Chapter Twenty Seven #2
“Because the world doesn’t get to choose for me.
It can take my parents, take my hearing, take everything it thinks it can, but I get to choose who I will be.
That’ll always be up to me.” Klara’s eyes are filled with tears, but this time, they don’t spill over.
She stares at me as if I’m partly insane, but also with wonder.
After a moment, she nods and gingerly takes a step back.
I let her go this time, watching her compute my words.
Behind me, there’s a light knock on the door and a concerned Clayton asking if I’m okay.
I quickly straighten, my eyes flying to the shampoo with gold leaf glinting from within.
“I’ll be right out,” I call, sharing a small smile with Klara.
She steps aside, watching me gather the bottles, toothbrushes and cosmetics as if I’m raiding the place.
I’m sure it looks like a desperate act more than the defiance I hope it is.
As Rhys said, Phillip won’t even notice.
Pausing by the door handle, I give Klara one last look. “Take care of yourself.”
Using my elbow, I open the door to a relieved-looking Clayton.
He takes a majority of the heavy bottles from my arms, leading the way back to the guest room when steps race to catch up.
Klara’s hand touches my bicep, a silent question in her gaze.
I step into the wall, frowning as she looks around, suddenly unsure of herself.
“She’s not dead,” Klara whispers beside my receiver. My body goes stiff, and her hand on my arm tightens slightly. “Rhys’ mom isn’t dead.”
“You know where she is?” I ask, hardly daring to breathe. Swallowing, Klara shakes her head.
“Not exactly, I’ve overheard things. They…
they think I’m just an airhead cheerleader, and my father isn’t as secretive as Rhys’.
The agreement for Rhys to marry me is in return for a favor my father did for the Waverseas.
What he’s still doing.” At that moment, Rhys appears down the hall, his gaze turning violent.
Waving off his concern, I pull Klara into the guest room where Clay has managed to convince Addy to put on a coat.
He pauses zipping up the front, his frown matching Rhys’ until the door is shut and the four of us crowd Klara near the bed.
“What’s going on?” Rhys snaps first. I nudge his shoulder, silently telling him to let me handle this.
“What have you heard, Klara?” I ask. She quakes like a deer caught in the headlights, her fingers fidgeting in front of her.
“My father is the owner of many pharmaceutical chains. He’s always busy, always working, but there’s only one prescription he handles personally.”
“You think this prescription is for Rhys’ mom?
” I clarify. Addy leans in, her head tilted like an owl.
I reckon she’s just trying to steady her gaze to see who’s actually speaking.
Beside me, there’s a gentle shift of movement as Clay reaches up to brace a hand on Rhys’ shoulder.
I wait for Rhys to shrug him off, and when he doesn’t, I put that small win aside to focus on Klara.
“I’ve heard my parents mutter her name a few times.
I didn’t think it had any significance until tonight.
I didn’t know…you were looking for her,” Klara braves a glance at Rhys.
I don’t doubt he’s said a few questionable things about his mom over the years, and Klara would have naturally figured she shouldn’t bring it up.
“And where does he deliver this prescription?” I push, my heart pounding heavily. A ripple of silence echoes through us, Klara’s eyes wide and laced with concern.
“I can’t say specifically, but he always picks me up from the Academy for lunch just after.
On the last Friday of every month, like clockwork.
” The tension around us could be cut with a butter knife.
No one breathes, no one dares to blink as the news is digested.
Surely, after all this time of chasing shadows, she can’t have been so close.
Being the first to move and forcing a smile, I start to thank Klara, but Rhys’ growl cuts me off.
“Why are you helping us?”
“You love her,” Klara shrugs as if it’s simple.
It’s not, it’s messy and complicated, but it’s a conversation that needs to happen.
“I thought if I clung on tight enough, if I was loyal and everything you needed, we could be somewhat amicable. But not now. I won’t have you resenting me. You deserve to be with Harper.”
She exhales slowly, as if she is freeing herself from the weight of responsibility.
The future is unclear for all of us now, and for Klara, that means finally putting herself first. Clearing her throat, she adds lightly, “I’d sneak out ASAP if I were you guys.
Phillip gets particularly nasty when he is drinking red wine. ”
There’s a ripple of unease between us all, Rhys and Klara shuddering from experience. Addy peels away first, singing a tune to herself as she shoulders two backpacks at once and attempts to lift Rhys’ suitcase. Distracting me from watching her fail, Klara makes her way towards the door.
“What about you?” I reach for her. Klara pauses with her hand on the doorframe, shoulders squared in that practiced, polished way she’s been taught since birth. For a moment, I think she’ll deflect, but instead she turns back to us, her expression bare in a way I’ve never seen before.
“I’m the perfect princess. I’ll be fine.
” The heaviness in her eyes is unbearable.
There’s no telling what war zone she’s walking into after we’ve left.
Clayton relents, heading over to Addy and helping her from fumbling with the bags.
Rhys grunts and drops onto the bed to put his sneakers on.
Taking her leave, Klara is halfway out the door when I drag her back in for a tight hug.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For helping us, and for caring for Rhys. He might not see it, but I’m grateful for you having his best interest at heart.
