Chapter 6 - The Last Refusal
On the afternoon Arthur returned, Victoria brought Clara downstairs for the first time in days.
The kitchen was bright with late sunlight reflecting from the white marble surfaces.
Custody papers had been arranged across the center island.
Everett Vale stood near the windows.
Dr. Mercer waited beside a leather medical case.
Clara immediately understood that the gathering was not a negotiation.
It was a performance.
Victoria wanted witnesses who would later claim Clara had signed voluntarily.
“Sit down,” Victoria instructed.
Clara remained standing.
“Where are my clothes?”
“You are dressed.”
“I’m wearing a nightdress.”
“You refused every outfit I sent upstairs.”
“You sent clothing without shoes.”
Victoria’s jaw tightened.
Clara had spent the previous night planning.
She had no phone and no access to the exterior doors, but she had found an old intercom panel hidden inside the upstairs linen closet.
The system did not connect to the outside world.
It did, however, connect to the kitchen and several unused rooms.
Clara had pressed the broadcast switch before Victoria entered her bedroom.
If any employee remained inside the mansion, they might hear what happened.
It was a small chance.
Small chances were all she had.
Victoria pushed a pen across the island.
“Sign.”
Clara looked at the first page.
The document granted Victoria temporary guardianship immediately after birth and control of all financial interests inherited by the child.
Another page authorized Dr. Mercer to recommend psychiatric observation.
A third stated that Clara had voluntarily requested seclusion due to emotional distress.
“You want me to confess to something that never happened,” Clara said.
“You have been distressed.”
“My husband disappeared, you forged his death notice and locked me in a bedroom.”
Vale shifted uncomfortably.
Victoria glanced at him.
“She is confused.”
“I know Arthur’s middle name,” Clara replied. “Apparently your forger did not.”
Vale’s face lost color.
Clara saw it.
“You created the notice.”
“I did no such thing,” he said.
“You brought it into this house.”
“I delivered a document provided by Mrs. Harrington.”
Victoria’s eyes sharpened.
“Everett.”
He looked down.
Clara realized their alliance was already weakening.
People loyal to power often abandoned it the moment consequences appeared.
“Tell me the truth,” Clara said. “Is Arthur alive?”
No one answered.
Her breath caught.
“Is he alive?”
Victoria picked up the pen.
“Your husband’s condition is irrelevant to the child’s future.”
The answer was not a denial.
Hope rose so quickly that it almost hurt.
“You don’t know that he is dead.”
Victoria stepped around the island.
“I know he is not here.”
“You lied to me.”
“I gave you the truth you needed.”
Clara backed away.
“The truth I needed?”
“You needed to understand that Arthur could no longer protect you.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Victoria turned.
The new security supervisor appeared at the kitchen entrance.
“Mrs. Harrington, there is a vehicle approaching the outer gate.”
“Who is it?”
“I can’t see the driver.”
“Keep the gate closed.”
The supervisor left.
Clara looked toward the windows.
Her heart beat faster.
Victoria grabbed the papers.
“We are finishing this now.”
“No.”
“Sign them.”
“No.”
Victoria seized Clara’s wrist and forced the pen into her hand.
Clara dropped it.
The pen rolled across the marble floor.
“You are making this unnecessarily difficult,” Victoria said.
“You are trying to steal my baby.”
“I am ensuring that a Harrington raises the child.”
“The child is also mine.”
“You were useful because Arthur loved you. Without Arthur, you have no place here.”
Clara stared at her.
For months, she had tried to interpret Victoria’s behavior as pride, grief or a warped kind of protection.
Now the truth was clear.
Victoria did not see people as family.
She saw them as positions within an empire.
Arthur was the heir who had disobeyed.
Clara was the outsider who had influenced him.
The baby was a future source of control.
Victoria picked up the iron that had been left near a basket of unfolded linens.
Dr. Mercer looked alarmed.
“Victoria, this has gone far enough.”
“Then leave,” she replied.
He did not move.
Victoria plugged in the iron.
Clara watched faint steam rise.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you one final opportunity.”
Vale gathered his briefcase.
“I cannot be present for this.”
Victoria blocked his path.
“You are already part of it.”
The sound of a distant engine grew louder.
Then came a metallic crash from the direction of the rear service entrance.
Someone had forced through the secondary gate.
Victoria’s composure cracked.
“Stop him,” she ordered the security supervisor through the intercom.
There was no answer.
Clara moved toward the doorway.
Victoria grabbed her robe and pulled her back.
Clara lost her balance and dropped to her knees, one hand protecting her belly.
The custody pages scattered across the floor.
A vase of white lilies fell from the island and shattered nearby, spreading petals across the marble.
Victoria stood over Clara with the iron.
“Sign the papers,” she said, “or neither of you walks away unhurt.”
Clara looked up at her.
She was terrified, but beneath the fear something stronger remained.
“No.”
Victoria caught a section of Clara’s hair and briefly pressed the hot surface against it.
Clara screamed.
The smell of singed hair filled the kitchen, and a small thread of smoke rose above her.
“Please,” Clara sobbed. “Don’t hurt my baby.”
Victoria released her and threw the forged death notice onto the floor.
May you like
“Arthur is dead. No one is coming to save you.”
The back door burst open.
