Klara pulled Sierra close, her heart aching as her daughter’s innocent questions pierced the heavy silence. The streets of Berlin, vibrant and full of life, blurred around her. The towering buildings and the hum of expensive cars passing by seemed distant, unimportant. Her mind was consumed with the image she had just witnessed—the betrayal, the devastation.
“Mommy, why can’t we see Daddy?” Sierra asked again, her bright, curious eyes searching Klara’s face for an answer.
Klara’s throat tightened. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. What could she say? How could she explain this to her little girl without breaking her heart?
Forcing herself to focus, Klara pulled out her phone and dialed the driver’s number. It rang twice before he picked up, his voice polite and professional.
“Madam Klara, should I bring the bags up to the penthouse now?” he asked, his tone oblivious to the turmoil she was in.
Her stomach churned. She had forgotten about the carefully packed bags waiting in the car. The gifts she had chosen with so much love and hope were now a cruel reminder of a dream shattered. “No,” she said quickly, her voice trembling. “Don’t… don’t take them up. Meet me near Kurfürstendamm instead.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there shortly,” the driver replied.
She hung up and turned her attention to Sierra, who was still holding the hand-painted card tightly. Klara’s hands shook as she reached into her bag and pulled out one of Sierra’s favorite toys—a plush dragon with golden wings. “Here, sweetie,” she said softly, crouching down to hand it to her daughter.
Sierra’s eyes lit up as she took the toy, but her gaze quickly returned to her mother. “Are we going to see Daddy later? I made him this card, and I wanna give it to him.”
Klara’s heart twisted painfully. “Maybe another day, sweetheart,” she whispered, brushing a tear from Sierra’s cheek before she realized it was her own. “Right now, we’re going home.”
As they walked toward the meeting point, Klara felt as if she were on autopilot. Her legs moved, her hands adjusted Sierra’s scarf against the chill, but her mind was miles away. Questions swirled endlessly. Should she confront Dominic? Demand answers? Or should she leave and never look back? How could she protect Sierra from the fallout of this betrayal?
The car pulled up, and the driver stepped out to open the door. Klara helped Sierra climb into the back seat before sliding in herself. The moment the door closed, the silence inside the car felt suffocating. Klara stared out the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks as they drove.
“Home, ma’am?” the driver asked cautiously, sensing her distress.
Klara hesitated. “The airport,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. She had to leave Berlin. She couldn’t stay in the city where her heart had just been broken. Not tonight.
The car’s gentle hum was a stark contrast to the storm raging inside Klara. She sat stiffly in the backseat, her gaze fixed out the window, though she saw none of the bright lights passing by. Her thoughts spiraled in a chaotic loop, each one sharper and more painful than the last.
Should she confront Dominic later? Should she demand an explanation? Could there even be an explanation for what she had seen? Or should she leave quietly, sever the bond, and never look back?
Her phone rested heavily in her lap, its screen dark, but the temptation to reach out was overwhelming. Her fingers brushed against it, and for a brief moment, she considered texting him. She wanted to scream at him, to pour out all the betrayal and agony twisting inside her. She wanted him to feel a fraction of the pain she was drowning in. Her fingers hovered over the screen, trembling.
But then she glanced at Sierra. Her daughter was softly humming to herself, clutching the dragon plushie tightly. Her little face was the picture of innocence, her eyes shining with the simplicity of a child’s trust in the world. Klara’s hand fell away from the phone.
No. She couldn’t do this now. Not with Sierra here. And maybe not ever.
Taking a deep breath, Klara stuffed the phone into her bag. Expressing her pain wouldn’t change what had happened. It wouldn’t undo the image burned into her mind or erase the ache in her chest. She needed clarity, time, and space to figure out what came next.
“Mommy?” Sierra’s soft voice broke the silence. “Why are we leaving?”
Klara’s throat tightened, but she forced a gentle smile. “We’re going to go home sweetheart. We will visit daddy on another day, okay?”
Sierra’s brows furrowed, but she nodded, her tiny hand reaching out to squeeze Klara’s. The simple gesture grounded her, reminding her of what truly mattered. Whatever happened next, Sierra came first.
