"Clara," Damien's voice was a low growl, his patience hanging by a thread. "You're not telling me everything."
She stood rooted to the floor, her arms instinctively wrapping around Lucas, who clung to her leg. His small fingers tightened against the fabric of her dress as if sensing the tension in the room.
"There's nothing more to tell," Clara replied, her voice hard but brittle.
Damien stepped closer, his towering figure casting a long shadow across the room. His gaze flicked between Clara and the boy who was now openly staring at him. "I spent years searching for you, and now I find this?" He gestured toward Lucas, frustration evident in his tone.
Clara's chest heaved, anger rising like a tide. "You didn't come looking for *me*. You came looking for control—just like you always do."
Damien froze at her words, his expression shifting. For a fleeting moment, there was something vulnerable in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly.
"This isn't about control," he said quietly, his voice almost too soft to hear. "It's about answers. You can't keep running from this—running from *me*."
Before Clara could respond, Lucas tugged at her dress. His wide eyes locked onto Damien with a mixture of curiosity and caution. "Why are you yelling at my mom?"
The question hung in the air, slicing through the tension like a knife.
Damien's shoulders slumped slightly, his anger diffusing under the boy's gaze. He crouched down to Lucas's level, his movements slow and deliberate. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice gentler than Clara had ever heard it. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Lucas studied him for a moment, then glanced up at Clara. "Mommy?"
"It's okay," Clara said, though the words felt like a lie. Nothing about this was okay.
Damien's eyes flicked back to her, sharp and searching. "He deserves to know the truth."
"Not from you," she snapped.
But Lucas, ever curious, tilted his head. "What truth?"
The room fell silent. Damien straightened, his jaw tightening as he looked at Clara. "He's smart," Damien said, his voice calm but firm. "You can't keep him in the dark forever."
Clara's heart raced as she tried to think of a way to end this conversation. She wasn't ready—not for this, not now.
"I think it's time for you to leave," she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to sound resolute.
Damien didn't move. "Clara—"
"Please."
Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of regret or maybe understanding. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. But just as he reached for the handle, he stopped.
"This isn't over," he said, his back to her. Then he opened the door and stepped into the storm, disappearing into the night.
Clara let out a shaky breath, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. She knelt down and pulled Lucas into a tight embrace.
"Mommy," Lucas whispered against her shoulder. "Who was that man?"
Her throat tightened. She didn't have an answer he would understand, not yet. "Just someone from the past," she said softly.
Lucas pulled back, his small face scrunched in confusion. "Is he like me?"
Clara's breath hitched. "What do you mean?"
"He felt... different," Lucas said, his voice barely audible. "Like how I feel sometimes."
Her blood ran cold. Lucas had never spoken about his abilities in such a clear way before. She'd hoped he didn't fully understand them yet, but it seemed those days were over.
"Lucas, listen to me," she said, cupping his face in her hands. "You're special, but we have to keep that a secret, okay? It's very important."
He nodded, his innocent eyes trusting her completely. "I won't tell."
Clara kissed his forehead, her mind racing. Damien's sudden appearance had shaken her to the core, but Lucas's words hinted at something even more alarming. If Damien suspected Lucas's abilities—or worse, if others did—her carefully constructed world would come crashing down.
She had to act.
---
Later that night, after Lucas had fallen asleep, Clara sat by the window, staring out into the darkness. The rain had stopped, leaving the world eerily quiet.
Her mind replayed every word Damien had said, every glance he'd thrown Lucas's way. She couldn't deny it anymore—he knew. Or at least, he suspected.
A soft knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts.
Her first instinct was to ignore it, but something compelled her to stand. She approached the door cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest.
When she opened it, she found herself face-to-face with a familiar figure.
"Elaine," Clara breathed, relief flooding through her.
Elaine stepped inside, her sharp eyes scanning the room. She was dripping wet, her coat clinging to her like a second skin. "I saw him," she said without preamble.
Clara's stomach dropped. "Damien?"
Elaine nodded, pulling off her coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. "He's not going to let this go, Clara. You know that, right?"
"I know," Clara admitted, sinking into a chair. "But what am I supposed to do? I can't just... tell him."
Elaine's expression softened as she placed a hand on Clara's shoulder. "You don't have to face this alone. We'll figure it out. Together."
Clara nodded, though her heart still felt heavy. "I just... I don't want Lucas to get hurt."
"He won't," Elaine said firmly. "Not while I'm around."
Just as Clara begins to feel a glimmer of hope with Elaine's support, a faint sound comes from outside—a car engine idling in the distance. Clara rushes to the window and pulls back the curtain. In the darkness, a pair of headlights glows ominously, casting long shadows across the cabin.
Someone is watching.
[28/12, 6:42 am] Prestige: Chapter 11: All over again
The silence that followed Damien's words stretched endlessly, as heavy and suffocating as the storm outside. Clara's heart thundered in her chest, each beat louder than the last, but her face betrayed none of the turmoil inside. She couldn't afford to let him see her panic—not now, not ever.
