8. Claire

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Claire

Drew helps me out of the car and into the elevator that opens on the first floor of our home.

When I first met him, I thought this house was ridiculous—way too big for one man. There's an underground garage with six different foreign luxury cars, and an elevator that opens up to each of the three floors. I thought it was overkill to have an elevator in a house that already had a masterpiece staircase—not to mention the smaller hidden staircases for the housekeepers.

But on a day like today, I'm thankful for that elevator.

Drew and I don't speak as he wheels me to our bedroom. He's hardly breathing. I think we're both scared of what will come out once the silence breaks.

I take a deep breath. "Drew—"

"C, wait. Please let me speak first. Let me explain what you think you saw at the party, and then you can decide what you want."

I nod for him to continue.

"I walked away to get us drinks, remember? Becca came up to me at the bar, clearly drunk. She asked me to walk her to the back exit because she felt like someone had been following her all evening. She thought they might stop if they saw her with a man. I didn't know the layout of the building, but she said she did, so when she hooked her arm through mine and started stumbling toward the back, I figured I'd just walk her out, and hopefully an Uber would be waiting.

"But as we walked, she swore she heard something, opened a closet door, and pulled me in. She told me to stay quiet and wait for the person to pass. We stood there in the dark for about three minutes, but I didn't hear anything. I told her we could probably leave. As I started to move, she must've stepped into my path because she began to fall. I grabbed for her—and that's when you walked in and turned on the light by then we were falling. It looked like something it wasn't. I yelled for you, but you ran, and then the rest happened.

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"I swear to you, C, nothing happened. I would never do anything to jeopardize us."

I think back to that night.

Drew had gone to get us drinks. After five minutes passed and he still wasn't back, I went looking. He wasn't at the bar—but I did run into his mother.

"Oh, Claire, you're here. I thought Andrew came with Rebecca. I saw them walking into a closet back there looking pretty close, so I assumed... well, what do I know."

Arlette had hated me from the moment Drew and I ran into her at a restaurant on our third date. He wanted to take me somewhere fancy for a "late lunch" I call it snack time but hey wine and dine me, baby. She wore a pained smile the whole time he introduced me. I thought she might vomit.

"Oh, Claire, is it? Does Rebecca know you're here with her?"

I'd heard of Becca in passing—Drew always made her sound more like a sister, not someone he was secretly betrothed to.

"No, Mom. Becca doesn't know I'm here with Claire because I don't answer to Becca. I'm not sure why you'd think she's entitled to that information."

"Oh, Andrew. You and Becca have been close for so long. I just figured she'd deserve to know you're moving on."

"Well, Mother, there's nothing to move on from. We're not and have never been together but interesting running into you Mother, we were on our way out so we'll see you later."

Arlette was not pleased to be dismissed. She glared at me and muttered, "Claire," before walking away.

I went to the back, not sure which closet she meant. I started opening each door. Then, finally, I heard hushed voices behind the last one. I held my breath, opened the door, and flicked on the light.

And there it was—just as Arlette said. Becca in Drew's arms, flustered. It played in slow motion. They fell to the floor together, with him twisting so she landed on top. He looked toward the door as they fell, pure panic on his face.

So I did the only thing I could: I ran.

Because the alternative? That would've ended with me on an episode of Snapped, and let's be honest—my asthma wouldn't survive prison.