The afternoon sun filtered through the classroom windows, painting long shadows on the tiled floor. Clara sat at her desk, her pencil tapping nervously against her notebook. Something felt off. The teacher's voice, usually clear and steady, now seemed distant, muffled by the strange tension that hovered in the air. It wasn't just her imagination — even her classmates behaved differently today. They whispered behind her back, exchanged glances she couldn't quite interpret, and one boy she barely knew had suddenly become oddly attentive, always watching her when he thought she wouldn't notice.
Clara tried to focus on the blackboard, but her mind kept drifting elsewhere — to her mother's face that morning, her smile faint but sincere, and to Eric's reassuring words before she left: "Don't let anything bother you today, okay? Just be yourself."
Now, those words echoed strangely in her mind.
The bell rang. She gathered her books and slipped them into her bag, relieved to finally leave the uneasy atmosphere behind. But as she stepped out into the corridor, she froze. Standing by the door was a man she had never seen before — tall, clean-shaven, wearing a dark suit that didn't belong in a school hallway. His gaze found hers instantly.
"Clara Darselle?" he asked in a calm tone, his smile polite but unnatural.
She hesitated. "Yes…?"
"Your mother asked me to pick you up today. There's been a small issue with her schedule."
Clara frowned. Her mother never sent anyone else to get her. Never. "I don't think so," she replied, stepping back slightly.
The man's smile didn't falter, but something in his eyes darkened. "It's alright. She called the school. You can call her if you want."
"I will," Clara said quickly, clutching her phone and turning away. She hurried down the stairs, her pulse quickening. The moment she reached the courtyard, she dialed her mother's number with trembling fingers — no answer. She tried again. Still nothing.
Her throat tightened.
Then, through the gates, she saw a familiar car pulling up — Eric's. Relief washed over her, and she ran towards it before the man in the hallway could reappear.
Eric rolled down the window as soon as he saw her rushing out. "Clara? What happened? You look pale."
"There was a man—he said Mom sent him to pick me up. I didn't believe him."
Eric's expression hardened immediately. He got out of the car, scanning the entrance with a controlled sharpness that betrayed his fear. "Stay inside the car, Clara."
She obeyed without a word.
Eric moved swiftly toward the school building, his eyes searching every direction, but the man was already gone. The only trace left was the faint smell of cologne lingering in the corridor — unfamiliar and cold. He clenched his jaw, his instincts confirming what his reason refused to dismiss: someone had tried to take Clara.
When he returned to the car, Clara's hands were shaking. He placed a reassuring hand over hers. "You did the right thing, Clara. You didn't follow him. That's what matters."
"Do you think it was him?" she whispered.
Eric didn't answer right away. His silence was enough.
The drive home was quiet. Clara stared out the window, the city passing in a blur of colors she no longer noticed. When they finally reached the house, Sarah was already waiting at the door, her expression tight with worry.
"Clara?" she called, rushing forward as her daughter stepped out. "What happened?"
Clara's eyes filled with tears. "There was a man at school. He said you sent him."
Sarah's face drained of color. Her gaze flicked toward Eric, who gave her a slow, grave nod.
They went inside without another word. Sarah locked the door, drew the curtains, and guided Clara to the couch. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her daughter's cheek. "You're safe now, sweetheart. It's over."
But Eric's voice, low and steady, contradicted her comfort. "It's not over. This was deliberate. Someone knew her schedule. Someone knew exactly when to approach."
Sarah turned to him, her voice rising. "Are you saying Laurent—?"
"I'm saying it's possible," Eric interrupted. "We've both seen what he's capable of. This isn't random."
The name hung in the air like a curse. Laurent.
For months, they had tried to believe he was gone for good, buried under his own obsessions and failures. But shadows had a way of creeping back — patient, silent, inevitable.
Sarah rubbed her temples, her breath unsteady. "He wouldn't dare go near her. Not after everything."
Eric leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "Sarah, he's not going near her. He's sending others to do it for him."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant ticking of the wall clock. Clara, exhausted and confused, rested her head on her mother's shoulder, trying to make sense of words that only deepened her fear.
That night, Sarah couldn't sleep. She sat by the window, watching the faint lights of the neighborhood, her thoughts consumed by dread. Every creak of the house made her flinch. Every shadow outside seemed alive.
Eric entered quietly, holding two cups of tea. He set one beside her and stood by the window. "You should rest."
"I can't," she murmured. "Every time I close my eyes, I see that man's face. What if Clara hadn't run? What if—"
"She did," Eric cut in gently. "Because you raised her to be careful. Because she listens to her instincts."
Sarah's eyes filled with tears she refused to let fall. "Laurent won't stop, will he?"
Eric hesitated, then shook his head. "No. Not until he's forced to."
His tone was calm, but his knuckles were white around his cup. He had spent years fighting men like Laurent — men who believed love was possession, who used control as their form of affection. But Laurent was different. Smarter. Colder.
"What do we do now?" Sarah asked.
Eric turned to her, his voice firm. "We fight back. We stop waiting for him to strike."
She looked at him, surprised by the steel in his tone.
"I've been in contact with someone," he continued. "A private investigator. If Laurent's behind this, we'll find proof. I won't let him play games with Clara's life."
Sarah's lips parted in disbelief. "You already started investigating?"
"I had to. The calls, the strange cars near the office — it wasn't coincidence. I just didn't want to worry you until I was sure."
Her anger dissolved into silent gratitude. She reached out, touching his arm. "Thank you, Eric."
He met her gaze, and for a brief, unguarded second, something fragile passed between them — a connection born of fear, trust, and the unspoken longing that had been growing between them for months.
But neither of them said it. Not yet.
The next morning, Sarah took Clara to school herself, while Eric stayed behind to make a few calls. He contacted his investigator, who confirmed what he already suspected: the man from the school matched a description connected to one of Laurent's old associates — someone who had disappeared after the divorce hearings.
The trap was tightening.
When Sarah returned home, Eric shared the news. She listened in silence, her expression unreadable. "So he's watching us," she finally said.
Eric nodded. "And he's testing how far he can go before we react."
Her voice hardened. "Then let's show him we're not afraid."
That night, Clara slept peacefully for the first time since the incident, unaware of the plan her mother and Eric were quietly building — a plan to expose Laurent, to end his reach once and for all.
As the moonlight spilled across the quiet street, Eric stood by the window, phone in hand, eyes sharp and vigilant. He knew this was only the beginning. The shadows were closing in, but this time, he was ready to fight back.