The Construct of Love: Chapter 9
This is a polished draft from my debut novel, The Construct Of Love. Final version may differ.
The Last Supper (Working Title)
Clarissa has been singing to the hum—but never out loud.
Whenever she notices, it stops.
It happens most when she’s close to Pascal.
It whispers louder when she’s away from him.
Who would have thought murder was so… difficult?
Especially when you don’t like blood.
And don’t want to get caught.
Strangulation? Too personal.
Poison? Too many options.
Hire someone? Too risky.
Explosives? Don’t be ridiculous.
Then the answer presents itself.
Cliff’s Peak, the rooftop restaurant of the Cliff’s Resort Hotel.
It features a filet mignon “to die for.”
Oliver Reinhardt, the celebrity chef behind it.
Books out months in advance—especially when he’s cooking.
Tonight is not one of those nights.
Still the perfect lure.
---
“You have no idea how much… Clarissa, I’m so—I’m sorry,” Delphine stammers. Her eyes shine, damp but not yet crying. “I’m really glad we’re doing this.”
They used to call it Dinner Enthusiasts.
Sometimes Food Adventurists.
It had been their ritual—every week, for over a year.
Now it’s a forced reunion.
But dessert will be worth it.
Delphine’s already finishing her second glass of red wine.
Clarissa slowly sips her first.
She doesn’t need to speak.
The third glass does it for both of them.
Funny—
It used to be charming. Hours would vanish in laughter and curiosity.
Never enough time to say everything.
Now?
Delphine is a dead woman talking.
---
The fourth glass arrives with dinner.
Surf and turf.
Lobster tail, perfectly buttered.
Reinhardt’s famous filet, surrounded by seasoned greens.
“We should’ve done this forever ago!” Delphine says, inhaling the aroma. She lifts her utensils. “What’s wrong?”
Clarissa stares at her plate. “Nothing.”
“Then dig in, girl!”
“I will.”
“Clarissa, temperature is everything. That filet is perfection—now.”
“Just savoring the moment.”
“It’s not an ocean view,” Delphine chuckles, slicing into the steak.
Clarissa watches as she lifts the cut—medium rare—and devours it.
A glisten of red pools near her lips.
The smell repulses her.
Focus.
Yes. Ironic. It will be an ocean view soon.
She knows the perfect spot. The perfect excuse.
Make a memory, Delphine.
Your last.
Clarissa steadies herself.
Think of Pascal.
Stay committed.
She pierces the steak with her fork, carving off a piece.
The knife scrapes through the seared flesh with a soft, sick rip.
She lifts the bite to her mouth—then stops.
Her stomach turns.
“What is wrong with you?” Delphine asks, swallowing another piece.
“I asked for well done.”
“I heard medium rare,” Delphine says, turning the plate to inspect it.
“It’s not what I wanted.” Clarissa drops her fork.
It clangs against the plate.
A couple nearby glances at them.
“No need to throw a fit,” Delphine mutters, signaling for Dinner Assistance.
Clarissa feels the plan slipping.
No. Focus. Feed the vanity. Let tonight feel like renewal.
She’ll want to capture it. She always does.
That edge.
The view.
Ocean and rocks below.
The perfect shot—one final push.
A scream.
Clarissa’s tears would be real, but from publicly restrained joy.
Pascal would be free.
They’d be free.
Together.
---
Dinner Assistance returns.
Clarissa’s plate is removed, and a fresh order promised.
“You should eat yours,” Clarissa offers. “It’s still perfect.”
Last meal, after all.
“No, it’s okay. I’d rather wait. Gives us a chance to talk.”
Delphine pauses. “You seem… preoccupied.”
Just with killing you.
“I brought work home,” Clarissa says flatly.
“I get it.” Delphine sips her wine. Then, softly:
“Doing this again, with you… it feels good. I missed you. I regret what happened.”
Clarissa doesn’t react.
“I don’t expect forgiveness. I didn’t know what came over me—but I think I do now.”