” Giving me one last smile that doesn’t meet her eyes, Klara steps out of our lives with an air of finality.
I feel an odd sense of sorrow, as if there’s been an opportunity missed, but there’s no going back now.
Only moving forward with whatever is about to be thrown our way.
With Addy propped up by Clay, the four of us step into the hallway, bags in hand.
Rhys doesn’t creep or hunch, but his sneakers are silent against the marble.
Stopping at the top of the stairs, we linger on the precipice of the commotion happening underneath us.
Phillip is deeper in the manor, possibly still in the dining area or in his office.
The deep baritone of Mr. Kavanagh is also present, trying to placate him.
I shift from foot to foot, listening to the implosion of a family I was never meant to witness from behind closed doors.
Fiona is hovering over a bubbling saucepan, wooden spoon clenched in her hand as if it’ll ground her.
I’m already making my way over to her before her eyes flick upwards with an all-consuming panic cracking through her usual composure.
It’s clear that having the lord of the house at home is not a pleasant experience for anyone.
All of the sass and self-assurance I’ve known from her have disappeared, and the kitchen feels more like a prison than a place of employment.
The kitchen is suspended in a time that saw us all laughing and signing around the central island.
There’s a large cream dessert that Addy would have stolen if she could see straight, the radio murmuring softly with a tune we’d have been bobbing our heads to.
In the air, the scent of herbs and garlic clings desperately as if trying to pretend this is just another evening.
Not the end of an era, and the beginning of who knows what.
Rhys crosses the room in three long strides and reaches for the key holder by the back door, his fingers closing around the truck fob without hesitation.
I’d forgotten that Rhys had his driver go back for the truck he and Clay had been using.
His blue eyes entrap mine, his jaw set with an air of finality.
“Time to go.” Jostling the key, Rhys swings towards a door I’ve yet to see used. Peering inside, another door immediately greets us, but this one is made of glass. Rhys presses a button to open the elevator and gestures for us all to get inside with little patience.
Fiona moves then, stepping in to stop me from following Clay and Addy inside. Her body is angled to block the others from seeing her reach into the pocket of her apron with a speed born from fear and resolve. Pressing a folded piece of paper into my hand, she hastily draws me in for a quick hug.
“I’m sorry I didn’t help sooner,” she whispers, before shaking her head as if to convince herself of the truth she’s been hiding from herself.
“Mr. Waversea is a dangerous man.” Her eyes flick to the main archway, then back to mine, shining with defiance and an apology all at once.
Tentatively, I curl my fingers around the paper.
Opening my mouth to thank her, possibly to ask her to come with me, Rhys grabs my upper arm and hauls me into the elevator.
His grip isn’t harsh, only tense from the need to go.
Fiona’s mouth trembles, and for a heartbeat, she looks like she might say something to Rhys, might pull him into the kind of embrace he was denied for most of his childhood.
Instead, she stills, her professional mask sliding back into place with visible effort.
“Be safe,” she nods once and returns to her pot.
It’s bubbled over now, the scent of burning wafting through the room.
The door slides closed, confining us into a space big enough for two, and we descend into an underground garage.
The Raptor is a beast against all of the other cars present, low and sleek sports models in various shades of red.
Against the back wall are the black Bentleys that the Waversea’s use for public appearances.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Rhys says quietly, and it hits me how different his voice sounds.
There’s no suppressed rage or wounded hope hiding beneath his words.
Only a sense of resolve, of relief. He meets my gaze, and in the silence that follows, something unspoken passes between us.
I see it anyway in the way his shoulders ease, in the way his jaw unclenches just slightly.
In a house built on control and cruelty, this is his goodbye.
It isn’t loud or dramatic. It just is what it needs to be.
Reaching out with my free hand, I link my fingers with his.
There’s a burning desperation inside of me to look at the document Fiona gave me, but I squash it for now.
This moment is more important. Clay takes the bags from Rhys without comment and loads them into the truck, Addy leaning into him and murmuring something I can’t quite catch.
Her bravado has softened, whether from the gravity of emotion swirling around us or because the wine is ebbing from her system, it remains to be seen.
I climb into the backseat with her, my heart thundering as the boys take the front.
Nothing is said as we peel out of the garage, a ramp bringing us around the side of the manor until the fountain can be seen.
Rhys doesn’t spare it a second glance, his eyes set on the iron gates drawing closer.
It’s me who loses the battle against my curiosity, looking back over my shoulder.
The manor looms behind us, all stone and shadow. I don’t know what I expected, but the sight of Phillip standing in the doorway, half swallowed by darkness, has my heart clenching tight. His face is unreadable from this distance, but his stance is clear enough.
Broad shoulders set in place, hands clenched at his sides, legs braced far apart.
Like a man watching something slip through his fingers without fully understanding its value.
Phillip doesn’t care about Rhys leaving.
He only cares that he’s lost control, that someone didn’t bend to his will.
It’s for that reason that, no matter what we find after leaving here, I know we haven’t seen the last of Phillip Waversea.