Chapter 9

Jason

Clara lay still on the narrow hospital bed, the sheets tucked too tightly around her legs, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to the air.

Clara's head throbbed dully, as if her thoughts had to push through fog before taking shape. She stared at the ceiling, tracing invisible cracks, trying to gather fragments of memory that slipped away the moment she reached for them.

I stood there.

For a moment, Clara wondered if she was still drifting somewhere between sleep and waking.

I looked real enough, the crease between my brows, the slight slump of my shoulders, the way my hands hovered uselessly at my sides as if I did not know what to do with them. Confusion rose sharper than the ache in my body.

Clara's voice came out weak but clear. “Jason?” Clara swallowed, forcing herself to focus on me. “What are you doing here?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, as though the answer were too heavy to lift all at once.

Clara frowned, her thoughts racing now, pushing past the haze. She searched her memory for faces, phone calls, and messages sent in panic but found nothing.

“Who called you?” Clara asked, her tone sharpening with disbelief. She shifted slightly on the bed, wincing as pain flared, but she pressed on. “I remember vividly that I didn’t inform anybody.”

I stepped closer, pulling a chair to her bedside, the scrape of its legs loud in the quiet room. I looked at Clara with an expression she couldn’t quite read, tangled with worry, and something deeper she wasn’t ready to name.

I said it quietly at first, as if lowering my voice might keep the moment from splintering any further. “You need to calm down.” “It was Mirabella who called me,” I said, my brow tightening as if the name itself carried weight. “ Mirabella told me you were rushed to the hospital.”

I paused, just long enough for the words to settle. My eyes searched hers. “But wait,” the words slipped out sharper than I intended. “You were very okay when I dropped you off.”

The room felt smaller then. I shifted my stance, leaning back on my heels, replaying the memory in my head.

He remembered the way she had walked to the door on my own, keys already in hand. No hesitation. No sign of pain. She had even smiled, I was sure of it. A normal smile. An ordinary goodbye. That was the image I kept returning to, clinging to it like proof.

“I’m just trying to understand,” I said, softer now, frustration bleeding into concern. “Because when I left you, there was nothing wrong. You didn’t say anything was wrong.” My voice cracked slightly at the edges, betraying the worry I was trying to keep contained.

“So when Mirabella calls me out of nowhere, saying you were rushed to the hospital, what am I supposed to think?”

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling. My gaze dropped briefly to the floor before returning, steady and searching. “One minute you’re fine. Next, you’re in a hospital bed. Help me connect that.”

Clara didn’t look at Jason right away when she spoke. Her voice was low but firm, stripped of softness. “You need to leave.” The words landed flat, not angry.

Clara finally lifted her eyes to me then, and there was something guarded in us, something carefully locked away. “I don’t want anybody to know what all of this is about.”

I blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh, Clara, stop it,” I said, waving a hand as if to brush the tension aside. My tone tried for lightness, for familiarity, but it fell short. “I’m not planning to.”

I stepped a little closer, lowering my voice. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” My eyes softened as I looked Clara over, taking in the pallor she hadn’t managed to hide, the exhaustion lining her face. “How are you feeling now?” he asked gently. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

Clara’s jaw tightened.“That’s not the point,” she said. “You being here makes it harder.” Clara's reflection in the glass looked fragile, smaller than she felt inside. “This isn’t something I want explained or whispered about. Not by you. Not by anyone.”

I sighed, the sound heavy with concern. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself,” he said. “I’m just checking on you.”

There was sincerity there, unmistakable. “After what happened, I just—” I stopped myself, careful not to cross the line she had drawn.

“That’s exactly why you need to go,” