Chapter 5 Chapter Five: Business Cards.
Chapter Five: Business Cards.
Qiara’s POV:
I stared at his business card for the rest of the evening. My emotions were complicated.
On one hand, I hated that he thought he could just order me around. I was already drowning in that kind of control with this ridiculous family. On the other hand… there was something about him that unsettled me in a way I couldn’t quite name.
“Ugh. Get it together, Ari.”
I muttered the words aloud, frustration bubbling over. I didn’t really have a choice. He was the funder for this year’s competition. If he wanted to, he could have me removed with a single word.
“What the hell could he possibly want with me?”
I murmured.
A sudden knock at my door jolted me out of my thoughts.
The moment I opened it; I was met with Angelina’s calculating gaze. A smile curled on her lips, sugary and practiced.
“Qi-Qi… I just wanted to apologize again.”
I raised a brow.
“Apologize for what, exactly?”
Her fingers twisted together as she put on her performance of guilt.
“For the competition. I know how badly you wanted to audition. I really did try to talk Father and our brothers into letting you, but—”
I lifted a hand, cutting her off.
“Aren’t you tired of this, Angelina?”
Her eyes widened, a flicker of real shock breaking through her mask.
“T‑tired of what—”
“Of being fake.”
My voice came out flat. I didn’t bother hiding my expression.
“Isn’t it exhausting pretending all the time?”
The color drained from her face.
“But I’m not! I really—”
“You never had any intention of not auditioning,”
I said calmly.
“Neither did Father or Nicholas. The goal was never ‘neither of us.’ It was making sure I didn’t.”
She froze, genuine shock flashing across her face as realization hit.
“Qi-Qi! I don’t know what you mean! I swear I—”
“Good night, Angelina.”
I started to close the door.
She jammed her hand into the gap.
“Ahhh!”
She screamed, loud and piercing, instantly drawing the entire household into the hallway.
“What happened?!”
Lawrence shouted as he rushed out of his study.
“Oh my God! Angie! Are you okay?!”
Selene cried, pushing toward my door.
“What happened?!”
Nicholas yelled.
“What did you do?!”
Desmond demanded, panic flooding his face as he scooped Angelina into his arms like she was made of glass.
“Please don’t blame Qi‑Qi!”
Angelina sobbed.
“It’s my fault! I shouldn’t have—ow!”
She clutched her hand as if it were shattered.
Selene rounded on me immediately.
"You did this on purpose! You’re trying to ruin your sister!”
Before I could even speak, they were already moving—rushing down the stairs, shouting over one another. Desmond cradled Angelina, murmuring reassurances as if she were a porcelain doll.
“Quick! We need to get her to the hospital!”
Lawrence barked, yanking the front door open.
Angelina continued sobbing, begging everyone to forgive me as if she were some kind of saint.
Marcus and Christian lingered behind. Marcus’s face was dark as he stalked toward me.
He grabbed my collar, eyes blazing with murder.
“If anything happens to her hand… you’re fucking dead.”
I didn’t flinch.
“Been there. Done that.”
I smacked his hands away. His face went beet red.
“You fucking bitch—”
“Marcus!”
Christian snapped, grabbing his shoulder.
“Come on. She’s not worth it. Angie needs us.”
Marcus shot me one last venomous look before storming off after him.
That night, Angelina made sure to post nonstop on social media—endless photos and captions about how grateful she was for such a loving family. Dozens of pictures showed those idiots waiting on her hand and foot.
In the end, the doctor said her hand was just a little sore. Not even a sprain.
“I need to get the fuck out of here,”
I muttered as sleep finally dragged me under.
My first day after rebirth had been anything but quiet.
For the next two days, I kept to myself. Angelina, of course, played the wounded eagle with effortless grace. My ridiculous family hovered around her like frantic servants, waiting on her hand and foot as if she were made of glass.
Lawrence even threatened to throw my grandparents out onto the street if I didn’t apologize.
