Claire waited until lunchtime to make the call. She knew Leon wouldn't be in the office—she had made sure of that. Earlier that morning, she'd conspired with Sam to draw him away, giving her the window she needed. With calm determination, she dialed Val's number.
"I need to see you," Claire said simply, her voice low but firm.
There was a pause on the other end. Then Val responded, "Where?"
Claire sent the location—an abandoned building on the edge of the city—and added, "You must come."
Val wasn't afraid. She was curious. She knew Claire was capable of drama, but this felt… different. There was something calculated in her tone, like a chess player making her final move. Val's curiosity outweighed her caution.
She arrived at the location, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the dusty ground. The building was eerily quiet. Its broken windows and rusted iron beams loomed above her like silent sentinels. Inside, Claire stood by a dusty window, sipping red wine from a delicate glass, the color dark as blood.
"Well," Claire said, raising her glass slightly. "Mrs. Val really kept her promise and came."
Val's heels clicked sharply on the concrete floor as she approached. "Of course, Miss Claire. So, please get to the point—I have meetings to attend back at the office."
Claire scoffed, swirling the wine in her glass. "Is it really a meeting… or are you just going back to play mistress with Mr. Royales?"
Val's eyes narrowed. "That's my personal life. And I know exactly what to do with it. If you've brought me here to throw petty insults, I'll take my leave."
She turned, her back straight and proud—but Claire's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"You're beautiful… and smart. I envy you," she said, her voice trembling now, not with anger, but pain. "So why would someone like you stoop so low to take Leon from me? He's all I have. My only life. My happiness."
Val froze.
Claire took a shaky breath and stepped closer. "You're a homewrecker, Val. Is that what your mother taught you? Or did you pick that up on your own?"
The words echoed.
They struck something deep inside Val—sharp and familiar.
A memory surged: the cold aisles of a supermarket, the sound of shattered glass, and her mother's tear-streaked face. She had been only a child, clinging to the shopping cart while a woman—Mary, her father's first love—screamed and hurled accusations. Val could still hear the words: "Is this what you taught your daughter? To steal what isn't hers?" She remembered the slap that never came, her mother's silence, and her father—who stood beside Mary, not his wife.
The shame. The helplessness. The betrayal.
Now, all those emotions rushed back.
She turned to face Claire, her voice calm but charged with quiet fury. "Mrs. Claire, I have no intention of stealing anyone—least of all Leon. Not in the slightest. Whatever you think is happening between us is a figment of your own insecurities."
Claire's eyes shimmered with tears. "He was supposed to be mine."
Val's expression softened for a brief second, but she didn't falter. "Leon and I… we will never be together. Not because of you or your accusations—but because I choose not to be a part of this mess. I've seen what it does to people. I've lived it. I won't repeat it."
With that, she walked away, heels echoing in the hollow space like thunderclaps.
When she got home, the silence of her apartment felt heavier than usual. The walls closed in with memories and loneliness. For the first time in a long while, she felt truly homesick—not for her parents, but for the simpler days when love didn't feel like war.
She thought of Ava, her best friend, the one who always knew how to make her laugh until her sides hurt. She missed those days—their shared secrets, sleepless nights, and the wild freedom of youth.
She curled up on the couch and allowed herself to cry. Not for Claire. Not for Leon.
But for the little girl who once watched her mother be humiliated and swore she'd never end up like her.
And now here she was… in the crossfire of another woman's heartbreak.