The Fight for Claire

Claire’s POV

“Claire bear? Claire, baby, I’m home.”

Brantley’s voice slurred through the front door before his body followed. I heard him stumble down the hall, bumping into the bedroom doorway before catching himself on the frame. When he was like this, I wasn’t a person. I became a thing he used and discarded.

My stomach dropped. I stood up quickly and The manuscript dropped off my lap. The pages were scattered, along with my thoughts. ‘Damit.’ I whispered, looking down at them.

I needed to move—now. I pushed myself off the bed. “I’m going to grab a drink. I’ll be right back,” I said, forcing lightness into my voice. I tried to walk past him quickly. Brantley, usually well-polished and put together, was a hot mess. His hair was plastered to his head and his suit looked as if he had rolled in the street

His hand shot out and clamped around my arm as I passed. His fingers dug in just a little too hard. Sharp stings shot up my arm where each nail dug into my skin—a cold pit formed in my stomach. My stomach twisted at the thought of his touch.

“Where are you going, my baby bear?” I hated that nickname. “I need to make love to you right now.” He grinned and pointed at the bed. Make love. As if that was what this was. He leaned in for a kiss. I turned my face just enough to avoid his mouth without provoking him. I didn’t want his mouth on mine. His lips brushed my cheek, then my chin, then my neck. I forced myself to look happy, pleased to be with him. The faster I played along, the faster it would end. He spun me around and pressed his mouth to the back of my neck. His hand slid under my shirt and pulled it over my head, roughly squeezing my breast before pulling it over my head. The cold air hitting my exposed skin sent unwanted shivers down my spine.

This is how it always started. Not with tenderness. Not with connection. Just routine. Like I was something he reached for to take the edge off.

“I need to use the bathroom first,” I said, trying again as I stepped forward. His fingers tangled in my hair and roughly yanked me back. “You’re not going anywhere.” Pain shot across my scalp as he twisted my hair in his hand and shoved me forward into the mattress. I swallowed the cry rising in my throat. Tears burned, but I refused to let them fall. forced myself to be still. It is always easier to just stay frozen and get it over with. My thoughts drifted elsewhere with each tick of the clock.

My friends and coworkers always ask why I stay, why I put up with it. Why don’t I just leave? If it were only that simple, I would have. I’m bound to be married before I turn thirty, or my father’s estate goes elsewhere.

My dad died 3 years ago. He left everything to me—his publishing empire, Walburg Inc., his estate, and a safety deposit box—but with one stipulation: I had to be married to inherit it. He didn’t believe I should handle owning the family business alone. He’d planned to train me himself once he retired, but he never got the chance.

When he died, I was still working my way up in the publishing world. My mother took over the company temporarily after my father died. The problem was that she had no idea what she was doing. She had never been involved in the business, nor had she ever cared to understand it. Grief swallowed her whole, and instead of learning how to lead, she tried to escape the responsibility by marrying the worst man imaginable.

He stepped into our lives as if he had always belonged there—charming, helpful, way too eager to “help.” He convinced her to let him assist with the company, telling her it would only be temporary until she found her footing.

But my mother was devastated by my dad’s death. She would have agreed to almost anything just to make the pain quieter. And he knew it. Little by little, he worked his way deeper into the business. He signed papers, handled the decisions and “simplifying” things, blinding her to what he was really doing. He was so careful. So calculated.

Until one day, the company had essentially been placed under his control, and she didn’t even realize what had happened until he had already done it. She’s so naive and blinded by lust that she won’t do anything about it. She didn’t care about me. I was only here because my dad wanted me to be the one running his empire, not her.

I have two years left.

My plan is to get married long enough to secure control. I just have to last. I keep postponing the wedding, pushing it back month by month. Eventually, he’ll stop waiting.

When it was over, he stood, smacked my butt like I was just an afterthought, and headed for the shower. The bathroom door shut. A tear slipped down my cheek. I wiped it away before another could follow. I stood there staring at the sheets where my tears had smeared my makeup across the fabric. For a moment, I couldn’t move. I just stood there, frozen, until I heard the shower turn on down the hall.

