose control and end her. But she didn’t back down. Why should she be the only one suffering? If this was how it had to be, she’d drag him into the fire with her. She held Ethan’s stormy gaze, refusing to yield. If you have the guts, Ethan, do it. End it now. "Clara." Ethan’s fists were clenched so tightly they trembled. But Clara wasn’t finished. "Oh, and I’m carrying your child. You couldn’t let Fiona risk her health for a baby, could you? But now, this child will always be a thorn in her side—solid proof you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself." She let out a lazy, mocking laugh. The sweet, harmless girl he once thought he knew was now all sharp edges—ready to draw blood at any moment. Ethan let out a cold scoff. In all of River City, no one had ever dared speak to him like that. Except Clara. "Clara." His voice was a razor-sharp warning. "Yes?" she replied, utterly unfazed. "Say that again," Ethan gritted out, fury lacing every word. It wasn’t a request—it was an order. But Clara actually began to repeat herself. That was the last straw. Ethan’s hand shot out and closed around her throat. His jaw was clenched so hard it seemed ready to splinter. Every word was harsh, low: "Shut up." And Clara did—because she could no longer breathe. Her face flushed red under his grip, the pressure on her neck unbearable. For a moment, she truly believed he might kill her. But seeing Ethan lose control like that, something deep within her felt… satisfied. Ethan’s cold, furious eyes remained locked on hers. "Clara, do you really think I won’t kill you?" "I do," Clara rasped, her voice like shattered glass. Then, without hesitation, she added, "But if you do, your son dies with me." That stopped him. Ethan jerked his hand back as if she’d burned him, sending Clara stumbling backward, coughing violently. It took her a moment to catch her breath, to claw her way back from the edge of darkness. "Get out," Ethan spat, rage still boiling in his words. Clara didn’t leave immediately. "As soon as you cancel the order, I’ll go. I won’t overstay a second longer." Ethan made the call to the rehab center right in front of her. Linda Walton would not be transferred. Her surgery would proceed as scheduled the following week. Only after hearing that did Clara allow herself to relax. She had won—this round, at least. But what about the next? Clara had never felt so drained, as though she were carrying the weight of mountains on her back. Yet she knew she couldn’t give up. For her mother’s sake, no matter how difficult, she had to keep going. "Thank you, Mr. Blackwood." The earlier fire in her voice had faded. She still held her dignity, but her tone was cold—none of her past admiration for Ethan remained. To her, this was nothing more than a transaction. That version of Clara made something in Ethan’s eyes turn colder as well. A storm of emotions raged inside him. He didn’t even know what he wanted anymore. The woman before him felt like a complete stranger. When he first met Clara, she had always watched him cautiously, as though walking on eggshells. Even though her feelings for him showed in every glance, it was always tinged with nervous energy. Ethan couldn’t say when he had started to care about her. Maybe it was his complicated ties with Fiona that kept him silent. He had buried it deep. Then Fiona, in a fit of anger, announced she was leaving the country—abandoning him in River City. And out of nowhere, the girl who had always lingered in the shadows began to show courage. She still called him “Ethan,” just as before, but something had shifted. She wasn’t hiding anymore. After another blowout with Fiona, Ethan married Clara—if only to provoke Fiona. But throughout their three-year marriage, Clara stayed close to him, always treading carefully. Her love was painfully obvious. She called him “hubby” so softly, so gently, always uncertain. Even in intimacy, where he tested her limits, she still yielded. But now, somehow, she could shut off those feelings like flipping a switch—as though none of it had ever happened. "If there’s nothing else, I’ll go to the rehab center to see my mother," Clara said, not waiting for Ethan’s response. She walked past him, calm and poised. But before she could get far, a strong hand pulled her back, and Ethan spun her around to face him. "Ethan Blackwood, let me go!" Clara frowned, struggling slightly. "What did you just call me?" His voice grew lower, colder. Clara stilled, caught off guard. Her lips parted slightly. Ethan stared her down. "Clara, you are my wife. Don’t address me like a stranger—I don’t like it." It wasn’t that he couldn’t bear to hear it; he simply refused to. Clara knew when to yield. "Alright... hubby. You’re hurting me," she said, almost too calmly. But her tone was flat, perfunctory. Ethan could tell. Of course he could. His eyes never left hers. "Be at the villa tonight," his tone still icy. "I can’t," Clara frowned, thinking aloud. "Not this whole week." "You—" Ethan’s expression darkened. "My mother’s surgery is on Monday. I need to be with her at the rehab center," Clara stated clearly. "After what happened today, her emotional state is fragile. I can’t risk anything happening to her." She looked at him with sharp clarity. "If anything happens to her, this deal is off." She said it plainly, but the threat behind her words was unmistakable.