He kicked me out onto the street with the kids, and a year later hes crawling back, begging for cash
Hello, dragonfly, crackled the familiar voice in my ear, almost nauseatingly. Didnt expect to hear from me?
Clara froze, a bottle of perfume still clutched in her hand. The wardrobe smelled of sandalwood and success, but the air suddenly grew heavy and tacky, like the stairwell where shed once spent nights with her children.
What do you want, Glen? she forced herself to say it evenly, not glancing at the snickering Milo and Pauline coming from the nursery.
Straight to business, then. No how are you? or whats new?. Were not strangers, Clara. Remember, we share two kids.
He smiled. The sound scraped her nerves like a rusty nail on glass. A whole year she hadnt heard that grin, that tone that tried to reclaim his right to her, to her life.
I remember. What do you need? he asked, his voice a flat echo of the past.
Clara set the perfume bottle on the marble countertop. Her fingers trembled, but her voice held steady. Shed learned that.
Money.
Plain and simple. No apologies, no preamble. He hadnt changed a bit.
You serious?
And I look like a joker? his anger cut through the words. Ive got real problems, Clara. Serious ones. And you, I hear, are living the dream: a manor, a billionaire husband, a press that never lies?
She stared at her reflection. The woman looking back wore a silk robe, hair done in a pricey salon. Not the exhausted, tearstreaked fool hed thrown out the door with two suitcases of childrens clothes.
Is that a problem for your new sugardad? Throwing a former husbands exwife a little trouble?
Business didnt work out, you see? Hed dabbled in crypto and it blew up. He needs cash to settle scores with people who dont forget.
Clara imagined him, slumped in a chair, the same smug smile, convinced shed crumble again, that the guilt hed milked from her for years would finally bite.
You left us out in the cold, Glen. Do you remember what Pauline said when we were sitting on the platform?
Spare me the sob story. Im not asking for a palace. £60,000. A pittance for you. Pay for my silence, if you like.
Silence? About what?
About the price you paid for this sweet life. Think your boss, Mr. Ormond, will be thrilled if I spill a few juicy details from our past?
The wardrobe door swung open and David Ormond stepped in, impeccably dressed in a tailormade suit, calm and confident. He saw her face, frowned, and asked silently, All good?
Clara met his caring gaze, while Glens voice hissed through the earpiece. Two worlds collided: the one shed built, and the one he was trying to dismantle.
So, Clara? Glen pressed on. Will you help a poor relative? Because if hes on his knees begging for cash in a year, his affairs are truly dire.
She gave David a slow nod, signalling that she had things under control. For the first time in this conversation a different tone slipped into her voice: not fear, but something cold and sharp.
When and where? she asked.
They arranged to meet in the bland café of a shopping centre. Loud music, the smell of popcorn, teenagers laughter perfect for a scream nobody would hear.
Claras old habit was to sort problems out where she least wanted a scene.
Glen was already at the table, a cheaplooking suit trying too hard to look expensive, lazily swirling a drink.
Running late, he said instead of greeting, not even looking up. Its rude to keep a father of two waiting.
Clara sat opposite him, set her bag on the table and kept a firm grip on it.
I wont give you £60,000, Glen.
Really? he finally lifted his eyes, envy flickering as he surveyed her dress and ring. Changed your mind? I could just call your David now. Getting his number isnt a problem.
I can offer you £300,000 and a job. David has connections, he
Glen laughed loudly, tossed his head back. A few nearby diners turned to stare.
A job? Youre serious? You expect me to be a cadet going to interviews? Youve forgotten who I am, Clara. Im a businessman! I need startup capital, not handouts.
His voice hardened, he leaned forward and lowered it:
You sit here, all proper. Think I dont know how you got him? You told him I was a monster and you a helpless lamb? And you remember that call you made a week before meeting him, sobbing, begging him to come back? Id bet hed love to hear that.
Each sentence landed like a punch, striking at her deepest fear that David would see her as the broken, dependent exwife.
Clara silently pulled out a cheque book, still hoping for a compromise, still trying to settle nicely.
Ill write you a cheque for £10,000, her voice sounded hoarse. Thats the most I can do. Take it and disappear from our lives. Please.
She slid the paper across.
Glen took the cheque with two fingers, held it up to his eyes, examined it as if it were a jewel. Then, with smug satisfaction, he tore it into four pieces.
You think youve humiliated me? he hissed. £10,000? Thats your gratitude for the years I spent on you? For the kids?
He tossed the scraps onto the glossy table; they fell like dead butterflies.
£60,000, Clara. Either pay up, or I wont fade away. Ill become your curse: calls, texts, collecting the kids after school, telling them who their real dad is. You have one week.
