---- Chapter 6 No.6 The days in California bled into one another in a haze of healing. Isolde was true to her word. The dermatologist prescribed a regimen of treatments that soothed the pain in her hands, but the skin remained scarred and discolored. A permanent reminder. Clare found she didn't care. She looked at the scars and felt no grief for her lost career. She felt only a quiet resolve. One afternoon, Isolde was on a conference call in her home office. Clare, feeling restless, decided to explore the house. She found herself in a hallway lined with photographs. In one, a boy of maybe ten was standing next to a younger girl with pigtails and a gap-toothed smile. The boy had his arm around her, a protective, big-brotherly gesture. Clare's breath caught. The girl was her. The boy... she knew him. Benedict. Ben. Isolde's stepson. Her childhood playmate from the rare family visits before the big fight between the sisters. He was the one who taught her how to skip stones. She hadn't thought of him in fifteen years. "That's my favorite picture." ---- Clare turned. A man was standing in the doorway. He was tall, with the same kind eyes as the boy in the photo, though they were now framed by the handsome face of a man in his late twenties. "Ben?" she asked, her voice uncertain. He smiled. A warm, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "In the flesh. | heard we had a visitor. | didn't realize it was my old partner in crime." He was holding a bakery box. The smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted from it. "| come bearing gifts," he said. "My stepmom said you might be in need of these." He opened the box to reveal two enormous cinnamon rolls. Clare laughed. A real, actual laugh. It felt rusty. "Isolde is determined to fatten me up." "It's her love language," Ben said, his smile gentle. "So, how have you been, Clare? It's been a long time." The simple, open-ended question hung in the air. He didn't know. Isolde hadn't told him the details. "It's been a lot," she said, the understatement of the century. He seemed to understand. He didn't press. "Well, you're here now," he said. "That's what matters." ---- Later that week, a legal-looking envelope arrived for Clare. It was from Chase's lawyers. A cease and desist letter, filled with threats of legal action and a staggering bill for the canceled wedding, all designed to intimidate her, to cripple her. She showed it to Isolde, her hands trembling slightly. Isolde scanned the document, her expression grim. "He's trying to bury you." "| don't have this kind of money," Clare said, her voice small. "| do," Isolde said simply. She picked up her phone and made a call. "Get my financial team on the line. And find me the most ruthless litigator in New York." The next day, Ben, who was a lawyer himself, sat down with her at the kitchen table. He had reviewed the letter. "This is a scare tactic," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "It's designed to make you feel powerless. But you're not. We can fight this." "| don't want to fight," Clare said. "| just want to be done with him.' "| know," Ben said softly. "And we'll get you there." As they were talking, Clare's phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. Her stomach clenched. | know you're in California. | know you're with your aunt. Did ---- you think you could hide from me? It was Chase. Another text followed immediately. A picture. A selfie of him and Karis. They were smiling, sitting in a restaurant Clare recognized. Her favorite restaurant. The one he had always claimed was "their place." Karis was wearing a necklace Clare had never seen before. It was a delicate gold chain with a single, perfect pearl. The same necklace Chase had given Clare on their first anniversary. 1 He had given her gift, her memory, to another woman. The cruelty was so specific, so intentional, it took her breath away. It was designed to tell her one thing: You were never special. You are replaceable. She felt the old, familiar sting of tears behind her eyes. But then she looked up and met Ben's steady, concerned gaze. She looked at the solid wood table, the sun streaming through the window, the sound of the ocean outside. This was real. Chase and Karis were a ghost story from another world. She deleted the message and blocked the number without a word. She took a deep breath. "Okay," she said to Ben, her voice clear and strong. "Let's fight ---- him."