Chapter 7 - Begging in the Dust
Arthur took a desperate step toward Clara, falling onto both knees beside his mother.
“Clara,” he wept, reaching out to grab the hem of her robe. “I was weak. I admit it! I was terrified of my father! I’ve been terrified of him my whole life! But I loved you! When I saw you at the museum... when we ate boxed pasta in your kitchen... that was the only time in my life I felt real!”
Clara looked down at him.
For two years, she had loved this man. She had cooked for him when he was stressed. She had rubbed his shoulders after long board meetings. She had listened to his dreams of breaking free from his father’s shadow and building something of his own.
“If you had stood up for me once, Arthur,” Clara said, her voice breaking slightly with the weight of lost grief. “Just once.”
Arthur looked up, tears streaming down his cheeks. “What?”
“If you had told your mother to stop at dinner,” Clara said. “If you had taken my hand when Beatrice ruined my dress. If you had refused to sign that prenup and said, 'She is my wife, and I will not let you insult her.' If you had done just one of those things...”
Clara paused, looking at Henrik.
“If you had shown a single grain of courage,” Clara whispered, “I would have used my sovereign wealth to pay off your father’s debts tomorrow. I would have given you an empire, Arthur. Not because you were a Harrington, but because you were my husband.”
Arthur’s face twisted into absolute, crushing agony as the realization hit him like an iron hammer.
He had held the keys to a sovereign kingdom in his hands.
He had held a princess’s heart.
And he had traded it away because he was afraid his mother would cut off his credit card.
“No...” Arthur choked out, beating his fists against the floor. “No, no, no! Clara! Please! Give me another chance! Test me again! Let me prove it to you!”
“The test is over, Arthur,” Clara said.
She turned her back on him, walking toward her bedroom door.
“Henrik,” she commanded softly. “Have security escort Mr. and Mrs. Harrington from the premises. And make sure the press receives a full copy of the prenup they forced me to sign.”
“Right away, Your Serene Highness,” Henrik replied.
As the guards dragged Arthur, Richard, and Eleanor out into the carpeted hallway, Arthur’s screams echoed down the corridor:
May you like
“Clara! Clara! Please!”
The heavy double doors closed, cutting off his voice forever.
