Chapter 10

Jason

I pulled the car to a slow stop in front of the house, the engine humming softly as if reluctant to break the quietness that had settled inside the vehicle.

The light glowed dimly, casting long shadows across the driveway.

For a moment, none of us moved. Clara sat stiffly in the back seat, tiredness written into every line of her body, while Mirabella leaned forward, already reaching for her bag.

“I’ve got her,” Mirabella said gently, opening the door before I could step out. The cool night air rushed in as she helped Clara to her feet, one arm steadying her waist.

Clara’s steps were unsteady, losing her strength, and Jason watched closely, jaw tight, every instinct urging him to do more than simply stand back.

I carried Mirabella’s overnight bag from the car and followed them up the walkway, my gaze never leaving Clara.

We got inside the house, Mirabella guided Clara to the couch, easing her down carefully, adjusting the cushions until Clara was comfortable.

“Just sit,” Mirabella murmured, brushing hair away from Clara’s face. “You’re safe now.”

I hovered nearby, hands in my pockets, torn between giving space and staying close.

I watched as Mirabella placed a glass of water on the table and selected what Clara should take, her movements calm and practiced.

As Clara settled deeper into the couch, I finally exhaled. Seeing her home, supported, breathing steadily loosened something in my chest.

Mirabella glanced up at him briefly, a silent acknowledgement passing between us.

Whatever questions remained, whatever storms waited ahead, this moment was about care and quiet. And for now, that was enough.

I didn’t leave right away. I stood in the living room longer than necessary, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Clara’s chest as she rested on the couch.

I adjusted the blanket over her shoulders, I was gentle and careful not to wake her and nudged the pillow beneath her head until her breathing evened out.

The faint crease between her brows softened, and only then did he allow myself to believe Clara was comfortable.

I asked Mirabella in a low voice if she needed anything else, my concern plain despite my controlled tone. When she shook her head, I gave one last look back at Clara, committing the sight of her being safe, then I left.

The drive to my house felt longer than usual. Fatigue crept into my bones as the city lights blurred past, the night pressing in on me.

My mind replayed everything that happened this evening, Clara’s tiredness, the way her fingers had trembled, the quiet trust she hadn’t even realized she was giving me.

By the time he pulled into his driveway, the weight of responsibility sat heavily on my shoulders. Rest was a luxury I couldn't afford yet.

Finally, got to the house opened my door, the first thing I did was loosen my tie and roll my shoulders, heading straight to the bathroom, I quickly poured cold water over my face and body, scrubbed my back, and came out and I feel really refreshed after a long day.

I changed into my sleeping wear, feeling all fresh and the night that comes with tiredness but I just have to do what is right, despite the night getting me this way.

A moment later, I sat in my study, lights dim, laptop open, phone already buzzing with missed calls and encrypted messages.

Business demanded my attention. As I reviewed documents and returned calls, my expression hardened into the familiar mask of control. Yet beneath it all, Clara lingered in my thoughts, a quiet pull that no amount of work could fully silence.

A glass of whiskey rests beside me, untouched, the amber liquid catching the light as the minutes crawl past. I haven’t even lifted it. My focus is fixed on the file spread open before me, on a single name printed at the top of the page; Clara Mallon.

It was supposed to be routine. A precaution. A moment of curiosity meant to satisfy a passing question. But as I read, that curiosity tightens into something sharper, more consuming.

I went over the details again and again, Clara's age, her education, the steady rhythm of her life before Houston disrupted it.

Nothing about her screams recklessness. Nothing explains why she walked away without a word, or why her absence has lodged itself so deeply under my skin.

I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly, eyes drifting to the ceiling as fragments of memory surface uninvited. The sound of her laugh. The way her body responded to me.

The defiance in her eyes when she left. I’m not a man haunted by women. I’m the one who leaves, the one who forgets. Yet here I am, wide awake, staring at a name like it holds answers I didn't know I needed.

My gaze returns to the report and I read deeper this time. Each line draws me in further, weaving a picture that feels dangerously intimate for someone I met only once.

I turn the page, jaw tightening as recognition flares. The name Ryan Mallon stares back at me like a warning. Old grudges stir, memories of rivalry and bloodshed surfacing with unsettling clarity.

My fingers curl against the desk. Clara is no longer just a mystery, she’s a complication with consequences.

And yet, instead of shutting the file, instead of ordering distance, I find myself reading faster, searching for more.

I want to know how she thinks, what she fears, what would make her stay. The realization settles heavily in my chest, this is no longer about information. It’s about control. About possession. About a woman who slipped into my life for one night and left me restless in ways no one ever has.

The whiskey remains untouched as the night stretches on. By the time dawn threatens the edges of the sky, I haven't moved.

Clara’s name is still beneath my gaze, etched into my thoughts, and I know with a certainty that unsettles me that whatever this is, it’s already too deep to walk away from.