Chapter 8: The Confrontation
Chapter 8: The Confrontation
The ballroom had descended into a deafening silence, save for the heavy breathing of the security guards restraining the boy.
Clara slowly raised her eyes from the damning documents. She looked at Richard. The man who had brushed her hair when she cried. The man who had pushed her wheelchair across global stages. The man who had deliberately kept his own child tethered to a chair for a thousand days.
"Why?" Her voice was a fragile whisper, but in the silent room, it struck like a physical blow.
Richard’s face was ashen, the muscles in his jaw ticking. The mask of the benevolent philanthropist completely dissolved, revealing the cold, calculating monster beneath. "Clara, give me those papers. They are forged. That boy is a lunatic."
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He stepped forward, his hand extended to snatch the files. Clara recoiled, clutching the thick stack of papers tightly against her chest.
"Don't touch me," she said, her voice rising, vibrating with a rage she didn't know she possessed.
