Chapter 5
1205 Words
Clara’s POV
In the evening, I stepped out of the room.
My steps were light on the marble floor as I admired the beauty of the villa.
Before I knew it, I was standing in a large room.
Tall bookshelves lined the walls.
A desk stood at the center — everything arranged with cold precision. As though no one had ever dared to disturb it.
I didn’t need to be told.
This was Michael Blake’s study.
The air felt different here.
Cold. Sharp. Controlled.
Just like him.
My fingers brushed the desk and a paper slipped free from a file. I bent to pick it up—
Footsteps.
Someone was coming.
My heart froze and I slipped behind a shelf, breath shallow.
The door opened.
Jamel Black walked in, voice low as he made a call.
And the words I heard—
My blood turned to ice.
Dawen Courtyard.
Sold.
When he left, I stepped out on unsteady legs. My heart hammered painfully.
No…
My mother’s courtyard.
My childhood.
The only place that still smelled like love.
And Michael…
He was selling it.
My hands trembled.
I couldn’t let it happen.
Not that.
Not ever.
I learned where he was.
Golden Nugget Club.
And so I went.
Narrator POV (Michael in Scene)
The bass throbbed through the private suite. Shadows kissed velvet seats. Perfume thickened the air.
He sat at the center of it all.
Michael Blake.
Reclined. Sleeves rolled. Collar undone.
Dark. Untouchable. Beautiful in a way that should have been illegal.
Women surrounded him — silk and laughter and painted smiles. One traced a finger down his chest. Another leaned in close.
He didn’t smile.
But he didn’t stop them either.
Clara’s POV
I stood at the entrance.
My chest hurt.
How can someone look this cold… and still feel like home?
Then I remembered.
The courtyard.
My mother.
And the ache sharpened.
I walked forward, feeling every gaze cut into my skin.
“Michael.”
He didn’t look up.
“Michael,” I said again — louder.
The room fell silent.
Eyes burned into me.
He finally lifted his gaze.
Detached. Empty.
“What is it?”
My throat tightened. “The courtyard. You’re selling it.”
He didn’t deny it.
“Yes.”
Just that.
Like it meant nothing.
My heart cracked. “That courtyard belonged to my mother. It’s the last memory I have of her. Please… don’t.”
A faint muscle ticked in his jaw.
Barely there.
“I don’t operate on feelings, Clara. Land is land.”
One of the women laughed softly.
Something collapsed inside my chest.
“It’s not land,” I whispered. “It’s where I learned to read. Where she braided my hair. Where she—”
My voice broke.
I swallowed it down and continued anyway.
“It’s the last place I can still feel her.”
For a heartbeat…
The world stilled.
His gaze darkened.
But the softness never reached the surface.
Instead, he turned slightly toward the woman beside him.
“I’ve decided to gift it to her.”
The room tilted.
I stared.
At the woman.
At him.
At everything I was losing.
“You… gave my mother’s courtyard… to a woman in a club?”
Pain crawled up my spine.
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
My hands shook. “Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything.”
His gaze sharpened.
Anything.
My heart pounded.
I am begging. I have already fallen too low…
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes burning through me.
“You seem familiar with doing anything, Clara.”
He meant that night.
The humiliation I buried inside my bones.
My chest squeezed — but I didn’t back away.
“Please,” I whispered. “I don’t want to lose it. Not again.”
Narrator POV (Michael’s inner response)
For a split second… something inside him twisted.
He hated the way her voice trembled.
He hated how fragile she looked.
He hated how much it affected him.
But weakness was something Michael Blake had sworn never to feel.
So he buried it.
Crushed it.
Smothered it.
Until all that remained was ice.
Narrator POV (Club Scene — External)
An older man approached.
Arrogant. Wealth sticking to his skin like oil.
“This the girl?” he asked lazily.
Michael didn’t look at her.
“Yes.”
The word cut the air.
“She’ll warm your bed tonight.”
The world stopped breathing.
Clara’s POV
I stared at him.
At the man I had once thought was my salvation.
My lips trembled. “Michael… I—”
He didn’t blink.
The old man smiled. “Come, little dove.”
Laughter rippled somewhere behind us.
I swallowed my pride.
If this is the price… I’ll pay it.
“For the courtyard,” I whispered. “I’ll do it.”
Something shattered in my chest.
I didn’t cry.
Tears felt too gentle for this.
He leaned back, expression unreadable.
“Go.”
And I realized—
He wasn’t going to stop me.
Not this time.
Not ever.
My heart collapsed in silence.
Maybe… I never mattered at all.
I turned away.
Michael’s POV
I watched her.
Every step.
Every breath.
Every wound I carved into her.
I expected her to refuse.
To scream.
To cling.
But she walked toward the darkness instead.
Something violent tore through my chest.
Jealousy.
Rage.
Fear.
I grabbed the nearest woman and kissed her — mouth bruising, punishing.
Not pleasure.
Punishment.
For myself.
For caring.
For wanting.
I tasted nothing.
But Clara turned back —
Just in time to see it.
Narrator POV
Her heart broke quietly.
She disappeared into the corridor.
And the world tilted off its axis.
Michael’s POV
You fool, I thought. You stubborn, reckless fool.
Why did it hurt?
Why did it feel like losing something I never admitted I wanted?
The hallway swallowed Clara as she disappeared with the old man. Her footsteps faded—soft… steady… and then gone.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
Only my jaw tightened, a storm flashing silently in my eyes before vanishing beneath layers of ice.
The music throbbed around me like a living thing. Perfume. Laughter. Glasses clinking. A woman slid back into my lap, fingers tracing the line of my throat. Another leaned in to whisper something sinful against my ear.
I didn’t hear her.
Because somewhere behind the walls—
A muffled thud.
A cry.
A crash.
I heard it.
My hand twitched.
I knew.
She was in danger.
I inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled.
And leaned back.
I closed my eyes.
Not to enjoy.
But to suffocate the urge to stand.
To choose her.
No.
She wasn’t meant to matter.
I kissed another woman instead.
Cameras flashed.
Rumors spread.
And then—
A scream.
I heard it.
I did not move.
I did not go.
I did not save her.
I drowned myself in the lie instead.
Clara’s POV
So when I stumbled in that locked room, heart pounding, realizing I was truly alone…
There was no cavalry.
No hero.
Only silence.
And somewhere in the suffocating dark, I whispered shakily:
“Of course… I was a fool to think you’d come.”
- Writer