“Oh?” Clarissa says coolly. “And what was that?”
“Pascal.”
“Convenient.”
“No. If anything… it’s been shattering.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I feel different. I’m not myself.”
Violating the love of my life will do that.
“Clarissa, I’m—”
“Get to the point.”
Delphine stiffens. Her voice is small. “I’m moving out.”
“What?”
“I wasn’t sure until now. I don’t want to. But I know I have to.”
“Why?” Clarissa asks, though a part of her screams: Good. Go. Disappear.
“I’ve come to hate you.”
Clarissa flinches—just slightly.
She slides the steak knife under her napkin, dragging it into her lap.
Her eyes sharpen.
Then—Delphine sobs.
“I don’t want to. I love you. But these thoughts… I can’t stand seeing you with him. With it.”
“You’re in love with him,” Clarissa says, smiling darkly. Delphine doesn’t stand a chance.
Any hesitation Clarissa felt about killing her? Gone.
The hum returns.
“Do you hear it?” Delphine whispers.
The hum stops.
“It’s louder now. All the time.” Her voice trembles.
Dinner Assistance places the new filet in front of Clarissa.
Well done.
Another lobster. Seasoned greens.
He leaves instantly.
“I’m sorry,” Delphine pleads, as if confessing a crime against the universe. “I would never hurt you, but God—I wanted to.”
Her voice fades into a blur.
Clarissa is thinking of Pascal.
Kill this bitch?
“When I come home and see him in bed with you, it takes everything not to scream. In that moment, I hate you. So fucking much.”
She takes a deep breath, fighting tears.
“Worst of all, Pascal said he loves me.”
The words slice through Clarissa like a hot wire.
Her chest hollows.
Her skin chills.
The hum becomes a drumbeat.
She keeps her face calm.
It stops.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. Please—believe me.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Clarissa… get away from him. Not for me—for you.”
Clarissa’s hands tighten on the tablecloth, pulling plates and glasses just slightly.
No one notices.
The world around them keeps spinning—people laugh, drink, chew.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Walk away. Hand him to you.”
“No, I swear it. Something is wrong. We’re not in control anymore. We’re like addicts. I can’t think straight. Every time he touches me, it feels so—right. When I’m away, I can only think of him…it. And then I look at you and—”
“Shut up,” Clarissa says, low and terrifying. “Don’t tell me how to think. I know what’s happening.”
“And what would that be?” Delphine whispers.
Clarissa stares at her. Silent.
“You’re right. He’s not a drudge. He’s something more. And whoever made him—they’ll come for him. It. For us. You know that, don’t you?” Delphine wipes a tear.
Clarissa exhales.
Cold.
Calculated.
Enough.
“You’re going to leave. Right now. Don’t come back.”
The words sound heavy to Delphine. A twinge of surprise follows.
“I need to get my—”
“No, you don’t. Consider it my compensation.”
Delphine laughs nervously. “You can’t just take—”
“I was going to kill you tonight,” Clarissa says.
Delphine freezes. Pale.
She looks around.
No one sees.
No one helps.
Vulnerable. Alone.
“How?” she whispers.
Clarissa leans in.
“We’d walk the back side of the hotel. You’d see the view. If you didn’t, I’d suggest it. You just have to have mementos. Then—down. You. Go.”
She slams the table. Delphine jumps.
“I don’t believe you would’ve gone through with it,” she chokes.
“That’s the idea.”
Clarissa slides the steak knife and napkin back onto the table.
Delphine stares at it.
“If you tell anyone about Pascal—or if I ever see you near us again—I will kill you.”
Clarissa doesn’t blink. Her eyes burn into Delphine’s soul.
They stare.
Newfound strangers.
One fearing. The other—fearless.
Clarissa won, and salted the earth.
Pascal is hers.
Entirely.
Then she pulls Delphine’s plate toward her, pushes her own aside.
Delphine jolts.
Clarissa cuts a piece of medium rare steak, chews, swallows.
“This really is as good as everyone says it is.”