He stood, flung a handful of crumpled notes onto the table for his drink, and left without a glance back.
Clara sat frozen, watching the torn cheque. Music blared, people laughed, and inside her something hardened. Fear turned to icy resolve. The negotiation had collapsed, disgracefully, finally.
The week stretched like a marathon. Clara barely slept, flinching at every ring. She searched for an exit, but the sticky dread clung. She feared not just herself, but the life David had given her and the children.
On the seventh day, he struck.
When she collected the kids from the art club, Pauline was unusually quiet. At home, as she tucked her daughter into bed, Clara saw a bright candy on a stick in the little girls hand one shed never bought.
Where did you get that, Pauline? she asked.
The girls eyes widened with fear as she whispered:
Uncle gave it to me today. He said hes my real dad and will soon take us away from that awful dad David. Mum, arent we going to stay with Davids dad?
Something clicked inside Clara. Fear and panic vanished, leaving a cold emptiness that quickly filled with something else: steel, unbreakable.
He dared to approach her children. To use them.
Enough.
That evening, when David walked in from work, a different woman was waiting. Her eyes were dry, her gaze steady and hard.
We need to talk, she said without preamble, pulling him into a chair in the office.
She laid it all out. No tears, no excuses. How Glen had thrown her out with the kids, how shed slept in the stairwell, how shed been humiliated, how shed lived in fear that the past would ruin the present, and how today hed approached Pauline.
David listened in silence, his face turning stone with each word. When she finished, he asked nothing. He simply
What do you want to do? he asked, his voice even, but the calm held a weight.
I want him gone. Forever. Not the way he thinks. Im not paying him. I want him to realise hes made the biggest mistake of his life.
She looked straight into his eyes and, for the first time, saw not only love and care but full approval of her darkest side.
Ten minutes later she dialled Glens number. Her hands no longer trembled.
Im in, she said evenly. £60,000. Tomorrow at noon. Ill send the address. Come yourself.
Glen snorted smugly into the handset:
Ah, the clever one. Been a while.
She hung up. The address she would send wasnt a bank or a restaurant. It was the headquarters of David Ormonds corporation.
Glen entered the glass skyscraper with a victors swagger, shoulders squared in his best suit, admiring the icy opulence of the lobby. He walked his own money, his own justice, as he saw it.
They escorted him to the fortieth floor, into a conference room with a panoramic window that made the city look like a toy set.
Clara was already there, seated at the head of a long table, composed and calm, dressed in a severe navy dress. Beside her sat David, and a few seats away a man with an unreadable face.
Take a seat, Glen, Clara gestured to the chair opposite.
His confidence wavered a touch. Hed expected her alone, scared, with a suitcase of cash.
And whats this? he glanced at David. A family council? I thought wed negotiated already.
You negotiated with my family, David replied, his stare unbroken. This is different.
Clara slid a thick folder across to him.
£60,000, Glen. You wanted it. But just handing it over is boring. We decided to invest it in you.
Glen stared at the folder in bewilderment.
Whats that?
Your business, explained the stonefaced man, the head of Davids security. Or rather, whats left of it. Debts, a couple of criminal fraud cases about to surface. Very risky assets.
He opened the folder. Inside were copies of court orders, bank statements, photographs of his meetings with unsavory characters. His face changed colour.
We cleared your most urgent debts, Clara continued. The ones that would have waited for a verdict. Consider it a gift. In return
David placed a few sheets and a pen on the table.
You sign this. Full relinquishment of parental rights. And a threeyear employment contract.
Glen burst into a manic laugh.
Are you mad? Me? Working for you?
Not for you, corrected David. For one of our subsidiary companies.
In the north, on a construction site. Foreman, decent pay, proper conditions. Return after three years, debtfree and with a clean record.
Get lost! Glen shrieked, springing to his feet. Ill ruin you! Ill tell everyone!
Youll tell, the security chief nodded, tapping the folder. But after that, your words will be worth less than this paper. And these documents will end up on a detectives desk today. The choice is yours.
Glen swept his gaze over their faces: Claras calm, Davids steel, the guards indifference. No doubt, no chance. He was in a trap.
He sank heavily into the chair. All his bravado crumbled like cheap gilt. Before him sat not a predator, but a cornered jackal.
His trembling hand grasped the pen.
When the final signature was set, Clara rose, circled the table and stopped directly in front of him.
You said if a man crawls back on his knees a year later, his affairs are dire, she reminded softly.
Youre not on your knees, Glen. Just the floor is too pricey here. Youve got your startup capital. Begin a new life.
She turned and walked out without looking back. David followed, laying a hand on her shoulder.
In the vast conference room, under the detached stare of the guard, the broken man remained seated the winner who had lost everything.
