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External POV
A few hours earlier, before the events at the Greenne house.
A gray Toyota Camry—silent despite its age—glided slowly toward the exit of Raven's Shade. The summer sun crushed the road beneath its glare, casting burning reflections across the windshield. Inside the car, despite the air conditioning blasting at full power, the heat still seemed to seep in.
An Ed Sheeran song played softly, nostalgic, filling the space. It clashed with the subtle tension hanging between the two passengers.
Claire stared at the road, her elbow resting against the door, her face turned toward the passing landscape. Her mother, hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.
"You should stop making that face," she finally said.
"What face?" Claire replied, feigning ignorance as her gaze followed the distant hills.
"That six-feet-long face."
"I still don't see what you're talking about," she muttered, though the tightness in her voice betrayed her.
Her mother sighed, then added softly,
"It's about your family."
A short, bitter laugh answered her. Claire finally turned her head, a sarcastic smile on her lips.
"My family?" she repeated.
The smile vanished instantly, replaced by a bitterness that weighed down her expression.
"They are your family… even if they're not perfect, Claire," her mother murmured, her eyes leaving the road for a brief second to meet her daughter's.
Claire didn't reply. Her fingers tapped nervously against the door, as if trying to shake off an invisible weight.
---
⭐ Claire's POV
My family.
The words rang false.
A family that had always kept me at arm's length.
A family at the root of so many wounds—my mother's included.
A family that reminded me at every gathering that I didn't belong.
And above all…
a family that reminded me, every single time, that I was the reason for my parents' divorce.
Suddenly, a memory pierced me like an icy blade.
Christmas Eve, 2013.
The tree too perfect.
The disdainful looks.
My cousins' muffled laughter.
My grandmother—my father's mother—arguing with my parents once again.
And that sentence, which time itself had failed to erase:
"Some mistakes should never have been born."
Words that still haunted me after all these years.
Then I remembered my mother leaving the room, shaking with rage, and my father—disappointed, as usual.
The car came to a sudden stop, yanking me out of the crushing memory.
"Salem," my mother murmured.
Already.
---
We arrived at the Davis house, the ancestral name Duval engraved on the gate as it slowly opened.
The doorbell rang. My heart began to race.
I was back in that house where every memory seemed to come back to life.
The door opened onto my father.
His smile was a façade; his eyes avoided mine.
"Claire," he said, pulling me into a hug.
Beside me, my mother received nothing more than a hypocritically polite handshake.
We went inside.
The entire Davis family—formerly Duval—was gathered.
From the most venomous aunt
to the most arrogant cousin,
including those looks that judged before even saying hello.
After the forced greetings, I ran into her.
Grandmother.
Rachelle Duval.
In an instant, my hands grew clammy. My throat tightened.
"There you are at last," she said in her eternally haughty tone.
"Happy to see you too, Rachelle," my mother replied with a fake smile.
"I see you still haven't changed."
"Neither have you, Grandma."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Still just as unpleasant, Andrea," she snapped, turning to me.
"I get that from you," I shot back.
Silence rippled through the air.
"Claire!"
My grandfather's warm voice came from behind us.
"Come here, my treasure."
He practically pulled me out of the verbal battlefield that had already begun again with my grandmother. After his usual questions, he went back to the discussion room—where my parents, my grandmother, and the entire family elite were already gathered.
I barely had time to breathe.
Eric—the family's spoiled favorite—approached with his usual smugness.
Of course he was going to bother me.
As always, confrontation followed.
During our petty exchanges, something shifted.
A wave of nausea slammed into my chest.
I lost my balance.
I grabbed onto a table, breathless.
A biting cold seized me.
Then a brutal migraine.
The people around me looked disturbed—some annoyed, probably thinking I was just trying to draw attention to myself.
What a bunch of idiots, I thought bitterly.
And suddenly… a sharp burn, like a line of fire, tore along my left wrist.
A scream escaped me—violent, uncontrollable.
The lights above me exploded with a crackle.
A white flash.
Sparks rained down from the chandelier.
The power went out.
The room plunged into chaos—screams everywhere.
Everyone panicked.
"What did you do again, you ugly duckling?" Eric shouted.
I shot him a look that could have killed him on the spot. He shut up immediately.
The doors to the back room burst open.
My parents rushed in, followed by my grandparents.
My mother ran toward me.
I was shaking, unable to move.
The burn on my wrist throbbed like a foreign heart.
One single word slipped past my lips.
Spontaneous.
Instinctive.
Completely incomprehensible to me.
"Avery…"