Chapter 5 - When the Predator Becomes the Prey in a Den of Wolves
"You're lying,"
Margaret hissed,
her voice like a snake's rattle as she descended the porch steps.
"That's not his.
It couldn't be.
You've been gone for months,
God knows who you've been sleeping with to pull a stunt like this."
I looked at her,
and for the first time in my life,
I felt absolutely nothing—no anger,
no hurt,
just a cold,
clinical observation of a dying breed.
"The DNA tests are already on file with my attorneys,
Margaret,"
I said,
my voice echoing off the stone walls of the mansion.
"And since you were so fond of 'God's plan,'
you should know that God has a very ironic sense of humor."
Raymond was staring at my stomach as if it were a ticking bomb,
his hands shaking.
"Clara...
if this is true...
we can talk about this.
We can fix the divorce,
we can—"
"Fix it?"
I interrupted,
a sharp laugh escaping my lips.
"You didn't want a wife,
Raymond.
You wanted a vessel.
And when you thought the vessel was empty,
busted,
you threw it on the curb with the rest of the trash."
Elara emerged from the house then,
looking like a frightened child,
realizing that her "billionaire husband" was currently being dismantled by the woman she replaced.
"Raymond,
what's going on?"
she whimpered,
reaching for his arm.
He pushed her away,
his eyes never leaving me.
"Is it a boy?"
he asked,
the desperation in his voice making me sick.
"It's two boys,"
I told him,
watching his eyes light up with a greedy hope,
"and a girl."
The hope vanished as I continued,
"But they will never carry the name Whitmore.
They are Sterlings now.
And as for this house,
you have forty-eight hours to vacate the premises."
"You can't do that!"
Margaret shrieked.
"This is my family home!"
"Actually,"
Arthur Sterling stepped forward,
adjusting his cuffs,
"this home was collateral for the loan your son defaulted on three weeks ago.
A loan that I now own.
And I've decided to gift the deed to Clara as a signing bonus for her new position as CEO of Sterling-Apex."
The look on their faces was better than any drug,
a moment of pure,
unfiltered justice that I had dreamed of every night in the cold.
I walked past them,
up the stairs,
and into the house that had been my prison for a decade.
I went straight to the kitchen,
to the cabinet where Elara had been pouring wine from on the night I was exiled.
I took a bottle of the finest vintage,
walked to the sink,
and poured it down the drain.
"I never liked the taste of this anyway,"
I said to the empty room.
I could hear the shouting outside—Raymond yelling at his mother,
Margaret crying,
Elara's car tires screeching as she fled the scene.
I sat at the head of the long mahogany dining table,
the table where I had been ignored for a thousand dinners,
and I placed my hands on my belly.
"Do you feel that?"
I whispered to the three heartbeats.
"That's the sound of the world changing."
But the war wasn't over.
I knew the Whitmores wouldn't go quietly,
and Margaret had more secrets than just her hatred for me.
As the sun began to set over the estate,
I realized that having the house was just the beginning.
I didn't just want their property;
I wanted to see their legacy erased from the history of this city.
And with Arthur Sterling at my back and three heirs in my womb,
I was the most powerful person in the room.
I picked up the phone and dialed the one person who knew where the real bodies were buried in the Whitmore's history.
"It's Clara,"
May you like
I said when the voice answered.
"Tell me everything about the 2012 merger.
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