Chapter 177
Claire's POV
"I'll go get my things," Daniel said, grabbing his shoes and heading back toward the bedroom.
I watched him walk away, guilt churning in my stomach. I wanted to call him back, to ask him to stay, but the words stuck in my throat. My mother was standing outside my door, and I knew exactly what would happen if Daniel stayed. Margaret would say something like, "This is a family matter. Would you mind giving us some privacy?" Her voice would be perfectly polite, but the message would be clear: outsiders weren't welcome.
I took a deep breath and walked to the front door. My palms were sweaty as I twisted the lock open. The metal felt cold against my skin.
"You took your time," my mother said as soon as I opened the door. She stood there in a deep green Prada silk dress, her hair perfectly styled despite the drizzling Seattle rain outside. "I was about to leave."
"Sorry, I was in the bathroom," I lied, stepping aside to let her in.
Margaret walked past me, her expensive perfume filling the space between us. Her heels clicked against my hardwood floor as she surveyed my apartment with that assessing gaze I knew all too well.
"You've rearranged things," she noted, running her finger along the back of my sofa. "It looks... comfortable."
I closed the door, hoping Daniel would stay in the bedroom until my mother left. "What brings you to Seattle? I thought you were in London until next month."
My mother ignored my question, walking over to a small shelf where I kept a few photos. She picked up one of us together, taken during my graduation from Harvard. "Remember this day? You were so focused on making the right impression on the dean you barely smiled in any of the pictures."
"I remember," I said, crossing my arms. My mother hadn't flown across the Atlantic just to reminisce.
She set the photo down and turned to face me. "Let's not waste time with pleasantries, Claire. What have you been doing lately? Those things on social media... that's not like you. You've never made these kinds of mistakes before."
I tensed, walking to the kitchen to put some distance between us. "I got caught by some paparazzi. It happens. And the Jessica situation—that's Dad's business. I can't interfere with that."
My mother scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive. "Honey, you're insulting my intelligence. You've never made a misstep in your life, and suddenly you're all over the tabloids? Who gave those photographers the courage to snap your picture? You did. Running around town, appearing everywhere, giving them ammunition. And Jessica? I think you deliberately dropped the ball there."
"Mom, I—"
"Do you think I don't know what she's capable of?" My mother waved her hand dismissively, not letting me finish. "She doesn't have the brains to outmaneuver you. She'd need to be reincarnated for that to happen."
I gripped the edge of my kitchen counter. "Mom, those were all Dad's decisions."
Margaret walked closer, her eyes narrowing. "No, Claire. You're deliberately creating a spectacle. Giving the media opportunities. Making your father believe you don't care anymore." Her gaze was piercing. "What are you trying to prove?"
My heart hammered in my chest. She always saw through me.
"Something smells good," she said suddenly, her nostrils flaring slightly. "Did you cook? Or do you have company?"
"I... I had lunch delivered," I said, the lie weak even to my own ears.
Margaret's perfect posture faltered for a moment. She looked at me with suspicion that quickly transformed into disbelief. "Honey, what's going on? Are you trying to get the Pierce family to call off the wedding?"
The question hit too close to home. I couldn't meet her eyes.
"Who is he?" she asked, her voice suddenly quiet. "Who could you possibly invite here... to cook for you in your own home?"
I raised my eyes to meet hers, neither confirming nor denying.
Margaret stood there, shocked, struggling to process what she was seeing. "Claire, you're my most accomplished child. I never thought you'd lose your head over a man."
"Daniel Brown," I said finally, my voice steadier than I expected.
"Who is Daniel Brown?" she asked, pronouncing his name like it was foreign.
"He was my bodyguard."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Your bodyguard? The one your father hired?"
I nodded, feeling heat crawl up my neck. "Yes. He saved my life. Twice, actually."
"Twice?" My mother's voice was skeptical.
"The first time was the car accident. The second was in Zaraqstan." I swallowed hard, memories of gunfire and screams flashing through my mind. "I was there, Mom. When the terrorist attack happened. I was one car away from a grenade. The driver abandoned us. Emily and I were running blindly. Emily got shot in the leg and couldn't move. Daniel was there helping the peacekeeping mission. He found us and got us to safety."
I spoke calmly, as if I was describing someone else's life. "Without him, I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you."
My mother's expression softened slightly, but her eyes remained calculating. "He was doing his job, Claire. That's what bodyguards are paid to do."
"Yes," I admitted. "But that's exactly why I love him."
The word hung between us. Love.
"What do you mean?" my mother asked.
I took a deep breath. "I'm not some naive girl who falls for a man just because he's cruel to everyone else but gentle with me. I've dated those men. They're broken, Mom."
I stepped closer to her. "Daniel is kind to everyone. He helps old ladies cross the street. He gives food to homeless veterans."
My voice grew stronger. "I don't care about a person's potential or their upper limit. I care about their lower limit—what they're capable of at their worst. And Daniel's worst is better than most people's best."
My mother studied me for a long moment. "You sound serious about him."
"I am." The certainty in my voice surprised even me.