The sound snapped me back to reality. I quickly moved to the dresser, trying to hide the soft sobs that escaped my mouth. I took a long look at myself in the mirror. My brown hair twisted into knots from Brantley. My hazel eyes were red from the tears. I tried to quickly wipe the makeup from under my eyes as best I could.

I changed my underwear, pulled on a pair of shorts, and slipped into a tank top. Twisting my hair up into a claw clip, I grabbed my phone and keys from the nightstand and hurried toward the front door. My heart pounded as I opened it as quietly as possible. Hopefully, the running water in the shower would mask the sound of the door closing. I needed to get out of the apartment. I needed air. I felt as if I was suffocating.

As soon as I stepped out, the tears fell like a waterfall. My heart felt tight in my chest. I hurt. The air outside was cool against my skin. The wind moved softly down the street, lifting loose strands of my hair and brushing them across my face like a quiet reminder that the world was still moving… even if mine was never moving forward.

I stepped onto the sidewalk and breathed in slowly. Taking in every second. The air smelled of rain and a trace of fresh-cut grass blowing in from somewhere down the block. It filled my lungs in a way that almost hurt. I had forgotten how to breathe inside my apartment. Inside, the air always felt thick and tense. Heavy. The walls were always closing in around me. Out here, at least for a while, I could pretend I wasn’t suffocating.

The area around the apartment was safe—at least on paper. Clean streets, neat apartments lined the sidewalk, street lights glowing softly in the dark. But safety feels different when the sun goes down, and you’re walking alone.

I usually take a walk in the evenings if I’m not buried under work. It’s the only time my mind quiets down enough for me to hear my own thoughts. Tonight I needed it more than usual.

My usual route has been blocked for the past few months due to construction. A massive luxury apartment complex was being built on the site of an old warehouse. Bright floodlights illuminated half-built walls and towering cranes that loomed over the street.

Every time I passed it, the same thought crossed my mind. What would it feel like to live somewhere like that? To have my own space. My own life. To come and go whenever I wanted. To meet friends for dinner without explaining myself. To laugh too loud, stay out too late, sleep peacefully without listening for footsteps in the hall, without the fear of speaking the wrong words.

Freedom. Real freedom. The thought twisted painfully in my chest.

Crap. I looked up suddenly and realized I hadn’t been paying attention to where I was going. I had turned down a street I didn’t recognize. I slowed my steps and glanced around, hoping to spot a store or building I recognized. The apartments here looked unfamiliar—older, darker, quieter.

That uneasy feeling started crawling up the back of my neck. Then I noticed them. A group of men appeared at the far end of the block behind me. My stomach tightened. Maybe they were just walking. Maybe they lived here. I told myself not to panic. I kept walking. But the unease kept building. I could feel it in my spine, like something instinctive inside me was screaming to turn around and run.I glanced back. They were still there. Closer now.

I looked back again and quickly turned down another street, hoping to lose them. Then I stopped cold. An empty field stretched ahead of me, freshly cleared dirt where a building must have once stood. Tall chain-link fencing surrounded it, rattling softly in the wind. I definitely didn’t know where I was now. My stomach twisted into tight knots.

A man leaned casually against the fence near the opening, his posture loose like he’d been waiting there a while. His smile cut straight through me. Panic surged through me. I started walking faster.

My hand fumbled for my phone. It slipped from my fingers and hit the ground. The screen smacked against the pavement. “Damn it,” I whispered. I bent down quickly to grab it. But when I straightened— The two men were approaching me fast. My heart slammed against my ribs.

One of them was towering and bald, his arms thick with tattoos that stretched across his shoulders and down into a grimy tank top. I could see a large scar that stretched from his lip to his ear. The other was just as big, if not bigger, with a thick beard and a heavy bull ring through his nose. His chest was massive, as if he spent his days lifting trucks rather than weights. He chuckled lightly as if he was about to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

One of them let out a low whistle. The sound shot through me like an electric current. My entire body jolted. Every instinct in me screamed danger.

