Chapter 4.4
1403 Words
Clara’s POV
The rain poured without mercy, slashing against the deserted road like needles. I staggered forward, every step a battle. My clothes were soaked through, clinging to my frail form, streaked with mud and blood. My hair was plastered to my pale face, lips trembling as my lungs burned for air. The world tilted, blurred, then sharpened again.
I tasted iron.
My legs finally gave way.
I didn’t know how I had escaped that fire.
All I knew was that my desire to stay alive — and watch the people who hurt me suffer to their bones — was stronger than their will to kill me.
I collapsed onto the wet asphalt.
The rain washed over me, carrying thin red rivulets away from my skin. My fingers twitched weakly.
I wanted to live.
I wasn’t ready to die.
Not like this.
Not unwanted.
Not forgotten.
Headlights sliced through the darkness.
A sleek black car rolled to a stop. The driver froze when he saw me lying there.
“Sir… someone’s there.”
Michael’s POV
The back door opened.
I stepped out, sheltered beneath a black umbrella. The night seemed to quiet around me. A cigarette burned lazily between my fingers as smoke curled past my face — calm, cold, unreadable. The rain didn’t dare touch me.
I only walked forward because she was blocking the road.
“She might be dead…” my driver muttered.
My gaze dropped to her.
Her chest rose.
Barely.
I studied her like an inconvenience rather than a dying girl — torn clothes, scraped skin, blood seeping beneath the fabric. A fragile thread of life still clung to her.
My interest faded.
I turned to leave.
Clara’s POV
My hand moved on instinct.
My weak fingers wrapped around his ankle.
He froze.
I couldn’t even lift my head. I didn’t know who he was. It didn’t matter.
Anywhere was better than my family.
Right now, I only wanted to survive.
“Please…” My voice cracked. “Don’t let me die. I’ll do anything. I promise.”
Michael’s POV
When she said those words — I’ll do anything — something flickered in my eyes.
The rain poured harder. Thunder rolled overhead.
“Anything?” I asked calmly.
Clara’s POV
I nodded weakly, still clinging to him.
“Yes… please… I don’t want to die…”
I didn’t care who he was.
I didn’t care what he wanted.
I just wanted to live.
Michael’s POV
My assistant exchanged a glance with the driver.
Marriage.
The Board.
The pressure.
The media.
This girl… solved everything.
I looked down at her again.
Broken. Desperate. Still breathing.
“Then marry me,” I said slowly.
Clara’s POV
I froze.
“…what?”
Michael’s POV
“You need to live,” I said flatly. “And I need a wife. Temporary. Two years. In return… I’ll keep you alive.”
Clara’s POV
Lightning split the sky.
I didn’t know who he was.
I didn’t know where I was.
I only knew one thing:
I didn’t want to die here.
Not before I destroyed the people who destroyed me.
My fingers tightened around him.
“…Fine,” I whispered. “I agree.”
There was no romance.
No warmth.
Just survival.
Just a deal made in the rain.
Michael’s POV
“Good,” I said. “Then don’t die.”
Rain hammered the ground.
I didn’t rescue people.
I didn’t pick up strays left behind by fate.
But she was useful.
“Put her in the car,” I ordered.
Then I paused.
“I’ll carry her.”
As I lifted her, she refused to let go — still clinging, still begging life to stay inside her — not knowing that fate had just placed her in my arms.
The Next Morning
Narrator POV
In the villa, Old Madam had already arrived.
Last night she’d heard the shocking news — Michael had brought a woman home.
A woman.
To his villa.
The maid who told her also added that Michael had ordered everyone to take care of the girl — whether he personally cared or not.
For Michael Blake to react like that… their relationship clearly wasn’t simple.
Old Madam hadn’t slept a wink. Excitement wouldn’t let her.
So early the next morning, she was already at the villa, standing in Michael’s study.
“Grandma, what are you doing here so early?” he asked calmly.
“Huh, can’t I visit my own grandson? And why are you asking — obviously because I missed you so much,” Old Madam lied smoothly.
“As you can see, I’m fine. It’s too early. Go home and rest,” he replied.
“Huh? Isn’t this my home too?” she muttered to herself.
She waited for him to mention the girl.
He didn’t.
So she did.
“Mhmm… I heard you brought a girl home last night,” she said casually, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Michael’s gaze darkened slightly.
So there’s a mole among them. He would deal with that maid later.
“So you didn’t come because you missed me,” he said dryly.
Old Madam ignored him completely.
“Is she your wife? What’s her name? I heard she was sick last night. You didn’t hurt her, did you?” she fired off rapidly.
Michael didn’t answer.
Silence — which Old Madam took as a yes.
“You’re not getting any younger. You finally found someone — don’t scare her away! Smile more. Stop being so cold all the time!” she scolded.
“I want to see her. I must see the girl,” she added firmly.
Michael sighed.
Meanwhile…
On the top floor, Clara slowly opened her heavy eyelids. She didn’t know how long she’d slept.
Her mind replayed last night, and she gripped the bedsheet.
She wasn’t sparing the Cole family.
Not anymore.
She finally took in the room. It was luxurious.
So… the man who brought her here was very wealthy.
Just then, she heard the maids whispering outside.
“The Old Madam has arrived.”
“She rushed here after hearing the Young Master brought a lady back.”
“Could she be his wife?”
“She definitely came to see her.”
It hit Clara then.
She was now his wife.
His fake wife.
Her heart raced. Before she could process anything, the maids scattered — Old Madam was coming.
Clara lay back down, closing her eyes.
The door opened softly.
Old Madam walked in — Michael following behind her.
Her gaze instantly fell on the girl lying quietly on the bed.
Clara’s skin was pale. Her lips were dry. Her tired eyes still carried a soft, fragile calm — and despite everything, there was the faintest smile there.
Old Madam’s heart tightened. Her eyes watered.
Even Michael paused.
“Who did this to her?” he thought silently.
“Oh dear…” Old Madam breathed, hurrying to sit beside the bed. She gently took Clara’s slender fingers into her wrinkled hands. “Look at you…”
Her palm brushed Clara’s cheek with trembling tenderness.
Such deep concern…
Clara almost pulled away.
No one had ever looked at her like that.
But she wanted to believe that good people still existed.
Someone like this Old Madam.
Slowly… Clara relaxed.
Her lips moved.
“…Grandma.”
Her voice was soft. Careful.
Old Madam’s eyes glowed with warmth. She turned to Michael proudly.
“See? She called me Grandma. She’s a good child. Perfect for you.”
Then she looked back at Clara.
“What’s your name, child?”
“Clara… Clara Cole,” she replied.
Old Madam nodded lovingly.
“Take care of yourself. And come visit me often. Don’t let his cold attitude scare you — he’s soft inside. If he bullies you, report him to me. We’ll deal with him together.”
Clara laughed lightly.
“Grandma, don’t worry. He… treats me very well.”
“Oh? Look at you already taking his side,” Old Madam smiled. “Good. Very good.”
Reluctantly, she stood.
“I’ll be going now. Rest well.”
Michael walked her out.
Silence filled the room again.
Clara let out a soft sigh.
She already missed the old woman.
And somewhere deep inside…
a strange warmth began to grow.
A warmth she had never known before.
But warmth… could be dangerous.
Especially when your world was built on lies.
- Writer
