The Puppet Strings
Clara's POV
The rain hadn't stopped since she returned to the Ashford mansion.
It beat against her window like a warning she refused to hear.
Clara stood before the mirror, her reflection pale in the candlelight.
A silk robe draped loosely around her shoulders, but beneath the softness, her skin felt cold — like she'd never really come back from Country X.
She reached for the drawer, pulling out a small black phone — not her regular one. This one had no brand, no SIM card marked with a name. Only a single contact saved: "HIM."
Her hands hesitated for a moment before pressing call.
The voice that answered was smooth, low, and commanding.
"You've gone quiet, Clara."
She swallowed hard. "I'm being watched. Richard's sons… they suspect me."
A faint hum of amusement came from the other end. "And what of Starling?"
"She's alive," Clara said carefully. "And she knows something. I don't know how much, but she's getting closer."
Silence. Then the man's voice turned sharper.
"Closer to what?"
Clara's throat tightened. "To you."
A pause — long enough for the sound of rain to fill the space between them. Then, quietly, the man said,
"Then it's time you remind her where her place truly is."
Clara's breath caught. "You don't understand. She's changed. She's dangerous now. If I make a move, she'll—"
"She won't," the man cut in. "Because she still doesn't know the truth."
"The truth?" Clara whispered.
"That I am her father," the voice said, calm and cold. "The same blood she wants to spill is the one that made her what she is."
Clara's knees went weak. "You— you never told me—"
"It was never your concern," he interrupted. "Your task was to keep her away. To silence her before she became what she was meant to be."
Clara's heart pounded painfully. "And if she finds out?"
"She won't," he said. "Unless you fail again."
Clara pressed her free hand to her chest, fighting for composure. "You asked me to kill her once. I couldn't. Not because I wouldn't — but because she wasn't alone. There was someone there—"
"Elijah Ashford," the man said quietly. "Yes. I know."
That calmness terrified her more than any threat could.
"She loves him," Clara murmured. "Still."
"Good," the man said. "Because love blinds her — and when the time comes, it will destroy her."
His words slithered through the silence, wrapping tight around her throat.
Clara wanted to hang up — to walk away from all of it. But she couldn't. She owed him. He'd given her everything once — the money, the protection, the lie that saved her life.
Now she was the lie.
The puppet.
"Do you understand me, Clara?" he asked softly.
"Yes," she whispered. "I understand."
"Then listen carefully. The Ashfords are falling apart. Let them. When the fire starts, make sure Starling is the spark they all blame."
Her breath shook. "And if she survives?"
"Then you finish what you started in Country X."
The line went dead.
For a moment, the only sound left was the rain — relentless, steady, merciless.
Clara lowered the phone slowly, staring at her reflection again.
Her eyes looked older now. Emptier.
Because she knew one thing: if Starling ever found out who her real father was… if she ever learned the truth behind the man she hated and the man she loved… the world around them wouldn't just burn.
It would collapse.
And in the middle of it all — Clara would be the one holding the match.
The Puppet Strings (continued)
Starling's POV
The storm hadn't reached her studio yet, but she could feel it coming — that strange pressure before the sky breaks open.
Her brush hovered over the canvas, colors blurring in her vision until they became nothing more than shades of unease.
For the first time in years, painting didn't calm her.
Something was wrong.
The woman who called herself her mother hadn't contacted her since the night at Hotel Crescent. No messages, no calls, no proof — just silence.
But silence could mean many things.
And Starling had learned long ago that silence usually meant war was coming.
Her phone buzzed once on the table — a private number.
No voice.
Just a text:
"She's back. Watch the house."
Starling's breath hitched.
Clara.
Her pulse spiked. She rose from her chair and crossed the room, her mind racing. Clara being "back" meant the failed plan in Country X wasn't buried after all. It meant someone still wanted her gone.
But who?
She paced near the window, the night swallowing the city lights below. Her reflection stared back at her — calm, poised, but with eyes that betrayed the storm inside.
Every name she'd ever written down on her revenge list had been connected to the Ashfords — Richard, Elijah, even Matthew for his silence.
But Clara… Clara had always been the one she couldn't understand.
Why had she hesitated back then? Why had she disappeared instead of finishing what she was sent to do?
And now — who sent her?
The thought knifed through her: Maybe it was never the Ashfords.
Starling turned away from the glass, crossing to her desk.
She opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a file — one of her father's old ledgers, saved from the wreckage of SolenArt.
Inside were names, donations, corporate links — but one name appeared too often to ignore.
I. Voss.
She whispered it under her breath like a curse.
Every forged document, every "anonymous investor," every false witness at her father's trial — all led back to that name.
And tonight, for the first time, she felt it watching her back.
