Chapter 5
Justin's POV
"What did you say?" My pupils constricted sharply as I stared at Chloe in my arms in utter disbelief.
Using a living person as a target wasn't any kind of proof—it was a one-sided slaughter.
"What? Do you feel sorry for her?" Chloe shoved me back, her tears streaming down like broken pearls, her voice shrill and agonizing. "You keep saying you love me, that you only treated her as a tool for three years. But now, when I just want to make up for the grievances I suffered during this time, you refuse! Justin Foster, have you fallen in love with her? Are you unwilling to let her die?!"
"I haven't!" I retorted instinctively, though an inexplicable irritation flared in my chest.
I looked at Clara Somers, who sat silently on the bed. She was too quiet—quiet like a beautiful doll without a soul. Even upon hearing such an absurd and brutal demand, there wasn't a single trace of fear or a plea for mercy on her face.
This icy detachment, which shut me out entirely, thoroughly enraged me.
"Fine," I ground out through clenched teeth. "I promise you."
Half an hour later, in the private shooting range beneath the Foster family villa.
The cold fluorescent lights illuminated the empty space in a stark, sterile white. Clara's hands were brutally tied behind her back by two bodyguards, who bound her tightly to a solid wooden target post in the distance with coarse hemp rope.
The basement smelled of gunpowder and the cold, harsh scent of metal that lingered year-round. Clara's frail body pressed against the freezing wooden post. Due to the blood loss and pain, her face was as white as paper, yet her cool, clear eyes stared straight at me as I stood before the shooting platform.
There was no resentment, no pleading—only a deathly silence, like a pool of stagnant water.
Staring into those eyes caused a sudden, sharp pang in my heart, as if something were being violently ripped from my life. I forced myself to look away and handed Chloe a modified, low-recoil ladies' pistol.
"Three shots." My voice was incredibly raspy. My hands, hanging at my sides, clenched tightly into fists, my knuckles turning white. "After these three shots, this matter is put to rest for good."
"Of course." Chloe took the gun, her lips curving into a cruel, smug smirk.
She held the gun with both hands, aiming at Clara in the distance.
*Bang!*
The first gunshot echoed deafeningly throughout the enclosed basement.
"Ugh..." Clara let out a tightly suppressed groan, her body convulsing violently.
The bullet pierced cleanly through her right wrist. Blood gushed out instantly, dripping down her pale fingers and onto the cold concrete floor, blooming into startling crimson blossoms.
That was the very hand that had cooked for me, massaged me, and guided me through the darkness for countless days and nights. Now, it was a bloody mess.
It felt as though an invisible hand had violently crushed my heart. I took an instinctive step forward, my Adam's apple bobbing hard. "Chloe..."
"What's the rush? That was only the first shot." Chloe's eyes flushed red with excitement. She wasn't venting any grievances at all; she was thoroughly enjoying the thrill of controlling someone else's life and death.
She raised the gun once more. This time, the muzzle tilted slightly upward, aiming straight at Clara's head.
*Bang!*
The second shot.
The bullet grazed Clara's right ear, slicing off a small piece of flesh before embedding itself deep within the wooden post behind her. Blood flowed down her outer ear, staining half of her slender neck a shocking crimson.
If Chloe's hand had trembled even a fraction of an inch, that shot would have blown Clara's skull wide open.
"Enough!" Unable to bear it any longer, I lunged forward and grabbed Chloe's hand, forcing the gun down, my eyes shot through with terrifying red veins. "Chloe Somers, do you want her dead?!"
"I do want her dead! She stole my place!" Chloe shrieked hysterically, wrenching her hand free and pulling the trigger a third time without the slightest hesitation.
*Bang!*
The third shot hit Clara squarely in the left shoulder.
The massive impact slammed Clara's body back against the post before bouncing her heavily forward. The hemp rope dug deep into her flesh. She could no longer support herself; her head drooped limply, and blood quickly soaked through her faded cotton dress.
"Clara!" My mind went completely blank, and that name—buried deep in my heart, one that I had only ever spoken aloud in the dark—slipped from my lips entirely beyond my control.
I rushed forward like a madman, desperate to untie the ropes binding her.
"Justin! My shoulder hurts so much..." Behind me, Chloe suddenly dropped the gun and squatted down, clutching her shoulder as tears streamed down her face. "The recoil was too strong. I think my shoulder is dislocated. It hurts so much..."
My hands froze as I was untying the ropes.
I looked back at the weeping Chloe, and then at the bloody, completely unconscious Clara before me.
My heart felt as though it were being torn in half. One side screamed frantically to save Clara, while the other made cold, calculated assessments.
*They're just flesh wounds,* I thought, gritting my teeth and desperately convincing myself. *I gave her so much money. I'll get her the best doctor; I won't let anything happen to her. Chloe is the one I love. Chloe is fragile, and she got hurt only to prove my love. I can't abandon her.*
Yes, I loved Chloe. If not for Clara, that despicable illegitimate daughter, intruding on us, Chloe would have been the one by my side these past three years. Clara's injuries were merely her paying back the debt for usurping the Foster family home for three years!
Taking a deep breath, I forcibly suppressed the suffocating pain in my chest. I turned to Chloe and scooped her up into my arms.
"I'll take you to see a doctor," I told Chloe softly.
Only Clara remained in the empty underground shooting range, bound to the target post and dripping with blood.
Blood went *drip, drip* onto the ground. In the dead silence of the room, it sounded like the ticking clock of a countdown to death.