I Can't Help Myself

Chapter 6 "Curious Who I Am? You're Beneath Me."

Lance flashed the property deed with a smirk. "See this clearly, Clara? My name's the only one listed here."

This apartment had been purchased with compensation money from her family home's demolition.

Knowing her future son-in-law couldn't afford housing, Clara's mother had invested her entire life savings to help the young couple establish roots in the city. She'd wired every penny to Clara, trusting they'd build a future together.

Yet the deed—processed under Lance's name alone—now served as proof of his betrayal.

She'd envisioned growing old with him, never suspecting his deceit. Now all that remained was the crushing weight of regret and burning hatred.

Tears spilled from Clara's eyes, falling in heavy droplets onto the floor.

Lance loomed over her, savoring her anguish. Five years of meticulous planning had led to this moment of triumph. But as her tears fell, an uncomfortable tightness gripped his chest. "You brought this on yourself, Clara," he snapped, unable to meet her gaze.

Blinking through tears, she stared up at the man who'd become a stranger. What had she done to deserve such cruelty?

Just as her knees threatened to buckle, a slate-gray handkerchief appeared, accompanied by James Lancaster's velvet-rich voice.

"No need to engage with garbage. A decent lawyer will have this settled within days. If cost is an issue, I'll cover it."

With effortless grace, James helped her up, took her luggage, and guided her toward the exit with a protective hand on her back.

Lance's eyes raked over James's refined appearance, his triumph turning to rage as Clara disappeared through the doorway. Every carefully laid plan suddenly felt meaningless. Blood pounded in his temples as he charged after them.

"The hell are you?" he demanded.

James didn't bother glancing back, his laugh dripping with disdain. "Curious who I am? You're beneath me."

Lance saw red and c****d his fist, but Isabella came rushing out in her clothes and grabbed his arm.

"Hold up, Lance! This guy's got connections—I swear I've seen him before. That handkerchief? A damn Hermès worth thousands..." she whispered urgently.

Lance narrowed his eyes. Since when did Clara know people like this? The way that man hovered over her—had they been having an affair all along?

The thought made him sick with jealousy.

Whoever that bastard was, he'd be damned if he let Clara find happiness.

By the flower beds below, Clara kept her eyes downcast. "Thank you... and about last night—I misjudged you. I'm sorry..." She pulled his phone from her bag and returned it.

"You've got nothing to apologize for," James said, running a hand through his hair. "I was drunk too. Shared responsibility."

"It's over. No need to talk about it."

Seeing how broken she looked, he softened. "Got somewhere to stay? Need help?"

She shook her head, forcing a brittle smile. "I'll manage. Thanks."

He exhaled sharply. "Your call. If you decide to sue that asshole, look me up. I know some top-notch lawyers."

Clara nodded with another quiet thank-you—already writing him out of her life.

In the following weeks, she rented a dingy studio, pulling double shifts every day to save for legal fees. She told her mom a white lie about Ludwig's last-minute work emergency delaying their wedding, relieved when no further questions came.

Then came the company physical.

Her hands trembled as she read the result.

Pregnant.

Clara tossed and turned all night, her thoughts churning like stormy waves.

After the devastation of Lance's betrayal, she'd abandoned all hope of storybook romance or white-picket-fence marriage. Yet the idea of raising a child alone—someone to weather life's storms with—became her unexpected lifeline.

Then cold, hard reality smashed through. Her meager salary barely covered rent. Pregnancy would cost her job, leaving nothing for hospital bills or baby formula. Desperation clawed at her.

Then it hit her—James. The father. He had a right to know—maybe even wanted... Her fingers trembled at the possibility. Even without marriage, his support could change everything.

Dawn found her armored in resolve. She marched into Lancaster Group's glass-and-steel monolith, riding the elevator to the executive floor. An assistant spotted her immediately, guiding her to a plush waiting area with polished professionalism. "Mr. Lancaster will arrive shortly."

At precisely 9 AM, James' commanding figure materialized down the marble corridor. Clara rose, pulse erratic as his lips curved into that knowing smirk. Her hand fluttered to her abdomen—would a son inherit those piercing eyes, that aristocratic bone structure?

Five steps away, his arms spread wide. Her breath caught—until a whirl of designer silk and jasmine perfume barreled past her, colliding with James in a laughing embrace. The girl's delighted squeal pierced the air like shattering glass.