Lucas, oblivious to the tension, tilted his head and studied Damien with wide, curious eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, his small voice cutting through the charged air.
Damien straightened slowly, his dark eyes flickering between Lucas and Clara. "I'm not," he replied, his tone softer than Clara expected.
"You are," Lucas insisted, his hands tightening around the stuffed wolf he never let go of. "Are you mad at me?"
"No," Damien said, his voice firm now. "I'm not mad at you."
Clara took a step forward, placing herself between them. "Lucas, go to your room. Now."
"But—"
"Now," she repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Lucas hesitated, glancing back at Damien one last time before scurrying down the narrow hallway. The moment he was out of sight, Clara turned to Damien, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and fear.
"You need to leave," she said, her voice low but steady.
Damien didn't move. "You think I'm just going to walk away after that?"
"There's nothing to discuss."
"Don't lie to me, Clara." His voice sharpened, his frustration evident. "He's my son. Isn't he?"
Clara's lips pressed into a thin line. She wanted to deny it, to protect the fragile world she'd built for Lucas, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words. The truth was written all over her face, and Damien wasn't a fool.
"I knew something was off when you left," Damien continued, his tone softer now, almost pained. "But I never imagined—" He stopped himself, running a hand through his dark hair. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Clara laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "Tell you? And what would you have done, Damien? Claimed him as your heir? Dragged him into your dangerous, power-hungry world? No. I couldn't let that happen."
"He's my son," Damien said, his voice rising slightly. "You had no right to keep him from me."
"I had every right!" Clara shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. "You don't understand what it's like to raise a child like him. To protect him. To keep him safe from people who would exploit him—people like you."
Damien flinched at her words, but his resolve didn't waver. "I would never hurt him."
"Maybe not intentionally," Clara said, her voice softening, "but your world would. And I couldn't let that happen."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the howling wind outside, a stark reminder of the storm raging both inside and out.
"I need to know him," Damien said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Clara shook her head. "It's not that simple."
"It is," he insisted. "You might not trust me, but I'm his father, Clara. I have a right to be in his life."
Clara's chest ached at the raw sincerity in his voice, but she couldn't let her guard down. Not yet. "If you care about him," she said slowly, "you'll stay away. At least for now."
Damien's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he took a step back, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "This isn't over," he said, his voice resolute. "I'll give you time, Clara, but I'm not going away. He's my son, and I will be a part of his life."
Before Clara could respond, he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving her alone in the doorway, her heart heavy with uncertainty.
---
Hours later, after Lucas had fallen asleep, Clara sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea she couldn't bring herself to drink. The encounter with Damien replayed in her mind, each word cutting deeper than the last.
She'd known this day would come eventually—known that Damien would find them. But she hadn't expected it to happen like this, so suddenly and without warning.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Clara froze, her pulse quickening. She set the mug down and moved toward the door cautiously, peeking through the small window beside it.
To her surprise, it wasn't Damien. It was someone else—someone she hadn't seen in years.
"Arden," she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.
Arden Westfall stood on the porch, her expression unreadable. She looked different from the last time Clara had seen her—older, wearier, but no less formidable.
Clara opened the door slowly, her mind racing. "What are you doing here?"
Arden stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, her sharp eyes scanning the room. "We need to talk," she said, her voice brisk.
Clara closed the door behind her, her anxiety mounting. "About what?"
"About Lucas," Arden said simply.
Clara's stomach dropped. "How do you—"
"I have my ways," Arden interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You know that."
Clara crossed her arms, trying to mask her unease. "What do you want?"
"To help," Arden said, surprising her.
"Help?" Clara repeated skeptically. "Since when do you care about helping anyone but yourself?"
Arden smirked, a hint of her old self shining through. "I care when it involves keeping the wrong people from getting their hands on a child like Lucas."
Clara stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Arden's expression turned serious. "Word's out, Clara. People know about Lucas. They don't know everything yet, but they know enough. And if we don't act fast, it's only a matter of time before someone comes for him."
Clara's heart raced. She'd worked so hard to keep Lucas's abilities a secret, to keep him safe. But now, it seemed her efforts had been in vain.
"What do you suggest?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Arden's eyes softened, just slightly. "Let me help you. Let me help him."
Clara hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She didn't trust Arden—she never had—but the fear of what could happen if she refused was too great to ignore.
"Fine," she said finally. "But if you hurt him—"
"I won't," Arden said firmly. "You have my word."
Clara nodded, though it did little to ease her nerves. She didn't trust Arden, but for now, she had no choice.
As Arden laid out her plan, Clara's mind was already racing ahead, trying to figure out how to keep Lucas safe in a world that seemed determined to tear them apart.
And in the back of her mind, she couldn't shake the feeling that Damien's return was only the beginning.
As Clara agrees to Arden's help, the threat to Lucas grows, and Damien's determination to be in his son's life complicates everything. Clara must navigate a web of danger and deception, knowing that one wrong move could cost her everything.