A Cruel Collision

Richard released Clara’s trapped arm the moment the lazy voice echoed through the dim corridor. Both of them turned to find Tristan casually approaching the tense scene. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his tailored trousers, but his relaxed posture did not mask the sharp, territorial gleam in his dark eyes.

Tristan closed the distance and aggressively stared down the older, powerful man. "Secretary Mercer?"

"President Hayes," Richard replied, forcing a strained laugh to diffuse the sudden tension.

Tristan’s lips curved into a cold, mocking smile as he stepped right into Richard’s personal space. "Secretary, why exactly are you holding my assistant’s hand? Are you harassing her?"

Richard blinked in sheer surprise. "Assistant?" He glanced back and forth between the imposing regional president and his furious daughter. "Clara, you work for President Hayes?"

"Clara?" Tristan echoed, his tone laced with protective hostility. He reached out, grabbing Clara by the wrist and pulling her behind his broad shoulder to shield her from the older man. "Why are you addressing her like you’re old friends? Secretary Mercer, my assistant is young enough to be your daughter. She isn't even that good-looking, so please don't get the wrong idea."

Richard stared at Tristan’s aggressive stance. The misunderstanding was glaringly obvious. Yet, watching the handsome executive shield Clara like a fierce mother hen protecting her chick, Richard felt a sudden wave of amusement. The anger he usually felt during corporate squabbles vanished. He found Tristan's protective nature reassuring. If the president of Vanguard Group's regional office was willing to stand up for her like this, perhaps she was in good hands.

Deciding this busy club corridor was not the proper place to publicly explain their strained father-daughter relationship, Richard offered a knowing smile. "President Hayes, I have other matters to attend to this evening. I'll excuse myself now. Let's meet again soon."

Tristan watched the older man disappear around the corner. The second Richard was out of sight, Tristan’s protective demeanor vanished. His handsome face soured into a deep scowl. He dropped Clara’s hand in sheer disgust, taking a step back and dramatically wiping his palm on his trousers as if trying to scrub away a stain.

"Are you an idiot?" Tristan snapped, his voice dropping into a harsh, insulting whisper. "Do you think it’s actually funny to let an old man intimately hold your hand in public?"

"President Hayes, it’s not what you think it is," Clara sighed, laughing bitterly as she shook her head at his wild accusations.

"It had better not be!" Tristan leaned in, his gaze piercing. "Are you so desperate that you’ll even attempt to seduce an old man? You should be acutely aware of your reputation. Keep your hands to yourself, or I’ll fire you on the spot!"

Clara lowered her gaze, masking her exhaustion. "Understood. It won't happen again."

Mollified by her quiet, submissive agreement, Tristan straightened his jacket. He waved a dismissive hand. "Get out of here. You don't need to attend the rest of this gathering. Go home, rest up, and properly arrange an upcoming date for me with Stella tomorrow."

"Alright," Clara murmured, grateful for the rare chance to leave early.

The following morning, Clara woke early to handle Tristan's personal affairs. After securing the extravagant date he requested, she set out to run her own errands. Her uncle had been in poor health recently, his frail body requiring nutrient-rich meals to recover. Taking a deliberate detour, she navigated toward the bustling downtown farmers' market.

She spent over an hour weaving through the crowded, noisy stalls, carefully selecting fresh fish, plump prawns, and a whole chicken. The heavy plastic grocery bags dug mercilessly into her palms as she finally stepped out of the chaotic market and onto the adjacent sidewalk.

The morning sun beat down on the concrete. Clara adjusted her grip on the heavy bags, preparing for the long walk to the bus stop.

A sudden roar of a high-powered engine shattered the ambient street noise. A sleek luxury car sped down the road, taking a sharp turn far too fast. Instead of straightening out, the vehicle swerved violently directly onto the curb.

Clara had barely a fraction of a second to react. The heavy metal bumper clipped her hip.

The blunt impact sent her flying. She hit the concrete ground incredibly hard, her groceries scattering across the pavement. Fresh seafood and bruised meat spilled into the dirty gutter.

Pain flared instantly. Her palms scraped raw against the rough pavement, leaving streaks of red on the gray stone. Her legs ached fiercely from the trauma, the muscles spasming. She gasped for breath, momentarily paralyzed. Every attempt to summon the physical strength to stand ended in a sharp, agonizing wince.

The car jerked to a halt mere feet away. The driver’s side door flung open, and a terrified man rushed out. He sprinted toward her, his face pale with panic.

"Are you alright?" he asked, reaching out a trembling hand.

"I'm trying to stand..." Clara managed to wheeze out, forcing herself onto her elbows.

The driver leaned closer. His eyes widened in absolute shock as he recognized the face beneath the messy hair and thick glasses. He froze, his outstretched hand dropping to his side. "Young… Young Madam!" he stammered.

"What young madam?" a harsh, screeching voice immediately interrupted from behind. "Dominic hasn't been with this lowly woman for a long time. Watch your tongue!"

The luxurious back door swung open. Sylvia Thorne stepped out onto the sidewalk, her designer heels clicking sharply against the pavement. She adjusted her silk scarf, marching arrogantly toward the injured woman bleeding on the ground without a single ounce of human sympathy.

Instead of offering help, Sylvia’s lips twisted into a cruel sneer. "Clara Vance, are you doing this on purpose?" she mocked, her voice carrying over the gathering crowd. "Are you getting desperate after hearing the grand news that Dominic and Chloe are getting engaged? Are you ready to try and make a pathetic comeback again by throwing yourself at our car?"

Faced with the very same disgusted glare she had endured for three agonizing years of her marriage, Clara felt no need to hold her tongue. They were officially divorced strangers now. She owed this haughty woman nothing.

Ignoring the stinging pain in her legs, Clara propped herself up on her bleeding palms. A cold, defiant laugh escaped her lips.

"Don’t worry, Madam Thorne," Clara shot back, her voice ringing with icy clarity. "I only need to meet a cheating scum like Dominic Thorne once in my entire life. I would have to be sick in the head to ever want to have another relationship with him!"

Sylvia gasped, her manicured hands balling into tight fists. Infuriated to her core that her formerly meek, submissive ex-daughter-in-law now possessed the sheer audacity to openly insult her precious son in public, she lost all sense of decorum.

"You little wretch!" Sylvia shrieked.

She lunged forward. Raising her hand high, she delivered a vicious, ringing slap across Clara's cheek. The massive force of the strike caught Clara off guard. Her weakened arms buckled, sending her tumbling right back onto the hard pavement. The side of her face burned with a fiery, throbbing heat.

The loud smack echoed down the busy sidewalk. Unable to stomach the blatant, unprovoked cruelty unfolding before their eyes, the surrounding crowd of market-goers immediately erupted in righteous outrage.

"How can someone do that? She still acted so cruelly after hitting her with the car? Let’s report this to the police!"