Chapter 5 - AUNT CLARA’S ARRIVALForty minutes later, the screech of tires outside signaled the arrival of Aunt Clara’s pristine, white Mercedes SUV.
The heavy front gate swung open with a metallic rattle, followed by the rapid, sharp click-clack of designer heels marching up the front walkway. Without even bothering to knock, the front door flew open.
Aunt Clara—seventy years old, impeccably dressed in a tailored wool suit, her silver hair styled into a flawless French twist—stormed into the foyer like a general inspecting a conquered province.
“Unbelievable!” Clara announced loudly, stripping off her leather gloves as she marched straight into the kitchen. “Absolute madness! After all these years of struggling, the moment you two finally get a little peace, you decide to tear your own family apart like wild animals!”
Bruno stood behind her, wearing a smirk so wide it looked like it might split his face. He crossed his arms, leaning against the refrigerator, looking every bit the protected prince waiting for his champion to execute the peasants.
Clara stopped at the edge of the kitchen, her sharp eyes scanning the scene. She saw Elena sitting quietly at the table. She saw Mauricio leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee. And then, her eyes landed on the ugly, swollen purple bruise starkly contrasting against Elena’s pale cheek.
The sharp, scolding lecture froze in Clara’s throat.
The room went dead silent.
Clara took two slow steps closer, squinting as if she couldn't quite believe what her eyes were telling her.
“Elena...” Clara whispered, her imperious demeanor cracking instantly. “Sweetheart... what happened to your face?”
Bruno’s smirk falter slightly. He cleared his throat, stepping forward to intercept the narrative before his mother could speak. “Aunt Clara, let me explain. Mom tripped over the kitchen counter last night while we were having a debate about—interpersonal boundaries—and Dad flew in here like a lunatic at dawn trying to—”
“Shut up, Bruno,” Clara snapped, her voice cracking with sudden, razor-sharp fury.
She turned her gaze back to Elena, walking over and gently taking her sister-in-law’s face in her hands, inspecting the purple swelling with horrified eyes.
“Did he do this?” Clara asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous, trembling whisper.
Elena didn't look at Bruno. She looked straight into Clara’s eyes.
“Yes, Clara,” Elena said softly. “He did it because I refused to give him two thousand pesos for his weekend party. When I told him no, he struck me across the face.”
Bruno stepped back, his face turning pale. “Wait, Aunt Clara, don't listen to her! She’s manipulating you! Dad got into her head, they’re trying to railroad me out of the house—”
Before Bruno could finish his sentence, Aunt Clara spun around with a speed that defied her seventy years, her hand flashing through the air with a loud, ringing CRACK.
The slap echoed off the kitchen walls like a gunshot.
Bruno staggered backward, clutching his cheek where Clara’s heavy silver ring had left a bright red welt across his skin. He stared at his great-aunt in utter, shell-shocked disbelief.
“You... you hit me?” Bruno gasped, his voice trembling with betrayal. “You’re supposed to be on my side! You said I was the smart one!”
“I said you had potential, you ungrateful, pathetic excuse of a man,” Clara roared, her chest heaving, her eyes blazing with absolute contempt. “I spent ten years defending you to your father, telling everyone that you just needed time to mature, that you were a good boy at heart! But you raised your hand against the woman who wiped your nose, paid your debts, and bled herself dry to keep a roof over your lazy head?”
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Clara turned back to Mauricio, her voice shaking with adrenaline.
“Lock the doors, Mauricio,” Clara declared, pulling her phone from her designer handbag. “And don't just change the locks. Call the police. File charges for assault. If this little parasite stays on this property for one more second, I’ll personally disinherit him from my entire estate and pay for the prosecution’s lawyers myself.”