Her phone buzzed again.
Another message.
"You were never meant to know. But he's closer than you think."
No signature this time.
But she didn't need one.
She felt the walls close in — the kind of realization that freezes the blood before the fear even sets in.
Her voice broke the silence, a whisper to herself.
"Who are you, really?"
And then — a knock.
Sharp.
Three times.
Too steady to be random.
She froze.
Every instinct screamed don't answer, but her hand moved anyway.
When she opened the door, no one stood there. Only a single envelope on the floor — pale, damp from rain, marked with a wax seal she hadn't seen since she was a child.
A crescent.
Her father's insignia.
Starling's fingers trembled as she tore it open. Inside was a single sheet, written in neat, deliberate ink:
"Your father was never the man you thought he was.
The truth lives in the ashes of what he built.
Find the one named Voss before he finds you."
Her breath came fast, uneven.
Voss.
The same name from the ledger.
The same man linked to everything.
Her father's ruin.
Her life's collapse.
And, if what the letter implied was true… her own blood.
The rain finally started outside, heavy and unrelenting.
Starling looked up at the storm through the studio glass, her reflection fractured by lightning.
"Voss," she whispered again, the name tasting of fear and fury.
"If you're coming for me… then so be it."
She turned back to her easel, lifted her brush, and began to paint — not a portrait this time, but a storm, violent and dark, tearing through a city of gold lights and lies.
Because Starling finally understood something:
The game wasn't just revenge anymore.
It was blood calling to blood.
The Shadow Behind the Curtain
Clara's POV
The room was too cold for comfort — all marble, glass, and silence.
Clara stood near the entrance, her reflection trapped between two tall mirrors that made her feel like a ghost.
The man sitting across the long mahogany table wasn't what she'd expected.
No guards. No noise. No trace of the ruthlessness she'd imagined.
Just a quiet, almost gentle presence — a man in his late fifties, eyes like polished steel and a calmness that could unsettle anyone who truly paid attention.
Mr. I. Voss.
He didn't look up from the file he was reading, but spoke softly, like someone addressing a child.
"So. You failed."
Clara's lips parted. "I didn't— I tried, but—"
"'Tried' isn't a word I accept."
He closed the file, the sound echoing too loud in the stillness. "You were supposed to end it in Country X. End her. Yet here we are, and Starling Ashford still breathes."
Clara's hands clenched at her sides.
"She's stronger than we thought. Smarter. And she wasn't alone."
A flicker of interest crossed his expression.
"Not alone, you say?"
Clara swallowed. "Someone helped her disappear. Someone who knew your name."
Finally, he looked at her.
Cold amusement lit his eyes. "My name?"
He rose, slow and deliberate. "My dear Clara, everyone knows my name. But only a few understand what it means."
He moved closer, his steps echoing against the marble.
"You were useful once," he said, circling her like a predator. "You got close to the Ashfords. You earned their trust. You even had Elijah under your thumb for a time."
Her chest tightened at the mention of his name.
Elijah.
She'd done terrible things for him — or so she told herself. But standing here, with Voss's shadow falling over her, she realized she'd only ever been a pawn.
"Why?" she asked quietly. "Why her? Why Starling?"
Voss smiled.
It wasn't kind.
It wasn't even human.
"Because she doesn't belong to them," he said. "She belongs to me."
Clara froze. "What are you talking about?"
He turned away, stopping at the window overlooking the city.
Rain streaked the glass, blurring the lights outside.
"She carries my blood. My greatest mistake — and my greatest weapon. But she doesn't know it yet."
Her mind spun.
Starling… his daughter?
That couldn't be possible.
"Her father—"
"—was a cover," Voss interrupted, his voice turning sharp. "A decoy I created to bury the truth. But she has his eyes. My eyes."
He finally turned to her again, the corners of his mouth lifting faintly.
"And now, Clara… you're going to bring her home."
Clara's heart dropped.
"You can't be serious. She'll never—"
He stepped closer until she could feel the quiet heat of his breath.
"She will. Because you owe me a debt. Remember the day I saved your brother from that trial in Lisbon? The man you begged me to protect?"
Her throat tightened. "Don't."
"Then don't make me collect what's mine."
He straightened, calm again. "Find her. Bring her to me. Or I'll send someone who won't hesitate."
He turned back to his desk, dismissing her as if she'd already disappeared.
The conversation was over.
But as Clara left the building, her pulse pounded so loud she could barely hear the thunder rolling outside.
Starling… his daughter?
If that was true, then everything — the revenge, the lies, even the destruction of the Ashfords — had been part of something far bigger.
And worse.
Because if Voss truly wanted Starling back, it wouldn't be for love.
It would be to finish what he started.