And then— “Claire! There you are!” Relief flooded me so fast it made me dizzy. I recognized the voice immediately. It was Nick. He jogged up beside me like he had every right to be there and wrapped an arm around my waist. Warm. Solid. Safe. He pulled me in tight. I didn’t want him to let go. “I thought you got turned around,” he said casually, nodding toward the opposite street. “The bar’s this way.” His tone was easy, but the look he shot those men was anything but.

It was calm. Sharp. Deadly.

A silent warning. The two men slowed slightly as we crossed the street, their eyes lingering just long enough to make my stomach churn. Nick didn’t loosen his arm around me until we were nearly half a block away. Only then did my body finally release the breath I’d been holding.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice shaking despite my best effort to control it. “I… I didn’t know what I was going to do.” Nick stopped walking and turned toward me. Looking down at the concrete. His fingers and thumb pushed hard against his temple, thinking about what he was going to say next. “Claire, what are you doing out here alone?” he asked sharply. “You’re nowhere near your apartment.” His voice was unintentionally harsh.

His voice softened immediately when he saw me jump, and my shoulders dropped. “Shit, Sorry,” he added quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just… glad you’re safe.” I rubbed my arms slowly, still trying to steady the adrenaline racing through me.

“I know,” I said quietly. “I was just taking my usual walk… and I guess I got turned around.” I glanced down the street again, realizing I still had no idea where we were. And suddenly the night felt a lot darker than it had a few minutes ago. He walked slowly towards me. As if trying not to scare an injured doe from running. His hands rested gently on my arms. I flinched before I could stop myself. His eyes darkened. “I’m going to kill him,” he muttered. “Please don’t,” I said quickly. “It’ll only make things worse.”

“How did you even know I was here?” I asked. “I left the bar and thought I saw you walking. Then I saw them following you.” I didn’t believe that he just happened to see me. He hesitated. “Where’s Brantley?” “Not here,” I replied flatly. Rolling my eyes. He glanced at my arm again. “Was that from tonight?” I didn’t answer. I just reached over and laid my hand over it, as if it would go away.

“Damn it,” he muttered. A tear escaped before I could stop it. He brushed it away gently with his thumb. “Just take me home,” I said.

The car ride was silent. Sonny drove. Nick stared out the window, his jaw tight. I could see him clenching his fist. His knuckles were white. When we reached my building, I started to get out, my hand already reaching for the door handle—because going back felt automatic.

But Nick caught my wrist. Not hard, just enough to stop me.

“Claire,” he said quietly. Something in his voice made me turn back. His eyes were… shaken. For a second, neither of us spoke. Sonny looked out the window. He stayed quiet in the front seat, like he understood this wasn’t something to interrupt. Nick’s grip loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go.

“Promise me something.”

I swallowed. “What?”

“Promise me you won’t go anywhere alone like that again.”

I hesitated. “I can’t always—”

“Claire.” His voice wasn’t sharp.

But it stopped me anyway. His thumb brushed lightly over my wrist, right where he’d been holding me.

“Please.”

That word hit harder than anything else.

“For me.” His eyes didn’t leave mine.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

By the time I reached my door, my hands were shaking again. Not from the men. Not anymore. From what I was about to walk back into. I paused with my key hovering in front of the lock.

For a split second— I thought about turning around. Going back downstairs. Getting in that car. Leaving. Just… leaving. The thought came so fast it stole the air from my lungs.

I stood there for a moment. Leave, run, the thought raced through my head. Out there… in the quiet dark, with the cool air in my lungs and Nick’s arm steady around me— All I had to do… was choose it. My grip tightened slowly around my keys. Movement down the hall.

Brantley. Reality snapped back into place like a chain locking around my ribs. I closed my eyes briefly.

Just two more years. I just need to stay with him for two more years.

“I can do this,” I whispered. But the words didn’t feel as convincing as they used to. Not after tonight. Not after him. Not after realizing what it felt like to be safe. I pushed myself forward, deeper into the apartment.

Back into the life I was supposed to survive. Back into the version of myself that knew how to endure.

And as I walked down that hallway— I couldn’t stop the thought that followed me. I should’ve left that night.