Chapter 4

Clara’s fingers tightened on the phone, the cold glass digging into her palm as Maya’s words settled over her.

"Three weeks before?" Clara’s voice rose, sharp and laced with pure disbelief. "He moved assets to her three weeks before she ever set foot in Chicago?! Maya, he lied to me! He stood right in front of me in his office, looking me dead in the eye, and acted like she was just a fragile guest he had to look after. He’s quietly handing over private trusts to another woman while treating me like an intruder!"

"Clara, breathe—please, just take a breath," Maya said quickly, her voice softening as she tried to pull her back from the edge. "I know how this sounds, and I was furious when I saw the filing, but you cannot spiral right now."

"How can I not spiral?!" Clara’s chest heaved as tears of anger welled in her eyes. She stood up from the bed, pacing the hardwood floor in her socks. "He made me feel like I was crazy! He told me I was being jealous and unreasonable, while he’s quietly signing away our future behind my back!"

"Listen to me," Maya urged gently over the line. "There has to be a legal reason or a corporate paper trail behind this. You are his wife, Clara. You have every right to demand a straight answer. When he comes home tonight, sit him down and make him explain that trust line by line. Don't yell, don't let him turn it back on you. Just lay out what you know and make him give you the truth."

Clara stopped by the window, staring out at the manicured gardens below. Her jaw tightened. "He won't give me the truth, Maya. Every time I ask what's really going on, he shuts down and acts like I'm attacking him."

"Then force him to take responsibility," Maya said firmly, before her tone shifted into a soothing, quiet hush. "Just calm down first, okay? You’re exhausted. Don't go into a confrontation when your mind is racing like this. Just let it rest for a few hours."

Clara let out a long, shaky breath, rubbing her forehead. "I... I wanted to come over to the gallery today, honestly. I just needed to get out of this house. But I knew you’d be swamped with client meetings."

"Oh, today is absolute chaos," Maya sighed. "We’re prepping three main halls for the autumn exhibition. But why don't you come over tomorrow afternoon instead? I’ll clear my schedule after two, and we can grab a late lunch together. We can talk through everything away from that house."

"Tomorrow noon sounds good," Clara murmured, sinking back onto the edge of the mattress. "I think I really need that."

"Good. Now, speaking of distractions..." Maya’s voice took on a light, conversational lilt, consciously steering the heavy air away. "I actually have a bit of news myself."

Clara blinked, adjusting the phone against her ear. "News? What kind of news?"

"Well... remember David? The lead architect from the Sterling project who brought in those Italian marble sketches last month?" Maya let out a small, breathless laugh. "He asked me out. Proper dinner date this Friday."

A faint, genuine smile managed to break through Clara’s pale face. "David? The tall one with the dark hair and the tailored linen suits?"

"The very same," Maya replied, sounding genuinely flustered. "He brought two iced lattes to my office this morning and just casually dropped the invitation before leaving."

"Maya! That's wonderful," Clara said, her voice softening with relief as the tension in her shoulders loosened slightly. "He was so charming when he presented at the gallery. But... you're actually considering it?"

"I am," Maya admitted. "Though I’m trying not to overthink it."

"Just make sure you take your time with him," Clara said softly, a note of gentle caution entering her tone. "Get to know how he operates when things aren't convenient before you give him your heart. Is he... as handsome up close as he looks across a boardroom?"

"Rude," Maya laughed softly. "And yes, unfortunately for my focus, he is. Very well-spoken, very grounded. And definitely doing well for himself if his architectural firm's portfolio is anything to go by.”

"Good," Clara murmured, walking back to the bed and letting her weight sink into the mattress. She settled back against the plush pillows, pulling the duvet over her lap. "You deserve someone who is completely straightforward with you, Maya."

"And so do you," Maya replied gently. "Look, I’m going to let you go so you can actually rest. Get some sleep, Clara. Save your energy for tomorrow."

"Thank you, Maya. I'll see you tomorrow at the gallery."

"See you tomorrow. Bye, sweetie."

The call ended with a soft click. Clara dropped her phone onto the duvet beside her.

She lay on her side for a long time, staring aimlessly at the shadows stretching across the ceiling as the heavy, stifling silence of the manor settled around her once more. Every corner of the room felt quiet and detached. She reached out, picked up her phone again, and aimlessly swiped through her feeds—skipping past local news, architectural posts, and high-society updates—just to give her mind something, anything, to focus on besides Alexander's cold dismissals.

The room grew steadily darker as late afternoon settled over the city. Her thumb slowed across the glowing screen, her heavy eyelids fluttering shut as the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day finally caught up to her.

She set the phone face down on the nightstand, buried her face into the soft linen of her pillow, and allowed the heavy quiet to pull her into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

The faint rumble of an engine outside pulled Clara out of her deep sleep. She opened her eyes to a dim room, early evening shadows stretching long across the walls.

Checking her phone on the nightstand, she saw it was just past seven. The anger and raw emotion from the morning had settled into a heavy, quiet composure. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, smoothing down her wrinkled clothes and running a hand through her hair.

She turned to tidy the room, pulling the duvet straight and fluffing the pillows, her mind focused on preparing herself before Alexander walked up to the master bedroom.

As she crossed the room to draw the window curtains, the bright sweep of headlights cut through the twilight below in the circular driveway.

Clara stopped by the second-floor glass, watching as Alexander’s sedan came to a stop.

Instead of heading straight for the front doors, Alexander walked around to the passenger side. He opened the door with a quiet, deliberate care Clara hadn't seen from him in months, extending a hand to support the figure stepping out into the warm glow of the driveway lamps.

Clara’s hand froze against the heavy velvet curtain.

It was Evelyn.

Alexander kept a steadying hand on Evelyn's elbow, guiding her up the front steps while Arthur followed behind, carrying two heavy leather suitcases into the foyer.