Chapter 78
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078
…Flashback…
CLAIRE climbed the acacia as the light leaned golden, camera strap snug across her shoulder. The reserve below was a slow thrum of life, distant bellows, a scatter of hooves, the hollow cough of birds. She was given permission to climb; the ranger had winked, pointed out the branches that would hold her weight, and told her the angles the trucks never show. Photography was her refuge, a place where she can make sense of things by freezing them into frames.
She moved carefully, each foothold considered, and let the shutter sing. Lions, a lanky giraffe, a skittish herd of impala, she captured them all, hunting light and shadow. Between those raw beasts she found people: tourists in corrugated trucks, their faces tilted, hands pointing. She liked the contrast, human smallness boxed against a wild, indifferent horizon.
Back in her studio the photos bloom on the monitor like a spill of bottled moments. She worked through them, coaxing detail out of mane and dust, then idly scrolled to the panels she took of the trucks. As she worked, one frame pinned her thumb, one particular frame. It was a couple, and she zoomed in. The woman’s finger was extended toward a running deer; the man’s left arm was slung possessively around her waist.
Her breath caught, as the face came into focus. It was none other but Adrian. Her sister’s husband. The recognition was immediate, hot and acidic.
She quickly combed the folder until she found a second frame, same truck but different angle. It was Adrian again, unmistakable. But something was striking, the woman beside him was not Amelia. It was not his wife. She has different cheekbones, a different smile. It was clearly a stranger’s intimacy pressed close to her brother-in-law.
The color drained from Claire’s face; for a second she felt the room tilt. Then something colder seized her features, an ugly, small smile, her contempt sharpened by long, stored resentment.
“Hmm,” she murmured, eyes never leaving the screen. “So Mr. Perfect isn’t perfect after all p>
There was a steady, almost clinical precision in what comes next. She quickly cropped, enlarged and sharpened the stranger’s face until it sat in a folder labeled with a date. She then named the files with code, duplicated them, and hid them in subfolders. For days the image played at the edge of her vision, Adrian’s arm, that other woman leaning into him as if she owned his attention.
A week later, Claire arranged the meeting with a quiet, measured hand, on a neutral ground, at a restaurant that wore anonymity well, with soft lighting, booths that swallowed overheard words. She wanted a place without witnesses, where a conversation can be a closed ecosystem.
Vivian arrived with the guarded composure of someone used to being useful by accident and dangerous by design. She sized Claire up the moment they sat, the sister of the woman who commands Adrian’s name in living rooms and boardrooms. Vivian didn’t come because she was curious; she came because Claire made it worth her while, the threat folded neatly into an offer.
They circled small talk at first, who knows whom, who sat where in the social orbit. Vivian’s suspicion was tight
as wire.
“So
you want to expose me to your sister?” Vivian asked at last, the accusation slick beneath the surface of her tone. “You want Amelia to know? Well, let me tell you straight up, Adrian is at fault. He came to me. He asked me out. He found me worthy and p>
Claire’s interruption was like a blade wrapped in velvet.
“I’m not here to talk about who started what,” she said, her voice low and steady. “I’m here for something else p>
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Vivian leaned forward, curiosity flickering across her face.
“Ok, go on then. What is it p>
“You see,” Claire said, and she spoke like someone lowering a trapdoor, “Amelia and I have never been simple sisters. We have had rough beginnings, very rough. I don’t always see her as a sister, often I see her as competition. I have a simple task for you p>
“What is that?” Vivian asked, suspicion and interest colliding in her stare.
“Keep Adrian busy in your bosom. Keep him busy away from his family, away from his home. Be the reason he falters, be the reason he misses dinners, be the reason he keeps late nights. Make him need you until he forgets to be everything else p>
Vivian’s eyes widen. The audacity of the request landed like a slap.
“I want to beat her at least in one thing,” Claire says, voice cold with hunger. “I want her mother to know that Amelia doesn’t have that perfect life she always talks about. Do this, and I will never, never spill the beans,” she said.
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Cedella
Cedella is a passionate storyteller known for her bold romantic and spicy novels that keep readers hooked from the very first chapter. With a flair for crafting emotionally intense plots and unforgettable characters, she blends love, desire, and drama into every story she writes. Cedella’s storytelling style is immersive and addictive—perfect for fans of heated romances and heart-pounding twists.