Chapter 36 Clara and Ethan fight
Chapter 36 Clara and Ethan fight
Ethan's POV
I dug my fingers into Clara’s wrist, twisting, a dull pleasure sparking as her breath hitched. “Y-you’re hurting me, Ethan!” she yelped, trying to pull away. Her voice grated on my nerves, shrill and demanding. Nora, the little parasite, stood a few feet away, her lower lip trembling, fresh tears starting to track down her grubby cheeks. “Stop it, Papa,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Useless. Just like her mother, weak and whiny.
I tightened my grip, enjoying the way her face contorted. “Hurting you?” I scoffed, a dark laugh bubbling up. “You think this is hurting you? Do you have any idea, any idea at all, who gave you this life? This house? The clothes on your back, the food in your mouth?” My voice rose, each word a hammer blow. “All of it, Clara. Every single goddamn thing you possess, it’s mine. From me. And with one snap of my fingers,” I punctuated the air with a decisive click, “it can all vanish. Poof.”
Her eyes, usually so defiant, flickered with something that might have been fear. Good. “You seem to forget your place, woman. You seem to forget who you’re talking to.” I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Don’t ever forget that just as I replaced Liana with you, I can replace you with another. And this time, she’ll be smart enough to be appreciative. Submissive. Not a squawking banshee like you.”
The fear vanished, replaced by a cold fury that mirrored my own. She ripped her arm from my grasp, rubbing the red marks I’d left. “Go on then!” she spat, her chest heaving. “Bring another woman into this house! I dare you! I fucking dare you, Ethan! Because I swear to God, I’ll kill both of you! I’ll carve you up limb by limb and watch you bleed! And then I’ll walk into that prison cell with a smile on my face!”
Nora let out a choked sob, a loud, piercing sound that cut through the tension. She launched herself at me, her tiny arms wrapping around my leg. “Papa, please! Don’t hurt Mama! Please, make it stop!” Her tears soaked through my expensive trousers, a sticky, disgusting warmth.
I looked down at her, disgust churning in my gut. This child. This constant reminder of Clara’s existence, of her insidious presence. “Get off me!” I snarled, pushing her away with my foot. She stumbled back, landing hard on her backside, her wails echoing against the vaulted ceiling. “Don’t call me Papa anymore! Do you hear me? Don’t you ever call me Papa again!” My voice was a roar now. “Go ask your loose mother who your real father is! Go on! Ask her!”
Clara let out a primal scream, a sound that bypassed my ears and throbbed directly in my skull. She lunged, her nails raking down my cheek with surprising force. A sharp pain bloomed, and I instinctively recoiled, bringing my hand up. My palm connected with her face with a sickening thwack. Once. Then again. Her head snapped back, a high-pitched gasp escaping her lips.
“You bitch!” I roared, shoving her hard. Her feet slipped on the polished marble and she went down, a dull thud echoing through the room. She lay there for a moment, stunned, then started to cry, soft, broken sounds that slowly grew in volume.
Footsteps pounded in the hallway. A murmur of voices. They heard. Of course they heard. They always did. They always had to know, to pry, to judge.
“What’s going on in there?” a nervous voice, probably the housekeeper, called from the other side of the heavy oak door. “Is everything alright, Mr. Thorne?”
“Everything is perfectly fine!” I bellowed, striding to the door. I threw the deadbolt, the metallic click reverberating through the suddenly silent room. “Nobody is to come in here! Do you understand? Nobody!” I heard hushed whispers, and then the sound of retreating footsteps. Good. Let them think what they wanted. It didn’t matter. None of them mattered.
My fists clenched, my chest heaving. I could still feel the phantom sting of Clara’s nails, the heat of her anger. The sound of her sobs, mingled with Nora’s, scraped at my frayed nerves. I needed a moment. A moment of silence.
I turned and stalked into the attached bathroom, slamming the door shut with all my might. The sound echoed like a gunshot, silencing the sniveling voices outside. I stood over the sink, splashing cold water on my face, the sting of the disinfectant on my cheek a welcome distraction. My reflection stared back at me, eyes wild, jaw clenched. This was her fault. All of it.
After a few minutes, the silence from the bedroom was too heavy. Too complete. I pushed open the bathroom door, a sense of grim satisfaction settling over me. The room was empty. Clara was gone. Nora was gone. The silence was absolute, a perfect, pristine thing.
A wave of calm washed over me, a peace I hadn’t felt in weeks. No shouting, no accusations, no whining. Just the soft hum of the air conditioning. This was better. So much better. I walked over to the immense, emperor-sized bed and lay down, stretching out across the cool, unrumpled sheets.
My gaze drifted to the ceiling, to the intricate fresco Clara had insisted on. All her choices, all her demands, always something…more. Always something expensive. Always something that reminded me of how much I had given her, how much I had sacrificed.
A sigh escaped me, a weary sound. Liana. This whole mess, this whole unbearable existence, it all started when she left. I used to think I had control, that I could simply replace one woman with another, like swapping out a part in a machine. But Clara wasn't Liana. She never could be. She never even came close.
Where was Liana now? What was she doing with her pathetic life? Probably rotting away in some backwater apartment, regretting every single decision she’d ever made. Good. She deserved it. They all did.