Chapter 4: Who Was She That Night?
Alexander's POV
I’m Alexander Claflin, and once upon a fucking time, I had the perfect family. My father, Richard, was a goddamn genius, charming as hell. My mother, Camilla, was a vision—beautiful and kind to a fault. And my little sister, Freya… fuck, she was my world. Those big green eyes, wild curls bouncing as she toddled after me, mumbling “Lexy” ‘cause she couldn’t say my name right. Pure fucking magic.
But nothing perfect survives in this shitty world.
I was eight when it all went to hell. Overnight, the headlines screamed: “CLAFLIN HEIR BUSTED WITH STRIPPER,” “RICHARD CLAFLIN’S DIRTY DOUBLE LIFE.” The media vultures swarmed, cameras flashing outside our gates, reporters yelling at a kid who didn’t get why his dad’s face was everywhere. That night, Mom had taken Freya shopping while I was stuck at piano practice. They got back, Freya asleep in the car, and Mom—wrecked by the news—stormed inside, forgetting my sister was still in the backseat. The fight with Dad was nuclear. Mom’s eyes were red from crying, Dad swearing he’d been framed.
“It’s a fucking setup, Camilla,” he growled, voice raw. “I swear to Christ, I didn’t do it.”
Mom didn’t buy it. Why would she? The photos looked real—Dad with some blonde skank on his lap, his hand where it shouldn’t be. They tore into each other for an hour while I hid at the top of the stairs, watching my life crack like cheap glass.
Then Dad, pissed beyond reason, grabbed Mom’s car keys and stormed out. The car where four-year-old Freya was still asleep. Two hours later, the cops called. Accident. Dad’s body was pulled from the burning wreck, but Freya… she was just gone.
The fire was so fucking intense, they assumed nothing survived. No DNA, no remains. Nothing. Later, we found out the traffic cams on that road had been fucked with. Someone erased any proof—whether Freya was saved before the explosion or even in the car at all.
Grief gutted what was left of us. Mom, drowning in guilt, couldn’t stay in the Claflin mansion. She bailed, living in self-exile, while I got raised by my grandfather and a parade of nannies.
“Alexander, darling!” Mom’s face lit up as I rolled up to her modest suburban house, a bouquet of pink roses—her favorite—in hand. She’d picked this quiet-ass neighborhood years ago to escape the ghosts of our past.
She hugged me tight, her jasmine perfume slamming me with nostalgia. Despite all the Claflin wealth, this dump felt more like home than my sprawling estate ever could. “You look like shit,” she said, ushering me inside with a teasing smile. “How’s the new wife? I still haven’t met her.”
The word “wife” made bile claw up my throat. “She’s exactly what you’d expect from a family who’d sell their daughter for clout. Her folks practically gift-wrapped her for a hundred mil.”
“Alexander,” Mom chided softly, her tone gentle but firm. “I know your grandfather arranged this match while you were… unwell. James was just trying to secure an heir when you were in that awful state. I know it’s hard, but maybe…”
“Maybe what?” I snapped, arching a brow. “I should be grateful some family was willing to pawn off their daughter to a supposedly vegetative man?”
She sighed, her eyes full of pity. “Since Vivian walked away—”
“Don’t,” I cut her off, my voice sharp as a blade. “Don’t fuckin’ say that woman’s name.”
Mom reached for my hand, her touch soft but insistent. “Alex, I know she broke your heart when she abandoned you at your lowest. But since then, you’ve buried yourself in building an empire. Your heart’s been locked up tight.”
I yanked my hand away, pacing the room like a caged animal. “My focus isn’t on romance, Mom. It’s on securing Claflin’s future and finding Freya.”
At the mention of my sister, her face crumpled, grief washing over her. She stood and drifted to the window, arms wrapped around herself like a shield.
“I miss her every damn day,” she whispered, voice breaking. “If I hadn’t been so emotional, if I’d remembered she was in the car…”
I stepped behind her, hands on her shoulders, trying to steady her. “It wasn’t your fault. And I’ve got something to tell you.” I turned her to face me, my tone hard. “Dad’s scandal was bullshit. The photos, the witness testimonies—all of it was orchestrated by Robert and that venomous bitch he married.”
Her breath hitched, tears spilling over as her eyes widened. “I suspected… over the years, the pieces never fit. Richard had his flaws, but he loved us fiercely. He’d never…” She covered her mouth, fingers trembling. “And I drove him away that night. If I’d just listened—”
“This isn’t on you,” I said, my voice firm as steel. “It’s on those treacherous fucks. Their pathetic ambition destroyed our family. And I’ve finally made them pay.”
Her head snapped up, eyes searching mine. “What did you do, Alex?”
I laid it all out—my fake coma, catching Robert and Victoria in their schemes, and Grandfather handing me the reins of power. With every word, her shoulders squared, like she was shedding a decades-old weight.
“I’ll find Freya,” I swore, my voice low and resolute. “She’s out there somewhere. I fuckin’ feel it.”
Mom nodded, wiping away tears, a flicker of hope in her eyes.
Back at my estate, Eric stood rigid in my study, handing over a thick folder. “Everything on Nora Frost, sir. Columbia grad, 5’6”, C-cup, hip measurements—”
I shot him a look that could kill. What the fuck is this, a goddamn catalog?
“Moving on,” he coughed, “only child of the Frost family, one serious college relationship…”
I slammed the file shut. This gold-digging bitch wasn’t worth my time. There was bigger shit to deal with. “The night before last, after I took the antidote and went to investigate the poisoning,” I said, leaning back in my chair, “the substance had… side effects. Fucking aphrodisiac effects.”
Eric didn’t flinch, ever the professional.
“I ended up at Vibe. There was a woman—couldn’t see her face in the dark. We… you know. I had to rush back to the estate to fake being sick, so I bolted without getting a good look at her. Find out who she was.”
“Yes, sir,” Eric nodded and left.
Alone, I stared at Nora’s file on my desk. What a fucking mess. A loveless marriage to a goddamn leech. But my mind drifted to the night before last at Vibe. The memory hit hard—her skin hot under my hands, the way she arched against me on that bed. I’d pinned her down, her breath hitching as I thrust into her, feeling her tight warmth clench around my cock.
It was raw, desperate, nothing held back. Different from anything with Vivian. After that bitch left, I’d lost all interest in women, in sex.
But the night before last… fuck, it burned into me. I couldn’t shake it—the way her body moved with mine, the low moans I still hear in my head. Whoever she was, she’d cracked something open, and I needed to know why the hell it felt so goddamn unforgettable.