//CLARA//
Stupid! Fucking stupid idiot!
The door slamd with a finality that shook the pictures on my walls, and I was left alone with the wreckage of my own words.
I collapsed onto the bed, my entire body still shaking. It wasn’t fear—I was now too pissed off for fear. It was sothing else, sothing morbid and heavy that twisted in my chest until I couldn’t draw a full breath.
Then ca the heat. The hot, stinging, frustrated tears that blurred my vision and turned the room into a watercolor of gray and gold.
I felt awful. Not because I had lost the argunt. Not because he had locked in my room like a child. But because I had looked him in the eye and called him a monster.
Hattie ca back after an hour. She found still lying there, cheeks wet.
"Oh, Miss Eleanor. Let get you cleaned up."
I let her work. She peeled off the soiled dress and brought a basin of warm water. I scrubbed myself clean until the skin was raw.
My body went on auto-pilot while my mind replayed every bit of the day on a vicious loop.
After what felt like a literal eternity, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The storm outside had developed a grudge. Lightning flickered against the heavy curtains.
I did not know when I decided it. But the next thing I knew, I was traipsing through the dark hallways by sheer muscle mory until I reached his study door.
A thin, sharp line of light seeped through the gap at the bottom.
He was still awake. Of course he was.
I brought my hand up to knock, but the knuckles hovered an inch from the wood. My pride scread at to turn around. My heart told my pride to shut up.
What am I doing here? What am I going to say?
I turned the handle, silently thanking whatever god was listening that he hadn’t locked this door, too.
The room slled of him. He was at his desk, pushed deep into the corner shadow. He was hunched over a stack of papers. He didn’t jump. He just looked up, and sighed.
He seed to be expecting . Or maybe he’d just wagered on my inability to stay put.
"You’re supposed to stay in your room," he said flatly, but lacking the jagged edge from earlier.
"I know. You practically grounded . I’m waiting for you to take away any ans of communication I can get."
"What do you want now, Clara?"
"I—I wanted to say..." I trailed off, I did not know what I was going to say. Whatever words I had, they died in my throat. I looked at the floor, then back at him. "I think I went too far."
"You think?"
"Don’t make it any harder for , Casimir. I’m already standing here in my nightgown admitting I was a brat."
"I’m the one making it harder?" He leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking. "You vanished into the most dangerous parts of the city in a costu that would have gotten you arrested or worse."
"Yes, I know I was way over my head," I admitted, my voice dropping. "But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stand not knowing anything."
Casimir watched , his expression unreadable. "What exactly do you know? How did you even find the na Silas Thurston?"
"I overheard you talking to soone the other day," I said, crossing my arms over my chest to keep from shivering. "About the broken axle. About Thurston Holdings and how they went bankrupt because of you."
"What else?"
"I went to get answers for myself because you said I wasn’t supposed to know. And the more people tell I can’t do sothing, the more I feel like I have to."
He looked at , seemingly unfazed. It was the very reason he’d tried to cage —he knew my curiosity was a terminal illness.
"And..." I paused, my heart doing that frantic bird-flutter again. I didn’t know how he’d react to this part. "Mr. Vanderbilt saw there."
He stilled. It was instantaneous, like a predator goes into right before it strikes. The anger flared in his eyes first, hot and bright, but it was imdiately smothered by a wave of possessive concern. He was out of his chair before I could blink, grabbing my upper arms.
"Did he touch you? Did he hurt you? What did he do, Clara?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, surprised by the intensity in his grip. "I didn’t give him the chance. I left imdiately."
"Are you sure? Bartholow is a snake who thinks he’s a king. If he thought for one second he could use you to get to —"
"I’m fine. Shaken, but fine."
He let out a breath, his forehead dropping to rest against mine for just a second.
"This is exactly why I didn’t want you to know. My only fault is that I underestimated your eavesdropping capabilities."
I almost laughed. Almost.
We stayed like that for a beat, just breathing the sa air until I found the strength to pull back and ask the question that had been rotting in my mind all day.
"Is it true, then? You’re the one who drove Mr. Thurston into taking his own life?"
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The silence was heavy enough to drown in. He turned back toward the window, watching the rain hamr against the glass.
"Why?" I whispered.
"I’m not a good person, Clara. My morals have never been in sight when it cos to business. But when it cos to this family... there is no length I will not go to, no soul I will not crush, to ensure our na remains safe."
He turned and reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from my cheek, trembling with a restraint that felt like a scream.
"And now, there’s you. I will be whatever villain this city requires to be, so long as you are safe beneath my roof. You are the only thing in this world I cannot afford to lose, and I will protect you until there is nothing left of but ash."
Holy shit. My brain stalled.
He sounded like a man who had rewritten the laws of physics to keep in his orbit. And part of wanted to lt into a puddle right straight into his arms.
But the other part of felt a cold shiver, knowing exactly what lengths he ant by it. It was beautiful, sure. But it was also terrifying. He’s not a good man, he said it himself.
I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the way my heart was doing a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Forcing my brain to reboot before I did sothing spectacularly stupid—like throwing myself between us and kissing him until the na Thurston was just a smudge of ink in my mory.
"Fine. You’re the monster in the dark. I get it," I said, leaning back just enough to breathe. "But why him? Why the Thurstons? You don’t burn down an entire shipping empire just to see the flas."
"He was embezzling," Casimir’s voice turned cold as ice. "I was foolish enough to trust him with a rger. I thought he was a partner. But he found a loophole—a way to drain our finances into his private accounts while I took the loss."
"How did you find out?"
"I am keen with what goes in and out of my business, Clara. The ledgers didn’t tally. I traced every missing cent back to his desk. He thought he could outsmart because I was younger. He thought I wouldn’t have the stomach for a fight."
"What did you do to him?"
Casimir’s eyes darkened, reflecting the flickering lamplight.
"I did to him what he tried to do to . I took back what he stole. And then I took more. I ensured no bank would ever speak his na again. I made him a ghost before he even held the gun."
He paused, jaw tightening.
"If I had let him take a cent without a reckoning, word would spread by noon. By dinner, our creditors would be at the door. By morning, the Guggenheim na would be a footnote. I did not destroy him for fun. I destroyed him so no one else would dare."
How powerful is he? The question surfaced before I could stop it. Not the power of money or railroads. The power to make banks turn their backs. To silence an industry with a word. To erase a man completely.
What kind of network wielded that kind of influence?
"That is why no one would help him."
"Yes," he replied bluntly.
He looked at and the honesty in his eyes was almost harder to stomach than the lie.
"I’m not asking for your forgiveness, Clara. Forgiveness is for people who regret their choices. I’m just telling you why I do what I do. The doors are locked because I know the price of losing. And I’m not willing to let you pay for it."
"You can’t locked out from the truth, Casimir."
"No," he agreed softly. "But I can try to stay between you and the fallout."
User Comments
0 comments from readers