Forced love A billionaire Mafia enemies to lovers story

Claire's POV:

The house was way too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt loud in my ears, buzzing under my skin like a warning. Dad was home. And he was drunk again. 

I tiptoed down the hallway, knowing the exact spots to avoid so the floor wouldn't creak. I'd learned that over the years-the art of moving silently in my own house. The clock on the wall said I was already late for work, but who cared? I had bigger problems.

I spotted the empty bottle first. Lying on its side, like a clue that something had gone wrong. My stomach twisted as my eyes landed on the shattered glass next to it. Great. Another mess, another reminder of last night's chaos.

I bent down to pick up the larger shards, careful not to cut myself. Cleaning up after him had become part of my morning routine-like brushing my teeth or grabbing my backpack. Except, instead of toothpaste, I got broken glass and spilled beer.

My hands shook as I grabbed the broom. Each swipe of the bristles on the floor echoed in the silence, making the house feel even emptier. I hated this. The constant fear. The pretending. How I had to make sure no one knew the truth because people wouldn't get it. They'd never understand.

I could still remember when he wasn't like this-back when I was younger and he actually smiled. But those days felt like a different lifetime. Now it was just me and him, the drunk version, who never smiled, never laughed. Just yelled, broke things, and passed out. 

A groan from down the hall made my heart leap to my throat. Crap. He was awake.

I glanced at the clock again. I still had time. If I moved fast enough, I could get out before-

"Claire."