Flawless 2

2: Clawbelle Estate

REBECCA’S POV

Two days after Mom announced her newlywed status to me, Grandma Wilma passed away, peacefully in her bed.

Her funeral was held three days later. Devon paid for everything. The black hearse, the rows of lilies, the polished mahogany casket. They all screamed wealth. But no matter how expensive the arrangements were, my grief didn’t feel any lighter. If anything, the extravagance made it worse. It felt like Grandma’s quiet, hard-earned dignity had been overshadowed by a show.

I had stayed beside her until her last breath. I held her frail hand while her soul slipped from this world. She didn’t speak at the end, just gave me a small smile before her eyes went still. I didn’t cry at first. I just stared. It was like I had been frozen in time.

Mom didn’t cry either. She’d arrived the day after Grandma’s death with Devon in another expensive car, her arms full of shopping bags, acting like she’d just come back from vacation.

She was staying at a villa in town with him, her new husband, while I stayed alone in the house with Grandma’s body until the mortician came. She had the audacity to tell me everything would be ok now, like having Grandma around made our lives hard.

I wanted to scream at her, but I didn’t have the energy. I didn’t even have the energy to tell her that I knew about the cruise lie. That I saw Mrs. Carter. That I knew about the affair she was having with Mr. Carter.

There were only a handful of people at the funeral, neighbors who still remembered Wilma from the church choir, a few nurses who helped her during her chemo treatments, and a trembling priest who couldn’t seem to stop glancing at Devon during the service.

I wore a plain black dress. My shoes pinched my feet, and my hair frizzed under the humid sky, but I didn’t care. Mom came dressed like she was at a Hollywood funeral, oversized sunglasses, sleek black heels, red lips. She looked like a stranger. I barely recognized her.

I still couldn’t believe she went on a cruise with a married man she’d worked for, a man she cheated with, a man who told his wife a lie that he was going on a business trip when he was just taking his mistress on a romantic cruise, and came back with a new husband.

I guess when you put it that way, Mr. Carter deserved everything that he got.

My mother left him for someone she’d met on that cruise, someone she had only known for three days. Three freaking days. Then she married him before the ship docked.

And what made it even more weird? Devon kept calling her his mate. Every time he said it, I cringed. I didn’t understand it. The way he looked at her wasn’t love, it was ownership. Possession. Like he’d bought her with a ring and a house and now she belonged to him.

After the burial, Mom said I’d be moving with them to the estate. Devon’s estate, she kept calling it like it was some badge of honor. I tried to argue, but Grandma was gone. The house was being sold. There was nowhere else to go.

So, I packed what little I had. A few books, a couple of photos, and Grandma’s locket that I wore under my shirt, always.

We drove for hours.

At first, it was highways, then side roads, then gravel paths swallowed by thick trees. Civilization disappeared like we were driving onto the edge of the world. The sky grew darker, even though it was early afternoon, and the clouds looked like they’d been dragged across the sky with angry hands.

When the car stopped, I stared through the tinted window and felt my stomach drop.

Devon’s estate wasn’t a house. It was a castle. No, worse, it looked like something out of a gothic horror novel. Towering stone walls, ivy creeping like veins across the facade, and tall, narrow windows that reminded me of watchful eyes. The structure was grey, cold, and ancient.

There was no warmth. No light. Just a heavy silence that pressed down on you like a wet blanket.

The iron gates groaned open as we passed, and I swear I saw ravens perched on the turrets. Actual ravens. This couldn’t be real.

As we pulled into the courtyard, a group of people were already waiting. Men and women dressed in black uniforms. Maids, drivers, cooks, I assumed, lined up like they’d been summoned. No one smiled. They just stood there, still and quiet, their eyes downcast like we were royalty.

“Where’s Drew?” Devon growled as he stepped out of the car, slamming the door so hard the car shook.

None of the staff answered at first, until a pale maid with red hair stepped forward and bowed her head. “He is… upstairs, Alpha.”

Alpha?

Of course he had to have an asshole complex.

My mom didn’t even flinch. She just linked her arm with Devon’s and smiled at me like this was normal.

I followed them inside, dragging my suitcase behind me. The interior was worse than the outside. Cold marble floors, arched ceilings, black chandeliers dripping with crystals, and walls lined with paintings that looked like they were watching me. No family photos. No color. Just stone and silence.

Then I heard it.

Loud, rhythmic, and unmistakably sexual moaning. It echoed down the stairwell like a siren.

Devon’s face twisted. Not in embarrassment, but in rage.

Mom looked appalled, though I couldn’t tell if it was because of the sound or because of the fact that someone had dared to be louder than her.

Devon turned to the red-haired maid. “Get him. Now.”

She bowed again, head low. “Yes, Alpha.”

She took off up the stairs, disappearing down a long hallway. A few minutes later, the moaning stopped.

And then he came down.

Drew Clawbelle.

If Devon looked like a billionaire warlord, his son looked like the cover of a tragic vampire romance. He had thick dark hair, tousled and wet like he’d just come out of the pool. His eyes were so blue they looked unnatural, like glacier water, and his jawline could cut through any hard substance really. He was shirtless, in low-slung sweats, and his toned chest gleamed with sweat. And yet, despite all that beauty, he looked…dead inside.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t greet us. Just walked down the stairs with the bored disdain of a prince forced to attend a peasant’s gathering. His eyes locked on Devon.

They stared at each other for a long moment. No words, just tension so sharp it made my skin crawl. It was like they were having a silent argument by the glossy look in their eyes. Devon’s shoulders slumped.

“Can I go back to my room now?” Drew asked in a flat tone.

“You can when you greet my wife and her daughter.”

He turned to me first. “Hello, I’m Drew,” he said, then extended a hand for me to shake. “Welcome to Clawbelle estate.”

I took his hand, and it was cool to the touch, his grip firm but brief. “Nice to meet you. I’m Becca Moore.”

He nodded, then dropped my hand.

“Hello, Drew, I’m Hilary, and I’ve heard so much about you,” my mother squealed, jumping into his arms.

“What the fuck?” Drew grunted, pushing her off. He had anger written all over his face. “You may be fucking my father, but you’ll never be my mother. And you!” he pointed at me.

What did I do?

“Don’t think that because your mother married my father, it means we’re family. We are nothing, and we’ll never be anything. Got that?” He didn’t even try to hide his distaste. “I’ve greeted them. Can I go now, Father?”

“Fine. You may.”

Without another glance, Drew turned and disappeared back up the stairs, footsteps silent even on the marble. I stared after him, my heartbeat racing. Everything in me screamed that something about this place, about him, wasn’t right.

Mom tried to smooth things over. “He’s just a teenager. They’re all moody.”

“He’s twenty,” Devon said sharply. “And he’s not moody. He’s just unruly.”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. My throat was tight and my stomach twisted with dread.

This place wasn’t home. And it never will be.