2.
After she hung up, Clementine blinked her dry, aching eyes. Her shoulders caved in, as though every last bit of strength had been pulled out of her.
She drifted back to that cramped, mildew-stinking basement like a ghost, and it hit her how pathetic she had been.
Damon was in the kitchen boiling instant noodles that were close to their expiration date. He looked up, the corner of his mouth curving, his voice warm. “Clem, come here. I made your favorite.”
Clementine stood there, watching his performance in silence, her heart splitting open.
Gone was the arrogant young heir from earlier that day. This version of Damon wore the fatigue of a man scraping by, yet his eyes shone with sincerity.
Even now, he was still pretending.
Clementine's eyes reddened. She walked over and knocked the bowl of noodles off the counter. Broth and noodles splashed across the floor.
Damon's brow creased, almost imperceptibly, but he kept his voice even. “What's wrong? Did someone give you a hard time today? It's my fault I can't do more. Let me make you another bowl.”
“Don't bother.”
Clementine cut him off, her tone ice-cold, her gaze locked on his, every word deliberate.
“Damon, I saw someone at the construction site today who looked exactly like you.”
His expression froze for a split second before he recovered with a smile. “Clem, you must've seen wrong. If you don't want the noodles, forget it. I know I'm not much. I swear, when I have money, I'll give you a good life.”
Clementine forced the corners of her lips up, but her chest throbbed with each heartbeat.
“Sure.”
“I dropped all my side jobs.”
Her tone was cool. Surprise flickered in Damon's eyes. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice indulgent.
“Then don't go. I can take care of you. Just rest at home and leave everything to me, okay?”
His body gave off that clean, warm scent she used to love burying herself in. Before, she would have pulled him closer. Now something inside her recoiled, and she gently pushed him away.
“Fine.”
Clementine sat on the couch and watched Damon clean up the spilled noodles, his broad back to her.
Her eyes blurred. Why did everyone, when forced to choose between her and Cindy, throw her away?
The day she was born, a scheming nanny had swapped her identity.
Everything that should have been hers went to Cindy Pruitt, the fake heiress.
Cindy had enjoyed twenty-two years of privilege. Clementine had endured twenty-two years of misery.
Her foster father was a drunk. Every time he drank, he beat her, leaving bruises and welts all over her body.
For the first twenty-two years of her life, Clementine never wore short sleeves. Even in summer, she kept herself covered head to toe.
Her foster mother resented her, pining for her own biological daughter living in luxury with the Pruitts. Every day it was fists or curses.
Clementine grew up to the sound of “worthless tramp” and “waste of money”.
It wasn't until she turned twenty-two that the Pruitts found her and told her she was their real daughter.
Virginia and Brett were kind. They told her not to hold back, to be herself.
Clementine believed them.
She started wanting her parents all to herself. She developed a bit of a temper.
And Cindy seized on every one of those moments, turning the household into a battlefield.
When the Pruitt Group hit a cash-flow crisis, the family needed one of the daughters to marry into an alliance.
Clementine refused. She and Cindy had another explosive fight.
Brett and Virginia looked at Clementine with increasing disappointment. Virginia said, “Clementine, you're the older sister. Why can't you just let her have this? She's younger. She doesn't have your complicated feelings. She's just too attached to us.”
Clementine's tears fell instantly.
She ran out of the Pruitt residence with burning eyes, walked for what felt like hours, and cried until her voice gave out.
She hid in a patch of tall grass, watching flashlight beams sweep back and forth as people searched for her.
She was terrified. And cold.
She hugged herself into a tight ball, then felt something drape over her shoulders.
She turned. Damon Sheridan stood there, concern written all over his face. Their eyes met, and her heart jolted.
His expression was gentle. “Hey. Are you in trouble? Do you need my help?”
His words were a flicker of warmth in the freezing dark, thawing something inside her chest.
She said yes without thinking, and went back to the basement with him.
The night was heavy with intimacy. Sparks caught between them.
Damon noticed everything. If Clementine mentioned something in passing, no matter how expensive, he found a way to buy it for her.
She was a picky eater. Damon got up before sunrise every day to practice cooking, just so she would eat a little more.
She was terrified of thunder. Every time a storm hit, Damon held her and soothed her through the night without closing his eyes.
Day by day, she learned what it felt like to be loved.
And all of it was fake?
Her tears came harder, until she could barely breathe.
Damon sensed something. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, his voice laced with concern. “Clem, what happened? Who hurt you?”
Clementine pulled her lips into something that wasn't quite a smile. She wiped her eyes hard. “Damon, we're done.”
He clearly hadn't expected that. He went still for a beat, and his voice cooled. “We can talk about whatever this is. I don't agree to breaking up.”
Every feeling Clementine had been holding down erupted. She slapped him, hard, her voice shredded. “You lied to me! You've been lying to me this whole time. Is it fun, playing with someone's feelings?”
The blow snapped his head to one side. He looked at her swollen eyes, and something nameless and bitter rose in his chest. His voice came out rough.
“I...”
One word. Then nothing.
Clementine let out a hollow laugh. “What, got nothing to say? Let's end this before it gets ugly for both of us.”
Damon's fists clenched. His face was ashen.
He strode to the door, paused with his hand on the frame, and threw one last line over his shoulder. “Cool off. I'm not agreeing to this.”
After he left, Clementine broke completely. She sank to the floor and sobbed.
She didn't know how long she cried before a knock came at the door. She looked up through tear-blurred eyes, a tiny, foolish hope flickering, and went to open it.
A middle-aged woman stood there, scowling. “You want to cry, go cry somewhere else. Some of us are trying to sleep. Unbelievable.”
The last light in Clementine's eyes went out. She apologized repeatedly, then closed the door.
Her phone buzzed.
It was from her best friend.
“Clem please please please cover my shift tomorrow. If I call in sick one more time my manager's going to fire me. You wouldn't let your bestie starve, right?”
Clementine wiped her tears and typed back a single word: okay.