The car slowed as they approached the airport, the driver glancing back through the rearview mirror. “We’ve arrived, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Klara murmured. She stepped out of the car, taking Sierra’s hand and holding it tightly as they entered the terminal. The bright lights and bustling crowds were almost disorienting, but she moved on autopilot, checking in for the next available flight to London.
As they waited near the gate, Klara’s mind wandered again. London. Home. It felt like an empty word now, a place that no longer held the warmth she once associated with it. But it was a start. A place to regroup, to think. To plan.
The boarding call came, and Klara carried Sierra onto the plane. The little girl leaned her head against Klara’s shoulder, yawning softly. “Are we going to surprise Daddy later?” Sierra asked, her voice drowsy.
Klara swallowed hard, kissing Sierra’s hair. “We’ll see, baby,” she whispered, her heart breaking all over again.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
As the plane took off into the night, Klara stared out the window at the dark expanse of sky, her mind finally quieting. For now, there were no answers. Only questions. Only the first painful steps toward rebuilding a life she had thought was unshakable.
--------------
Klara’s hands trembled as she unlocked the front door to their cozy London home, Sierra’s sleepy form draped over her shoulder. The familiar warmth of the house enveloped her, but it felt hollow now, like a faded echo of what it used to be.
She carried Sierra to her bedroom, carefully tucking her into bed. The little girl stirred, her tiny hand reaching out to clutch Klara’s fingers. “Goodnight, Mommy,” she murmured, her voice soft and full of trust.
“Goodnight, my love,” Klara whispered, leaning down to kiss Sierra’s forehead. She lingered for a moment, her tears falling silently as she watched her daughter’s peaceful face. For Sierra, she had to hold it together. At least for now.
Once Sierra was settled, Klara moved to the living room, her chest tight with emotions she could no longer suppress. She picked up her phone and dialed Anya. It didn’t even ring twice before Dominic’s sister answered.
“Klara! How was the surprise?” Anya asked, her voice cheerful, unaware of the storm about to hit.
Klara’s breath hitched. “Anya… I need to tell you something.”
There was a long pause. “What happened?”
Klara sobbed, her words tumbling out in broken pieces as she recounted the scene in the penthouse. Every detail, every emotion. Anya listened in stunned silence, and when Klara finally finished, her tears had blurred her vision completely.
“Klara,” Anya said softly, her voice laced with disbelief. “Are you absolutely sure? Maybe there’s—”
“I saw them,” Klara choked out. “I saw him with her. He was sleeping, Anya. With her in our bed. I—” Her voice cracked, and a fresh wave of sobs consumed her.
Anya cursed under her breath. “I can’t believe this. My brother—what the hell is wrong with him? Klara, I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”
Klara sniffled, wiping at her face uselessly. “Please don’t tell him I know,” she whispered.
“What?” Anya’s voice rose sharply. “Klara, no! He needs to know what he’s done. He needs to face the consequences.”
“No,” Klara said firmly, though her voice wavered. “Not yet. I… I need time to think. I don’t know what to do, Anya. Please promise me you won’t tell him.”
“Klara…” Anya hesitated, clearly torn. “I don’t agree with this. He doesn’t deserve your silence. But if that’s what you want, I promise I won’t tell him. For now.”
“Thank you,” Klara whispered, relief and despair mingling in her chest.
Anya sighed heavily. “I’ll be in London tomorrow. You shouldn’t go through this alone.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” Anya interrupted. “You’re my family, Klara. And Sierra too. I’ll be there, okay?”
Klara nodded, though Anya couldn’t see it. “Okay,” she whispered.
They ended the call, and Klara sat in the silence, the weight of her pain pressing down on her. Her hands shook as she pressed them to her face, her tears soaking her palms. The memories of her life with Dominic swirled in her mind, cutting her like shards of glass.
They had met when she was fresh out of college, her world full of promise. She hadn’t expected to find her mate so soon—people rarely did. But she had been lucky. Or so she thought. Dominic, with his fiery presence and confident smile, had swept her off her feet. Despite his family’s protests, despite their scorn of her being a “weak and poor witch,” Dominic had chosen her.
