Chapter 11

Clara

The sun penetrated through my curtains shining directly on me, I opened my eyes, stretched my arms, and gradually pulled myself out of bed.

I removed my clothes, folded them, and kept them on the chair, I arranged my bed properly and kept the pillow neatly. I grabbed my towel, went to the shower, came out, and opened my wardrobe to look for something nice because I’d be going to my brother's shop today.

I have to look all nice and ready, I finally got my eyes on one, a burgundy long gown with a belt at the back, I brought out my shoes, and I applied my skincare on my face looking all set for this. I applied lip gloss and was all good to go, I wore my signature perfume and left the house.

When I got to the jewelry store, I met with his secretary Ivory.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hello, good morning ma'am,” Ivory said.

“How may I help you?” Ivory asked.

“Is your boss around?” I asked.

“He hasn’t visited the office yet,” Ivory replied.

“Alright no problem, I’ll put a call across to him,” I said.

I sat down waiting for Ryan to stop by at the office. While I was there, different people stopped by to buy one or two designers.

The bell above the jewelry store door gives a soft, almost cheerful chime when Ryan steps inside, and it is the last gentle sound he brings with him.

I looked up from the display case, already bracing myself, because something in the way he stands.

Ryan has always been controlled, measured to the point of coldness, but today there is an edge to him that makes the air feel tighter.

When he speaks my name, his tone is sharp, uncharacteristically so, cutting through the quiet elegance of the shop.

Ryan doesn’t bother with pleasantries, he wasn’t looking so approachable, but I need to explain things to him.

I straighten, instinctively defensive, but Ryan doesn’t soften. If anything, the sharpness deepens, like he’s forcing himself to say things he would normally swallow.

Ryan glances toward the front of the store, toward the street outside, as if expecting someone to appear at any moment. His hand rests on the edge of the counter, fingers flexing once betraying a tension that doesn’t match his usual composure.

“Hi Ryan,” I said.

“What's up with the investors,” Ryan asked.

“Well I met with Jason, one of our investors but we’ve not finalized yet on how to go about it, but at least I’m waiting for feedback,” I said

“Clara, you need to be careful, I know how these things work,” Ryan said.

I open my mouth to argue, to remind him that she can take care of herself, but he cuts me off with a look that feels almost like a reprimand.

I paused for a moment, and the mask slipped. I bristle almost immediately, the reaction sharp and instinctive, like a reflex I don't bother to hide.

Ryan’s protectiveness presses in on me from all sides, heavy and unwanted, turning the small space between us into something I don’t know about.

I crossed my arms, lifting my chin, refusing the role I seemed intent on assigning me.

I have spent too long fighting to be taken seriously to accept warnings that sound too much like orders.

My tone still grates, still assumes it needs guarding, and that alone is enough to set my teeth on edge.

The thought unsettles her more than his sharp words ever could. Ryan is not a man who scares easily. Whatever he’s reacting to, it’s real, and it’s close.

I exhaled slowly, selecting my next words with deliberate casualness.

“You’re overreacting,” I said, then added lightly, almost carelessly, “Jason was just asking about the pieces. That’s what investors do.”

His shoulders lock, his jaw tightens, and something flickers across his face before he reins it back in.

Clara sees it anyway. She always does. It’s not anger, not exactly. It’s recognition. Calculation. The unmistakable look of someone who has just heard confirmation of a fear he was hoping to keep unspoken.

“Jason,” Ryan repeats, carefully, as though testing the word for hidden edges.

I watched him now instead of listening, my irritation giving way to a sharper awareness. The protectiveness I resented moments ago begins to shift shape, revealing its core.

Ryan’s gaze drifts briefly to the door, then back to me, his expression shuttered but no longer calm. Whatever game I thought I was playing, I should step onto a board he recognizes all too well.

“You shouldn’t be talking to him,” Ryan says finally, his voice lower, quieter, stripped of its earlier sharpness.

The fear is no longer hidden. It hums beneath his words, unmistakable now, and I felt a chill settle in my chest. For the first time, she doesn’t bristle. She listens.

He masks it quickly, so quickly that anyone else might have missed it.

The tension drains from his face, replaced by that familiar, infuriating calm and untouchable.

Ryan exhales once, slow and controlled, as if resetting himself. When he speaks again, his voice is even, stripped of the sharpness that came before, and that alone unsettles me more than anger ever could.

“Business is dangerous,” Ryan said, matter-of-fact, as though he’s reciting a truth carved in stone.

“You don’t belong anywhere near it.” The words land with quiet force. Not shouldn’t. Don’t.

He frames it as protection, but it sounds like a boundary he’s desperate to keep intact. His gaze holds mine, steady and unyielding, daring her to challenge him.

I nodded slowly and deliberately, lowering my eyes just enough to well the illusion. I learned how to play this role on how to appear compliant when pushing back would only invite more walls.

“I understand,” I said softly. I nodded instead, slow and deliberate, lowering my eyes just enough to sell the illusion.

As he steps away, the conversation ends. I sense there is something Ryan is not saying or is probably trying to protect me.