THE TRASH YOU MOCKED

9

The next morning, just hours after Clara’s tearful plea had become the hottest trending video online, another headlines lit up like wildfire.

"BREAKING: Marcus Mallin Arrested for Embezzlement and Fraud"

He was Clara’s boyfriend. The man she had chosen over Evan.

News outlets flooded social media with footage of Marcus being led out of his penthouse in handcuffs, his thousand-dollar suit rumpled, his expression dazed and furious as federal agents led him into a waiting black SUV.

The charges were severe, embezzling of funds, falsified audits, off shore accounts and stolen investor funds.

By 11 am morning time, whispers had taken root and were spreading fast.

" This can’t be a coincidence.”

" Did you hear? Evan Blake was behind it…”

“You think Evan had something to do with this?”

"He owns half that board now, doesn’t he?”

“Maybe this was never about revenge. Maybe it was justice, served cold.”

No one could prove it. There was no trail or evidence that led it to Evan and that left the city in deep confusion.

A week later, in a sunny morning.

Clara parked in front of the grand Lancaster estate, her eyes gleaming as she took in the view. The mansion was even more magnificent from the inside.

A line of luxury cars stretched across the driveway, and the staff moved with swift uniformity.

Armed security patrolled the grounds with the kind of intensity one would expect at a presidential palace.

She smiled.

Soon, all of this would be her.

Her plan had been simple, manipulative but effective.

She’d sent Evan a mail regarding their divorce, lied that she never submitted the papers. Which means legally, their marriage still stood, which was a total lie.

Then, with carefully chosen words, she told him she wanted to meet. To talk. To “end things properly.”

He replied in under an hour.

And he picked today.

She knew what he’d be expecting, a clean break, a final conversation.

But that wasn’t what she came for.

She had one last card up her sleeve.

As she thought, a young man in a tailored black suit approached her briskly, “Welcome, ma’am,” he said with a professional smile. “Master Lancaster is expecting you. You can come in now.”

Clara adjusted her sunglasses and stepped out of the car, heels clicking against the stone driveway.

Clara stepped into the lavish interior of the Lancaster mansion.

The moment she entered the living room, She found Evan seated calmly, looking effortlessly regal in his charcoal suit, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of water untouched beside him.

He didn't say a word when he saw her.

“Thank you, Fred. You may leave now,” Evan said.

The suited man gave a small bow and exited, closing the doors behind him.

A faint cough escaped Clara’s throat as she tried to soften the tension. “I… I wanted to tell you something important,” she began, folding her hands in front of her.

Evan leaned back slightly, eyes cold. “What’s left to say? Isn’t this about the divorce? Where are the papers, so I can sign and we’re done?”

Clara laughed.

A soft, mocking sound that made Evan frown.

“Done?” she said, " I don’t think that’s possible.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I told you,” he said coldly, “there’s nothing left between us.”

There is,” she answered. “Whether you like it or not, you’re bound to me now.”

Evan didn’t answer. He simply stared.

“I’m pregnant,” she dropped. “ And it’s yours.”

Without waiting another moment, she pulled a neatly folded document from her handbag and placed it on the table in front of him.

“See this,” she said, pushing it toward him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Evan picked it up and scanned the paper. His brows slowly knit together.

It was a medical report.

Pregnancy confirmation.

Clara tilted her head, studying his expression . “I’m carrying your child, Evan.”

She knew he would fall for it.

It was perfectly forged, signed by a reputable doctor, details meticulously crafted.

And there was enough truth in her eyes to blur the lie.

Evan stared at the paper again, then back at Clara. His face didn’t change, but his eyes… they darkened.

“You're pregnant?” he said flatly.

Clara nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“And you’re saying it’s mine.”

She placed a hand on her stomach, feigning tenderness. “It happened a week before the divorce talks began. You remember that night… don’t you?”

Evan was silent for a moment.

Then he stood, walked over to the bar at the corner of the room, poured himself a drink, and downed it in one smooth gulp. He poured a second one, but didn’t drink it.

He just held it, swirling the contents slowly.

“I find that interesting,” he said. “Because I haven’t touched you in almost a year.”

Clara’s smile faltered for a split second. “That’s not true.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” she snapped, “You’re just confused. It was that weekend in February. When we went for father's project and you got drunk—remember?”

Evan turned to face her,

“I didn’t attend that event. That day, my boss delayed me at work with extra chores. I recalled you even called to scream at me about my absence.”

Clara blinked.

For a moment, she had no words. Then she laughed again. “Wow. You’re really going to pretend you don’t remember? That’s low, Evan.”

He stepped closer to her, tossing the report onto the glass table between them.

“This is fake. Cheaply made. I’ve seen better forged documents in the junk mail folder of my assistant’s email. Who’s the real father, Clara?”

Clara’s fists stood up to him. “It’s yours.”

“It’s Marcus, isn’t it?” Evan said. “Your little boy toy. Still sneaking around with him? I heard he's now in prison, facing allegations for some serious crimes he committed.”

Clara's face twisted slightly. “Even if it was, so what? At least, he didn't decieve his way into wealth like you”

Evan smiled and moved back

“And now you want everything I have"

She looked away.

“I already sent this to my legal team,” Evan added. “They’ll verify the report by noon."

" I don't care. You're going to be a father whether you like it or not.”

Before Evan could respond, the doors opened. Two guards entered, dragging a man in a white lab coat. The man was sweating, trembling.

“P-please… I didn’t mean to… She forced me… Please don’t kill me—”

Clara’s eyes widened. “Doctor Jerry!”

The name slipped before she could stop herself. Her hand flew to her mouth.