17. Chapter 17

seventeen

Clara

" U gh come on…” I grumble, fumbling with the cap of the oil bottle. My fingers feel clumsy, probably from the lack of sleep. I finally get it open and pour a generous glug into the pan. The oil sizzles and pops, the sound way too loud for this early in the morning.

I glance at the clock. Seven in the morning. Definitely too early for a Saturday.

I stir the pasta sauce, the rich aroma of garlic and tomatoes filling the kitchen. It’s a far cry from my party girl days when seven in the morning was more likely my bedtime than my wake-up call.

God, I can’t believe I used to live like that. How did I even manage?

Now, the extent of my rebellion is making pasta for breakfast.

I rub my eyes. The birds outside are way too chirpy, like they’re mocking my exhaustion.

“Yeah, yeah, good morning to you, too,” I mutter, stifling a yawn.

I’ve been burning the midnight oil for weeks now, ever since this merger between Caldwell Enterprises and Vortex Industries started. Late nights with the lawyers, poring over contracts, making sure we don’t get screwed over. It’s been a nightmare.

“We deserve every damn penny,” I mumble to myself, stirring the pasta a bit too aggressively. The sauce sloshes up the sides of the pan. “After all the shit we’ve been through…”

The business has been circling the drain ever since I stepped back. Dad’s been more interested in the bottom of a bottle than the bottom line. It’s a miracle we’re even still afloat.

My heart clenches, thinking about our situation. It’s not just the merger that’s got me stressed. It’s everything else, too. Losing most of our territories to those fucking Raven bastards… It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

I feel my anger rising just thinking about them.

The Raven . The faceless boss no one’s ever seen. It’s like fighting a damn ghost.

And then there’s the memory of that day. The day Jake was murdered. The image of that Raven mask is seared into my brain, haunting my nightmares.

Fuck.

A splash of hot oil lands on my hand, making me yelp.

“Son of a—!” I cut myself off, glancing over my shoulder to the far end of the room. The kitchen is big, stretching all the way back with its clean counters and shiny appliances, right to the windows that look out over the city.

I take a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. The pasta’s almost done, the sauce thick and bubbling. I give it a quick taste, the rich flavors waking up my tired taste buds.

“Okay, not bad,” I admit to the empty kitchen. “Maybe I missed my calling as a chef.”

I grab some vegetables from the fridge, chopping them haphazardly. Cooking has never been my strong suit.

Heck. I never thought I’d willingly step into a kitchen!

But I’m learning. Nothing’s going to keep Clara Caldwell from conquering even the culinary battlefield.

I toss the veggies into the pan, along with a liberal sprinkle of salt. The sizzling intensifies, filling the kitchen with the savory aroma of garlic and tomato.

“Alright… bowls,” I mutter, turning to the cabinet. I’m just reaching for the handle when—

“Boo!”

“Jesus!” I jump back, my heart leaping into my throat.

Elijah bursts into giggles, his handsome yet cheeky little face popping out from behind the cabinet door. “I scared you!”

I press a hand to my racing heart, trying to look stern. But his laughter is contagious, and I feel a smile tugging at my lips.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” I raise an eyebrow. “Scaring poor, defenseless Mommy?”

Elijah just giggles harder, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re not de-fen-seless! You’re like… like Ash! From Pokémon!”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Ash, huh? Does that make you my little Pikachu?”

He nods vigorously, his curly hair bouncing. “Yes! And I’m gonna zap you with my thunderbolt!”

He scrunches up his face, making little electric buzzing noises. His hands are balled into fists like he’s channeling all his Pikachu power.

I clutch my chest dramatically. “Oh, no! I’ve been hit! Pikachu’s thunderbolt is too strong!”

I pretend to stagger, making Elijah laugh even harder. His high-pitched giggles fill the kitchen, drowning out the bubbling of the pasta.

“Quick, Pikachu! Use your healing power to save me!” I gasp, slumping against the counter.

Elijah rushes over, his little hands patting my face. “I’ll save you, Mommy! Pikachu’s got you!”

I open one eye, peeking at him. “Is it working? Am I healed?”