By the time Thursday arrived, I was already in a foul mood as I got dressed for my meeting with Julius Pierre. I pulled on sweatpants and a sweatshirt, stuffing the outfit I actually planned to wear into my bag. Blending in was safer—for now.
Whatever it was Julius had seen in me, I intended to use it. I’d made my decision.
He was going to become my sponsor.
I was halfway through the foyer when Nicholas stopped me.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
I turned slowly. He stared at me like I’d just stolen food from his plate.
“I’m going to the library.”
He scoffed.
“The library? What a waste of time. You’re a Clayborne. You should be practicing your musi—”
“What for?”
He froze. His brows furrowed.
“What did you just say—”
“Practice my musical craft for what?”
I cut in coolly.
“It’s not as if ICOH ever planned on letting me succeed.”
Shock flashed across his face.
“What the hell are you accusing us of?”
I sneered, a soft chuckle slipping free.
“Nicholas, let’s stop pretending. I’m exhausted by it. Every opportunity I’ve ever had to grow musically was destroyed by ICOH—all to make sure your precious songbird, Angelina, stayed ahead.”
His face drained of color, but I didn’t stop.
“Every chance I had in high school—ruined. I even offered to attend a different music school than StarCrest, even after working my ass off to get in, because I knew you didn’t want me outshining her.”
My voice darkened.
“Instead of letting me go, you threatened my grandparents. You hid behind the excuse of StarCrest being a ‘Clayborne legacy.’ But why should that matter to me? I’m not a Clayborne. Which means the real reason you kept me there was so you could limit me. Control me.”
“That’s not—”
“Yes, it is. And you know it.”
His face went from pale to red in an instant.
“Let’s get something straight,”
he snapped.
“We chose Angelina because she’s better—”
“Then why did you pay the school to place me in beginner classes,”
I interrupted,
“when you knew my skills were far beyond that?”
He opened his mouth, but I cut him off again.
“I saw the report, Nicholas. Dean Castell said my audition was one of the best she’d ever seen—and that I should’ve been placed in the advanced and expert classes.”
The color vanished from his face.
“How—how did you know that?”
he whispered.
I met his stare, expression flat.
“Does it matter?”
His lips moved, but no words came out. I picked up my bag.
“The point is, stop pretending I have a future with ICOH. The only reason you kept me here is because your biggest sponsor wants his grandson to have a child with me—to chase some imaginary ‘Clayborne gene.’”
I smiled faintly.
“So I’m going to the library. Maybe I’ll start reading baby books.”
“You—”
I walked away before he could finish.
I was done playing their games. It was time to get myself—and my real family—away from these people.
------
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror one last time. Thank God for my naturally curly hair—it twisted easily into a soft, messy bun. The day before, I’d bought a navy pencil skirt and a cream button-up blouse with diamond-and-gold buttons. Navy heels. Simple gold jewelry.
I barely recognized myself.
It was the first time, across both of my lives, that I’d ever bought luxury clothing just for me. In my previous life, the Claybornes never gave me enough money—and once I married Desmond, he accused me of trying to outshine Angelina.
I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders to steady myself, and headed to the front desk.
“Good morning. I have a meeting with Mr. Julius Pierre.”
The receptionist smiled.
“May I have your name?”
“Qiara Stone.”
“Oh, yes! Ms. Stone. Please take this badge. President Pierre is on the thirtieth floor.”
I thanked her and stepped into the elevator. As it rose, my nerves fluttered in my chest, excitement tangling with unease. Luckily, the view was stunning—glass and skyline stretching endlessly as the numbers climbed.
Floor thirty chimed softly.
The entire floor belonged to him.
Another receptionist greeted me.
“Good morning. Welcome to PST-Central. Ms. Stone?”
“Y-Yes. I’m Qiara Stone.”
She smiled and stood.
“Excellent. Please follow me.”
The space beyond was immaculate—quiet, expansive, intimidating. As the doors to his office opened, my fists clenched at my sides.
“President Pierre,”
she announced,
“Ms. Stone has arrived.”
He stood by the window when he turned around.
My heart skipped.
A quiet smile curved his lips.
“Ms. Stone. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
