Chapter 3 - The Plea in the Sunlight
The words hung in the sunlit air, heavy and poisonous. Clara’s breath hitched in her throat, her entire body locking up as if she had been hit with a taser. The grey rag slipped from her numb fingers, dropping back into the dark pool with a soft, wet slap.
Slowly, agonizingly, Clara lifted her head. Tears streamed down her face in thick, unbroken rivers, washing clean tracks through the fine dusting of powders and brown dye splashed across her cheeks. Her bloodshot eyes locked onto Julian’s face. She didn't look at Victoria; she knew better than to look at the master of the house. But looking at Julian hurt even more, because in Julian's burning eyes, she saw the dangerous, unyielding fire of a man about to ignite a war.
Clara raised her trembling, stained hands toward her chest, pulling her palms together in a desperate, frantic gesture of prayer. Her knees remained glued to the freezing marble, surrounded by the mess.
"Julian, please! Don't!" Clara cried out, her voice breaking into a ragged, pitiful scream that bounced between the high glass panels.
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She wasn't begging Victoria for mercy. She knew Victoria had no mercy to give—she had spent three months suffering under the woman's quiet, sadistic torment while Julian was away overseeing European acquisitions. Clara was begging Julian. She knew the secret history of the Vance family. She knew the terrifying, unhinged power Julian possessed when his protective instincts were breached. She knew that if Julian struck back now, this house would burn—metaphorically and legally—and she feared being caught in the crossfire of titans far more than she feared the cold stone floor beneath her knees.
"Please... just let me clean it..." she sobbed, bowing her head until her forehead nearly touched her stained hands. "Don't say anything... please..."