He nods seriously. “Yes. Pikachu’s healing power always works.”

I stand up straight, scooping him into a hug. “My hero! What would I do without you?”

He hugs me back, his little arms squeezing tight. “You’ll never have to find out. I’ll always protect you.”

My heart melts a little at that.

This little boy, my whole world.

I don’t know what I did to deserve him, but I’m grateful every single day.

“Alright, my brave little Pokémon. Ready for some breakfast?”

“Yes! I’m starving!” He rubs his tummy for emphasis.

I laugh, setting him down. “Okay, okay. Go wash up, and I’ll dish up some Pika-pasta.”

“Pika-pasta! Yes!” He zooms off to the bathroom, making more zapping noises as he goes.

I turn back to the stove, a smile still on my face. The pasta’s ready, the sauce thick and rich. I dish it up into two bowls, making sure to give Elijah an extra big portion. My little Pokémon trainer needs his energy.

As I set the bowls on the table, I hear Elijah chattering away in the bathroom. He’s narrating some epic Pokémon battle, complete with sound effects. His imagination never ceases to amaze me.

“Mommy! Can we have pepperoni pizza tonight?” He bounds back into the kitchen, his face still a bit damp from washing. “Pretty, pretty please?”

I pretend to think about it. “Hmm… I don’t know. Have you been a good Pokémon trainer?”

“The best!” he insists, climbing into his chair. “I even cleaned my room yesterday!”

“Wow, you did?” I feign surprise. “Well then, I guess pizza is well-deserved.”

“Yay!” he cheers, doing a little wiggle dance in his seat. “Pizza, pizza!”

I laugh, sitting down across from him. “But you have to put the pepperoni in the shape of a Poké Ball. Deal?”

“Deal!” He grins, digging into his pasta with gusto, shoveling a forkful into his mouth, and smearing tomato sauce across his cheek in the process.

Such a boy. I reach over with a napkin, wiping away the mess. He barely seems to notice, too engrossed in his story.

I take a bite of my own pasta, my eyes never leaving the little bundle of energy in front of me.

Brown eyes flecked with a hint of amber sparkle as he talks. His dark curls didn’t come from my DNA.

As it turns out, it’s hard to see much of myself in him.

No, with his distinct nose and strong brow, he’s the spitting image of… him . The stranger in the mask. The man who haunts my dreams and my nightmares.

All I was sure of was… that he was Russian.

But then Elijah smiles, and there it is. That little dimple in his left cheek, a perfect match to my own.

God, this kid is gonna break hearts one day. I can see it already. The girls— or boys, I’m not picky —falling over themselves for that dimpled grin.

“Mommy, guess what?” Elijah pipes up, pulling me from my thoughts.

“What, sweetie?”

“We got a new girl in class today! Her name is Lily, and she’s really nice.”

I beam proudly, watching him navigate the confusing concepts of today and yesterday—it’s a big step for a 4-year-old.

“It’s yesterday , Elijah. And that’s great, honey. Did you make friends with her?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Yep! I shared my Pokémon cards with her at recess. She likes Pikachu, too!”

“Well, Pikachu is pretty great,” I agree. “I’m glad you made a new friend.”

Elijah takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Mommy, why don’t I have a daddy?”

I nearly choke on my pasta. The question comes out of the blue. It’s not the first time he’s asked, but it never gets easier. How do you explain to a 4-year-old that his father is… what? A supervillain? An evil mastermind? A man I’m not even sure is fully human?

“Well, sweetie…” I start, choosing my words carefully. “Not everyone has a daddy. Some families are different.”

He nods, seeming to accept this. “That’s okay. I have you, and Uncle Mitch, and Uncle Stephan. That’s all I need.”

Elijah’s words make my stomach drop. The fact that he doesn’t mention his grandpa is just another reminder of all the crap we’ve been through these years.

I reach out, wiping another smudge of sauce from the corner of his mouth with my thumb. My boy, my sweet, innocent boy. He has no idea about the mess of pain and love and betrayal that tangles up this family.

I force a smile, but it feels fake on my face.

“Yeah, baby,” I say, my voice coming out all rough and shaky. “That’s all we need.”