TWO

THALIA

By the time the car rolled through the iron gates of the estate, the tightness in my chest had already become hard to ignore.

Thomas stopped in front of the entrance and stepped out to open my door.

“Welcome home, ma’am.”

I nodded faintly and walked inside.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Without stopping, I headed upstairs.

When I reached my room, I pushed the door open without turning on the lights.

The shopping bag slipped from my hand and landed on the bench at the foot of the bed.

I stared at it.

The red lace inside suddenly felt ridiculous.

Earlier that afternoon, I had stood in a boutique for nearly twenty minutes, convincing myself that maybe—just maybe—things between Brandon and me could change.

Now the idea felt laughable.

I picked up my phone instead.

My hands were shaking so badly that I nearly dropped it before unlocking the screen.

Clara’s profile appeared.

I hadn’t searched her name in years. After she disappeared, I forced myself not to look her up again or wonder what kind of life she had built after leaving.

But tonight my thumb moved on its own.

Post after post blurred past my eyes.

Pictures of cafés.

Sunsets taken from unfamiliar cities.

A child’s toys scattered across the floor of a bright living room.

Then I saw the newest upload.

My breath caught.

The photo had been taken from above. A little boy with dark curls sat comfortably between Clara’s legs and a man’s lap.

The man’s face wasn’t visible.

Only his torso.

A charcoal shirt stretched across broad shoulders I knew too well.

And on his wrist—

A Patek Philippe.

The watch I had given Brandon on our first anniversary.

I remembered that night clearly. I had spent weeks choosing it, convinced that if I gave him something meaningful enough, he might finally look at me the way a husband should look at his wife.

He thanked me politely.

Nothing more.

Now that same watch gleamed on the wrist of the man holding Clara’s child.

The caption beneath the photo was only one word.

Family.

My stomach twisted painfully.

Family.

Not friends.

Not acquaintances.

Family.

“How long…” My voice barely came out.

How long had this been happening?

How many nights had I waited alone in this house while he was somewhere else?

Somewhere with them.

I stared at the photo until my vision blurred.

Once upon a time, the three of us had grown up together.

Brandon.

Clara.

And me.

Back then, I was the loud one. The one always dragging the others into trouble. I talked too much, laughed too loudly, and never hesitated to say exactly what I thought. I followed Brandon everywhere and told everyone who cared to listen that I was going to marry Brandon.

Clara was the opposite.

Quiet. Shy. The maid’s daughter who barely spoke unless someone asked her a question. 

Yet somehow Brandon had fallen for her.

Even as teenagers it had been obvious. The way he watched her. The way he protected her.

Everyone saw it.

Except his parents.

To the Langfords, Clara would always be beneath them.

Years later, my own life began collapsing.

My father’s company went bankrupt almost overnight.

Investors pulled out.

Creditors circled.

The pressure destroyed him.

He died before the courts even finished sorting through the debts he left behind.

I still remembered the night I went to the Langford estate.

I had stood in Brandon’s father’s study with shaking hands and asked for help.

Money.

A chance to clear the debts before everything my father built disappeared completely.

The price was simple.

Marriage. He wanted me to marry his son since I was better than the “maid’s daughter.” Then, Mrs. Langford called Clara to the study and handed her a check and a leather folder. Clara took it without arguing and disappeared before Brandon noticed.

Brandon cornered me the night the engagement was announced.

Rain hammered against the tall windows of the library as he paced like a caged animal.

“Tell them no,” he demanded.

“You can’t do this to her.”

His voice was tight with anger.

“Clara has nothing to do with your family’s problems. Stay away from her.”

My chest had ached even then.

I had loved him for years by that point.

Loved him quietly while watching him give his heart to someone else.

“I’m going to be your wife now,” I said softly.

His expression turned ice cold.

“You will never be my wife.”

Those words followed me into the wedding.

Into the marriage.

Into every quiet dinner we had shared since then.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs pulled me back to the present.

Footsteps echoed across the marble floor.

My heart skipped.

Brandon.

Moments later, my bedroom door opened, and he stepped inside without knocking.

He stopped when he saw me sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You okay?” he asked.

I didn’t answer.

He walked over and sat beside me before placing a hand briefly against my forehead as though checking for a fever.

The gesture was familiar. 

Careful.

But distant.

Brandon was not a bad husband. He treated me nicely during our marriage, which made me think we were a normal, sweet couple. I thought the love was growing between us. But I was brought back to reality now, realizing he was just fulfilling his duties as my husband.

And he did his job as a qualified husband excellently.

His gaze moved toward the shopping bag.

He reached inside and pulled out the red lace babydoll, letting the fabric slide slowly through his fingers.

A faint frown appeared.

“This isn’t you,” he said calmly. “Don’t buy things like this again.”

I pushed myself upright.

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

As he spoke, a faint scent drifted from his collar.

Jasmine.

Clara’s perfume.

My chest tightened.

“Then who would it suit?” I asked quietly.

His eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“Clara.”

The room went completely still.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

“What are you talking about, Thalia?” he asked.

“Answer the question.”

He rubbed his face impatiently.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Do you know she’s back?”

His entire body went rigid.

“Did you go looking for her?” he demanded sharply.

The accusation stung.

And he continued before I could say a word. “I’m warning you, Thalia, stay away from Clara and don’t even dream of hurting her.”

“Hurt her? Why would I want to do that? Don’t I have the right to know if you’re seeing your ex? I’m your wife.”

He dropped the nightwear back into the bag.

“Let’s be clear,” he said coldly. “You asked for this marriage.”

The words landed like a slap.

“You needed money. My family gave it to you. Your debts were paid, and I never treated you badly.”

My throat tightened.

“So don’t start asking for things that were never part of the deal,” he continued. “Just keep playing your role. And never compare yourself with Clara.”

Play your role. Never compare with Clara

Wow… I should have known I was just the contract wife and would never be Clara, the love of his life.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He glanced down at the screen.

My stomach dropped when I saw the name.

Clara.

He answered immediately.

“Yeah.”

His voice softened.

“I’m home. Give me ten minutes.”

He ended the call and stood up.

He didn’t look at me again.

Then he walked out of the room.

The door closed softly behind him.

Silence filled the bedroom.

I sat there staring at the empty doorway, unable to move.

Earlier today I had been dreaming about starting a family with him.

Tiny shoes by the door.

A crib in the empty room down the hall.

But Brandon already had a family.

A woman he truly loved.

A child who called him daddy.

And me?

I was just the contract wife he tolerated.

“I hate you so much, Brandon,” I whispered, but deep down, I knew it was a lie.

By the time I reached my office the next morning, the usual hum of the building felt heavier than normal. Jessy, my assistant, offered a smile and a latte, but I barely noticed. 

My inbox was full as always, emails stacking reminders of the life I had poured into this company, yet Brandon never noticed.

Then came the message that froze my blood: an impromptu briefing with the CEO in Conference Room A.

Project Elara. The treatment I had been leading for eighteen months, the one I had sacrificed nights and weekends for. Brandon rarely requested updates in person unless something critical was happening.

I gathered my tablet and walked toward the executive wing, my chest tightening with every step.

When I opened the door at 9:58, I stopped cold.

Clara. At the head of the table.

Not beside it. At it.

Her navy suit hugged her perfectly. Hair pinned back, red lipstick, that calm, confident smile. 

My pulse thundered in my ears. For a moment, I wondered if I was hallucinating.

Dr. Harlan gestured toward her as if unveiling a new research instrument.

“Thalia, perfect timing. Ms. Clara Smith will be taking over primary oversight of Project Elara effective immediately.”