Bang!
"Argh!" Clara screamed, throwing a vase across the room. "Why! Why does it have to be her?"
The door to the room was pushed open, and her father walked in. He frowned seeing the mess made in the room.
James walked through the destruction and came to stand in front of Clara whose chest was heaving.
"Clara Whitmore," he called with his authoritative, deep voice.
She snapped out of her thoughts, her lips trembling as tears fell from her eyes.
"Dad, you've always doted on me most. I don't want to see Rebecca anymore." She paused, holding his hands. "Can you help me?" She pleaded, looking at her dad as though he was her only saviour.
James shook his head and slowly removed her hand from his.
Clara watched this, her expression falling. She could see the look in her father's eyes. He wasn't going to help her.
"You are my only child. That's why I'm telling you—stay away from Anderson."
