Building Her Throne Burying My Heart (Claire) novel Chapter 19

Catherine glanced over at me, a little surprised.

Honestly, she probably thought I’d stick with her or try to weasel my way out with some clever third option. Maybe she even wanted to keep me around, just to see how far I’d go. Not many people dared to turn her down to her face. She liked playing her games, but she wasn’t stupid. She could always tell who was being real and who was just pretending.

But I picked the money. That told her everything. My so-called high ground was just an act, and now she saw right through it.

She clapped, letting out a booming laugh. “You know what, Claire was right. Nobody really hates money.”

Pointing at the table stacked with bottles, she grinned. “Finish all of that, and the hundred thousand is yours.”

She pulled out a bank card, tossed it onto the table, and said, “Password’s six zeroes. Show me if you’ve got what it takes to actually earn it.”

I stared at that card, my fists clenched tight. A hundred grand could fix so much for me right now. I wanted to turn my back on all of this, but then I thought of Darleen, so pale and weak in her hospital bed. Just like that, refusing wasn’t an option anymore.

Pride? Dignity? Suddenly those words felt empty compared to life and death.

Claire’s eyes didn’t leave me, her face colder than ice. She didn’t say a word. If she’d spoken up, even just a little, maybe Catherine would’ve stopped pushing. But she didn’t.

She just waited, watching, almost as if she wanted to see me give in, to see how much it hurt. Maybe that’s what she’d wanted all along. Maybe not. It didn’t even matter. I had no choice either way.

I took a deep breath, forced myself to walk back into the room, grabbed a bottle, and tried to sound casual. “Catherine, since you’re being so generous, I’d be rude to refuse again.”

Then I started drinking. I tipped the bottle back, choked down the burning liquor, and kept going, bottle after bottle. My stomach twisted, but I didn’t let up. The others circled around, laughing and shouting, like I was their personal show for the night. For people like them, money was nothing. They just wanted a good time.

But there was a whole table of strong liquor, and even the best drinker can’t last long like that. At the start, I kept up. The more I drank, though, the worse I felt. My head spun, my hands shook, and soon I was spilling more than I was swallowing, soaking my shirt.

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