Chapter 3

The front door eased open, and Claire stepped out.

Her gown faded from a pale, translucent white-blue at the shoulders to a deep lake blue at the hem. It was beautiful—elegant even—but obviously ill-fitted. The waist hung too loose, and the bodice slipped unless she held it steady. So she did, one hand at her side, steps small and measured.

Nelson's gaze lingered.

It wasn't the dress he'd pictured, not on her. But somehow, despite the poor fit, it suited her—sharp, cool, distant. A far cry from the quiet, uncertain girl he used to know.

"Get in," he said, looking away. "Front seat this time."

Claire frowned, "Isn't that Serena's usual spot?"

Nelson's hand tightened slightly on the wheel. "Serena won't mind. Just get in—we're already late—just get in."

Claire looked at him, her tone even. "Maybe she doesn't. But I do."

She paused. "Actually, I've been thinking... maybe I shouldn't go at all. Pretty sure she doesn't want me there. And with a crowd like that, one less won't be missed."

Then, seriously, she turned around like she was ready to head back.

"Claire!" Nelson's tone sharpened—he wasn't hiding his frustration. He leaned in and hit the horn. The sharp sound made her freeze mid-step.

"Fine," he muttered. "Sit in the back if you want."

Claire let out a tired breath, kept her back to him for a moment, then turned back calmly. She opened the back door without another word and got in, a little clumsy thanks to the loose dress. She carefully swept in her skirt before closing the door.

Nelson pulled away in silence.

After a while, Claire spoke. "Nelson, how are things... with Serena?"

The car jerked to a sudden stop.

Claire yelped as her body pitched forward, her forehead hitting the back of the front seat.

Nelson caught himself quickly, then glanced back through the rearview mirror.

Claire was sitting back up, one hand over her forehead.

"Sorry," he said first, easing the car forward again at a gentler speed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Claire pulled her hand away—her forehead was a little red. She didn't look at him again, just turned slightly and pulled the seatbelt over her shoulder. Then she looked away, staring out the window.

They drove on, the silence creeping in again.

Then Claire asked, softly, "Is her condition... manageable now? I mean—seeing me isn't going to trigger anything, right?"

"She's fine," Nelson said after a beat, his voice clipped. "You don't need to worry."

"Good," Claire murmured.

Of course she wasn't worried about Serena. She just needed to be sure.

Tonight... might be the end of everything.

After about half an hour, the car stopped in front of a brightly lit mansion.

The Thompson residence—the place Claire had lived for twenty years—now felt as unfamiliar as a stranger's home.

Claire unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out without hesitation.

Nelson was already out, striding ahead toward the lawn where a crowd had gathered.

Tall, composed, eyes fixed forward—he drew glances effortlessly.

Claire carefully lifted the ends of her oversized pale blue dress and stepped out of the car.

She took a deep breath and tried to follow Nelson at a steady pace.

But just as she was about to catch up, Nelson stopped and turned.

Facing her, in full view of the crowd, he said aloud, "Claire, come here."

In that instant, the chatter and laughter on the lawn dimmed noticeably.

Heads turned. Curious eyes followed her.

Then the whispers began—low, sharp, and venom-coated.

"So that's the one the Thompsons raised by mistake."

"Didn't they say she was shipped overseas? Why's she back now?"

"Ugh, look at that dress… clearly doesn't fit. Who even gave it to her?"

"She stole someone else's life for twenty years—then tried to steal the fiancé too. And now she dares show her face?"

"Nelson looks like he was forced to bring her. What a disgrace."

Every word, laced with contempt and glee, slid straight into Claire's ears.

She gripped the hem of her dress a little tighter but kept her expression calm.

Holding her head high, she walked toward Nelson.

Just as she was about to reach him, the music from a white grand piano in the center of the lawn stopped.

Serena stood from the piano, dressed in an elegant floor-length white gown.

Her makeup was flawless, her long hair smooth and flowing, with a sparkling diamond necklace catching the light perfectly.

It was only now that she seemed to notice Claire. Her face lit up with the perfect amount of surprise.

Then she gracefully walked over to her.

"Claire?" Serena's voice was soft and full of warmth. "Is it really you? When did you come back? You didn't even let us know. Mom and Dad were so worried!"

She reached out to take Claire's hand in a friendly gesture.

But Claire smoothly stepped back, choosing not to engage, though a gentle smile appeared on her lips. "I got back last night. I already spoke to Aunt Elena this morning—maybe she forgot to mention it."

Serena acted as though she missed the subtle distance in Claire's words and simply kept smiling, now even more brightly, like some cheerful kid, "Well, I'm glad you're back. It's been so lonely without you these years. I really missed you!"

Before Claire could respond, Serena threw her arms around her in a big hug.

Claire froze.

The cloying sweetness of Serena's perfume wrapped around her like smoke.

From the outside, the embrace looked warm, affectionate.

But her arms were tight—too tight. Claire could hardly breathe.

Then, right next to her ear, Serena whispered, voice cold and laced with sarcasm, only for Claire to hear:

"That dress… doesn't seem to fit you well at all, does it?"