He had ignored them all and consummated their bond. Their wedding had been small, intimate. Dominic had insisted it was to protect her from the overwhelming pressures of fame. Now, she wondered if it had been something else entirely. Had he been hiding her? Keeping her a secret? A part of him he didn’t want the world to see?
The thought broke her further. She buried her face in her hands, her sobs echoing in the quiet house.
Eventually, exhausted and unable to face the bed she shared with Dominic, she made her way to the guest room. It was cold and unfamiliar, but at least it didn’t hold the memories that haunted her tonight. She curled up under the covers, her body trembling, her tears soaking the pillow beneath her.
Sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains of the guest room, painting the walls in soft, muted tones. Klara blinked against the brightness, her eyes gritty and swollen from a night spent crying. For a moment, she stayed still, wrapped in the unfamiliar comforter, hoping to delay the rush of memories that she knew would hit the second she moved.
But it came anyway. The image of Dominic, the woman, their bed—it all came flooding back with relentless clarity. Her chest tightened, and she pressed her hands against her face, as if she could push the pain away. The faint sounds of Sierra stirring down the hall broke through her anguish. Her daughter. Klara sat up, brushing away stray tears and forcing herself to move. Sierra needed her.
Klara padded quietly into the kitchen, the familiar scent of their home offering a brief, hollow comfort. She began preparing breakfast on autopilot—pancakes, Sierra’s favorite. It wasn’t until she heard the pitter-patter of small feet and Sierra’s cheerful voice calling out, “Mommy!” that Klara managed to muster a smile, even if it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Klara said, scooping Sierra into her arms and planting a kiss on her forehead. Sierra giggled, oblivious to the heaviness weighing down her mother.
“Is Daddy coming today?” Sierra asked innocently, her big eyes shining with hope.
Klara froze, her hands tightening on Sierra’s small frame. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Not today, my love,” she said softly. “But we’ll have fun together, won’t we?”
Sierra nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned her attention to her plate of pancakes. Klara exhaled shakily, her heart breaking a little more with each innocent question. She needed to figure out what to do. This limbo, this pretending, couldn’t last.
By mid-morning, the doorbell rang. Klara opened it to find Anya standing there, her expression a mixture of anger and concern. Without a word, Anya stepped forward and wrapped Klara in a tight embrace.
“Oh, Klara,” Anya whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”
The tears Klara thought she had dried up resurfaced, spilling down her cheeks as she clung to Anya. For the first time since the betrayal, she felt a sliver of relief. Someone else knew. Someone else cared.
They moved to the living room, Sierra playing with her toys nearby. Anya glanced at the little girl, her face softening. “How’s she doing?” she asked quietly.
“She doesn’t know,” Klara said, her voice barely audible. “I haven’t told her anything. I don’t know how to.”
Anya nodded, her jaw tightening. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. My brother…” She paused, her fists clenching. “I can’t believe he would do this to you. To Sierra. It’s disgusting.”
Klara looked down, tears pooling in her eyes. “What do I do, Anya? How do I move forward from this?”
Anya reached for her hand, squeezing it firmly. “First, you take care of yourself and Sierra. Don’t rush into any decisions, Klara. You’re strong, even if you don’t feel it right now.”
After Anya left later that afternoon, Klara sat in the quiet of her living room, Sierra napping peacefully in her bedroom. Anya’s words echoed in her mind: Take care of yourself. Don’t rush.
But how could she not rush? The bond she had cherished for so long felt like a cruel joke now. She felt torn between confronting Dominic and cutting him off entirely. Yet, Anya was right—she needed to take things one step at a time.
Klara made a quiet decision. She wouldn’t reach out to Dominic, not yet. She needed clarity, and she couldn’t trust herself to speak to him without breaking apart. For now, she would focus on Sierra, on creating a safe, stable world for her daughter, even if Klara’s own felt like it was crumbling.
With a deep breath, she wiped her tears and moved toward Sierra’s room. Her daughter’s soft breathing was a reminder of what truly mattered. Whatever came next, Klara knew one thing for certain: she would protect Sierra at all costs, even if it meant facing the storm alone.
---------------------------------------------------------
