CHAPTER THREE

Adrian’s Pov

"You shouldn’t let him get to you."

Sophia’s voice cut through the silence of my office, soft but sharp enough to drag me out of my thoughts. She leaned casually against the glass wall, arms crossed, her dark hair falling over her shoulders like she had all the time in the world.

I barely looked up from the decanter of whiskey I was pouring. “I’m not letting him get to me.”

She laughed under her breath, that knowing little laugh she’d perfected since childhood. “Adrian, you’ve been brooding since the gala. That’s three days. For you, that’s practically sulking.”

I set the glass down harder than I meant to. “I don’t sulk.”

Her brow arched. “Then what do you call scowling at your phone every time another headline pops up with her face in it?”

Her. Clara Hayes.

Even the name had started to carve its way into my mind, uninvited.

I leaned back in my chair, pressing two fingers against my temple. “It’s not about her. It’s about Ethan. He’s still pulling the strings, still showing up where he doesn’t belong.”

“Maybe.” Sophia pushed off the glass wall and walked closer, her heels tapping softly against the polished floor. “But admit it, Adrian. It wasn’t Ethan you were looking at that night. It was her.”

I didn’t answer.

Because she was right.

Clara Hayes hadn’t just appeared at that gala; she had collided into my life like a match sparking against gasoline. I could still see the defiance in her eyes when she raised her paddle against me in the auction, the way her chin tilted up as though she had something to prove. Not to the room, not even to me. To herself.

And then Ethan had swooped in, oily and smug, dragging her down into the mud of his chaos.

I hated that I recognized the look in her eyes that night. Humiliation. Exhaustion. That quiet fury of someone tired of being defined by a man who had already destroyed too much.

Because once, that had been me too.

“Adrian,” Sophia said, pulling me back. “You can’t keep running from the past. Ethan hurt you, yes. But are you really going to punish every woman who ever crossed his path because of it?”

I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, watching the light catch it. “You think I’m punishing her?”

“You’re avoiding her,” Sophia countered. “And for someone like Clara, silence is the same as punishment. She didn’t ask to be dragged into this history of yours and Ethan’s.”

“History?” I scoffed. “That word barely scratches the surface.”

Sophia tilted her head. “Then maybe explain it to her. Tell her what Ethan did. Let her decide if she wants to keep her distance instead of deciding for her.”

“Tell her?” I snapped. “Why? So she can look at me the way everyone else does? Like I’m too controlled, too cold, too ruthless to ever have been betrayed?”

“You think you’re protecting yourself,” she said, softer now. “But really, you’re protecting Ethan’s power over you. Every time you shut someone out, every time you hide behind this mask, you give him exactly what he wants, control.”

Her words burned. Because they weren’t wrong.

I took a slow drink, the burn of whiskey grounding me. “What would you have me do, Sophia? Invite her into this mess? Give the press exactly what they want?”

Sophia smirked, but her eyes were earnest. “Or maybe… You could do the unexpected. Talk to her. See her as herself, not as Ethan’s shadow.”

Before I could reply, my phone buzzed on the desk. The name flashing across the screen made my stomach tighten.

Clara Hayes.

Sophia’s eyes lit up like she had won some unspoken bet. “Well, well. Speak of the angel.”

I shot her a warning look before answering. “Ms. Hayes.” My voice came out smoother than I felt.

There was a pause on the other end, a breath of hesitation before she spoke. “Mr. Knight. I… I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Her voice was softer than I remembered, edged with a kind of vulnerability she tried to hide at the gala.

“You’re not,” I said carefully. “What can I do for you?”

Another pause, then: “I wanted to thank you. For the other night. You didn’t have to step in, but you did.”

I leaned back, my gaze flicking briefly to Sophia, who was watching me like this was better than any boardroom drama. “Ethan was out of line. I wasn’t about to stand by and watch him humiliate you.”

Her exhale was quiet, almost shaky. “He has a way of doing that. Making people feel small.”

The words struck me harder than I expected.

I should’ve ended the call there. Keep the boundary sharp. But something in her voice, it was fragile, yet burning with a fight she refused to let die, kept me tethered.

“I don’t see you as small, Ms. Hayes,” I found myself saying. “I saw someone who raised her paddle against me and didn’t flinch. That’s not small.”

She hesitated, then let out a soft laugh. “Most people say I’m stubborn.”

“Most people mistake strength for stubbornness.”

Silence stretched, not uncomfortable but weighted. Then she spoke again. “That night… When you offered me your arm, why did you really do it? You don’t strike me as the type who enjoys rescuing damsels in distress.”

I almost smiled. “I don’t. And you didn’t need rescuing. But Ethan needed reminding that he doesn’t own you.”

Her breath caught, just faintly. “Thank you for saying that.”

Sophia mouthed something dramatic at me from across the room, asking me to dinner, while I ignored her.

“There’s no need to thank me,” I said instead. “I simply don’t tolerate men like him.”

There was silence again, and then, so softly I almost missed it: “Clara. You can call me Clara.”

My throat tightened. 

Before I could answer, Sophia mouthed again: Say yes, idiot.

“Clara,” I repeated, testing the name on my tongue. Too natural. “I’ll remember that.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Knight,” she said quickly, almost like she regretted giving me that piece of herself.

“Goodnight, Clara.”

The call ended, but the silence it left behind was deafening.

Sophia leaned across my desk, smirking. “So. Still insisting it’s not about her?”

I ignored her, but my mind wasn’t quiet, not anymore.

Because for the first time in years, Ethan’s shadow didn’t feel like the only thing in the room.

It felt like Clara Hayes had lit a spark I wasn’t sure I could put out.