On the drive home, Natasha, the usually bubbly Natasha, sat unusually silent. Her face was pale, and her mind was far away. She rested her head on Clara's shoulder, uncharacteristically withdrawn.
"Natasha," Clara started softly, careful not to sound too harsh, "I know it's not the right time, but you have to understand… you're partly responsible. You're not a child anymore. You should've taken precautions."
Natasha blinked, her eyes glassy, as if Clara's words were the least of her worries.
"Clara, you think I didn't know that?" Her voice cracked.
"He… he wanted to start a family with me. He said he wanted a child, our child." She looked away, her fingers trembling.
"I was just so overwhelmed. I let my emotions lead me, and I gave myself to him without thinking."
Clara winced at the weight of Natasha's guilt but held her tongue. It wasn't the time to lecture, and besides, Natasha was right in one sense. The heartbreak in her voice was palpable, and Clara didn't want to make it worse.
The car stopped in front of their apartment. The driver, catching a glimpse of their weary faces, handed them a neatly wrapped gift. "For you, ma'am," he said warmly.
"Wishing you both a season full of love. No need to worry about payment."
Clara, surprised by the kindness, reached for her purse.
"No, you've driven us all the way here. You're the first to gift us something this season. I can't let you go without thanking you properly."
The man hesitated before nodding, clearly moved by her insistence. He took the money, smiled, and stepped back.
The weight of Natasha's unspoken sadness hung in the air as they entered the apartment. Once the door clicked shut, Natasha's restraint shattered. The tears she had been holding back since in the car began to spill over. Clara felt her heart ache seeing her like this. It wasn't just the breakup that caused it, there was something deeper, something harder to untangle.
Clara pulled Natasha into an embrace, trying to comfort her as best as she could. Natasha let out a shaky breath, choking on her words.
"I… I loved him, Clara," Natasha wept. "I gave him everything. I thought I was enough for him, but…" She buried her face in Clara's shoulder. "But now he's gone."
"Natasha, stop."
Clara tried to steady her. "You can't keep crying over someone who clearly doesn't care enough to be here now. Not for you, and not for this baby."
"Clara, it's not about the baby," Natasha sobbed, her eyes wide with panic. "I was supposed to build something with him. I loved him more than anything! Roland was the one, Clara. He was my first love. I can't imagine life without him."
Clara's chest tightened. She understood more than Natasha could know. Losing someone you loved, it was a painful, aching kind of loss. But she couldn't let Natasha fall deeper into that pit.
"You can't tie your whole existence to someone, especially when they're not willing to stand by you when you need them the most," Clara said gently, though her own voice wavered with emotion.
"You're strong, Natasha. You have to keep it together, for yourself and your baby."
"I'm tired, Clara." Natasha's voice was barely a whisper, strained. "I feel… so weak. So hungry." She put a hand to her stomach. "I need food… please."
Clara laughed softly, her heart heavy but trying to lighten the moment. "Pregnancy hormones already at work. It's just the beginning, isn't it?"
"Food, now, please." Natasha's stomach growled in loud agreement.
"Alright, alright." Clara led Natasha into the living room. "Go freshen up. I'll make you something quickly."
As Natasha left, Clara started preparing dinner, her mind swirling with everything Natasha had said. As much as Natasha was hurting, there was a part of Clara that couldn't let the situation slide.
---
Ashley was making his own plans in the dim-lit corners of his room. He dialed a number with purpose, a controlled urgency lacing his tone.
"Ensure you wipe all the footage from that day. No traces should be left behind."
He ended the call swiftly, wiping any remaining doubts from his mind. No mistakes.
Before leaving the hotel, he had bribed one of the staff to delete the security footage from the day he delivered that package to Clara's hotel room. It was a delicate maneuver, one that required meticulous care. Any slip-up, any stray clue, could send everything crashing down. If anyone connected that moment to him… his entire plan would unravel. He couldn't afford that.
But more pressing than the footage was those men spilling the truth. He couldn't afford to be mentioned in their confession. He knew they wouldn't be able to keep up with the inhumane tortures from master Alexandro's men.
Ashley was no fool. He wouldn't team up with Aunt Gomez, but he would watch her. And once the time was right, he would turn the tables.
---
Mitchell had just finished his bath when a knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. It was the butler, Edward.
"Young master, dinner is ready."
"Bring it up to my room," Mitchell replied curtly, barely looking up.
Within minutes, the butler returned with the meal. However, his expression lingered longer than usual, eyes fixed on Mitchell as though contemplating something unspoken.
"Is everything alright, Butler?" Mitchell asked, his voice sharp. The pause had caught his attention.
The butler hesitated before forcing a smile. "It's nothing, Young Master. I was just wondering if your health was improving."
Mitchell stared at him, brow furrowing. "Does he know something? Does he suspect something's wrong?"
His mind raced as Edward turned to leave.
"I'm fine. Don't worry about me,"
Mitchell said coldly, watching the butler's retreating form. He could see it in Edward's eyes, concern mixed with uncertainty.
"I'm sorry uncle Edward, but I can't let anyone know I'm slowly regaining my memory" Mitchell said to himself.
Once the door shut, Edward stood in the hallway, torn. He couldn't just stand by and watch Aunt Gomez move freely. He must expose her evil deeds. But he didn't have solid evidence against her.