By Thursday evening, Claire was still shaken by Miko's accident. She visited him twice after school, always with Diana lurking close by, watching her every move like a hawk. Miko tried to keep things light, but beneath his crooked grin, Claire could see the weight he carried. He didn't need to say it again — the crash had been deliberate.
So when Randy mentioned casually that his father wanted her to join their family dinner that weekend, every instinct screamed at her to refuse.
But she couldn't. Not without raising suspicion.
Saturday night, she found herself seated at a long polished table in the Walker residence. Crystal glasses gleamed in the chandelier's glow, and the dishes were plated with precision, as though she were dining in a five-star hotel. Randy sat beside her, his hand lightly resting over hers, while his father dominated the head of the table.
"Claire," Mr. Walker said smoothly, his deep voice filling the room. "It's good to finally have you here again. My son has spoken highly of you."
Claire forced a smile. "Thank you for inviting me, Mr Walker ."
Dinner passed in polite conversation — school, future plans, vague jokes about Randy inheriting the business one day. But beneath it all, Claire felt the weight of his father's gaze, sharp and calculating, as if measuring her worth with every word she spoke.
After dessert, Randy excused himself to take a call. Claire lingered at the edge of the living room, trying to steady her nerves. Her eyes drifted over the rows of framed photographs on the mantel — most of Randy's childhood, some family portraits.
And then she froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
One picture, slightly dustier than the rest, showed four figures. A man, a boy, a woman… and a little girl.
The man was unmistakable — Mr. Walker, younger but with the same sharp features. The boy was Randy, no older than six. Beside him stood Claire's mother, smiling warmly. And in front, holding her hand… was Claire herself.
A child. Maybe four years old.
Claire's vision blurred for a second, her knees wobbling. She reached out, fingers brushing the glass frame as if touching it would make it vanish.
Why?
How?
Her mother had never mentioned knowing the Walker . Not once.
"You found it."
The voice behind her made her spin, nearly dropping the frame. Mr. Walker stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
Claire stammered, "This picture… this was—"
He stepped closer, his presence heavy. "You were very young. Perhaps you don't remember. But yes… our families once knew each other."
Claire's heart pounded so hard it hurt. "Why didn't my mother ever tell me?"
A faint smile curved his lips, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Sometimes, memories fade. Or are meant to be forgotten." He reached out, gently taking the frame from her trembling hands and setting it back in its place. "But the past has a way of returning, Claire. Don't you think?"
Her mouth was dry, words caught in her throat. She wanted to demand answers, to scream, but his calm tone and the steel in his eyes froze her in place.
Just then, Randy's voice echoed from the hall. "Claire?"
Mr. Walker straightened smoothly, his smile instantly polite again. "Go on. Randy's waiting."
Claire forced herself to move, but every step away from that mantel felt like dragging her feet through quicksand.
The picture burned in her mind.
Her mother. Randy. His father.
And herself — already tied to their world long before she could understand it.
For the first time, Tasya's warning rang louder than her doubt.
They'll destroy you once you're no longer useful.
But what if she had already been theirs all along?
The ride back to her house was quiet. Randy hummed along to the music on the radio, his hand resting casually on the wheel, but Claire barely heard him. Her mind was locked on the photograph — the smiles, the way her mother's hand had held her so gently, the presence of Randy's father beside them.
The image wouldn't let go.
When Randy pulled up in front of her house, he leaned over and kissed her cheek lightly. "Thanks for coming tonight. My dad really liked you."
Claire forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'll… see you tomorrow."
She slipped out of the car quickly, her pulse pounding, and hurried inside before Randy could notice how shaken she was.
Her mother was still awake, folding laundry in the living room. She looked up with a tired smile. "You're home. How was dinner?"
Claire's throat tightened. She hovered for a moment, then blurted out, "Why didn't you ever tell me you knew Randy's family?"
Her mother froze. The shirt in her hands slipped back into the basket. "What?"
"I saw a photo," Claire pressed, her voice sharper than she intended. "Me, you, Randy, and his dad. I was a kid. Why was I there? Why didn't you ever mention this?"
Her mother's face drained of color. For a moment, silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. Then she exhaled slowly, sitting down on the sofa.
"Claire… you were so little, I didn't think you'd remember." Her voice was soft, careful. "Yes, I used to know Randy's family. His mother and I were close friends. We met during university, and for a time we kept in touch even after we had families of our own."
Claire sat on the edge of the armchair, leaning forward. "So that's why there's a picture? We used to visit them?"
Her mother nodded faintly. "Once or twice. But when Randy's mother moved to France… we lost contact. She had her own life, and I had mine. That's all there is to it."
Claire's chest tightened. "That's all?"
Her mother hesitated, eyes flicking away for just a second — but Claire caught it. That hesitation. That tiny fracture in her voice.
"Yes," her mother said finally, forcing a small smile. "That's all. There's nothing for you to worry about, Claire."
But Claire's gut twisted. She wanted to believe her, wanted to take the explanation and let it go. But the way her mother avoided her gaze told her there was more — something left unsaid, locked away.
She swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "Okay."
Her mother reached over, squeezing her hand. "Don't overthink it. The past is the past."
But lying awake that night, staring at her ceiling, Claire couldn't stop the thoughts from racing.
Why had Randy's father looked so calm when she found the photo — almost like he expected her to?
Why had her mother hesitated, just for that one second?
And why did it feel like her life had been tangled with Randy's family long before she ever had a choice?
The warning messages echoed again in her mind.
Be careful with the Randy family.
Too late. He's already making his move.
Claire pressed her palms to her face, her heart pounding.
If Tasya was right… maybe her connection to the Walker wasn't a coincidence.
Maybe it had been decided years ago.