Chapter 7: A Dangerous Bargain
Nathan instantly shoves Elena and Mia behind his body, spreading his arms wide to shield them from Clara’s line of sight. The sunlight catching the edges of the boxwood leaves casts dappled, erratic patterns across Clara’s face, making her expression shift between serene and demonic.
“Stay back, Clara,” Nathan commands, his voice steadying despite the cold knot forming in his stomach. “It’s over. You can’t justify this. If you hurt us, there’s no coming back. The authorities already have copies of the financial records in my cloud storage; they’ll be notified automatically if I don't check in by noon.”
It is a bluff—a desperate fabrication born of corporate paranoia—but it halts Clara in her tracks. Her eyes narrow as she weighs the truth of his statement, her calculating mind assessing the risk.
“You always were far too organized for your own good, Nathan,” Clara says, her tone dripping with venomous sarcasm. “Always backing up files, always securing assets, always protecting your precious career. But you forgot one simple rule of survival: desperation is stronger than encryption.”
Clara takes a slow step forward, her bare feet making no sound on the damp grass. Her posture is relaxed, almost predatory, like a cat toying with cornered mice before the final strike.
“Let’s make a deal, husband,” Clara continues, tilting her head. “You walk away. You take your clothes, your car, your clean record. You sign over your shares of the firm to my name, and you pretend this little domestic accident never happened. You go back to your downtown condo, and I keep the estate, the prestige, and the illusion of perfection. As for the maid and her little mistake—they vanish quietly into the night, exactly where they belong.”
Elena gasps, clutching Mia tighter. “No! She’ll kill us the second we step off the property! Don't listen to her, Nathan!”
Nathan doesn't blink. He looks past Clara’s shoulder, noticing a subtle shift in the shadows near the center fountain just behind her. A heavy iron watering can rests on a low stone wall, positioned precariously close to the edge. If he can engage Clara in conversation for just thirty more seconds, he might be able to create an opening.
“And if I refuse your terms?” Nathan asks, his voice dropping into a dangerous calm.
May you like
Clara’s smile vanishes, replaced by a cold, dead-eyed glare.
“Then nobody leaves this maze alive. I have a burner phone in the house programmed to alert the board of directors and the tabloid press with every single secret you’ve ever paid me to bury. Your career, your reputation, your life—everything turns to ash.”
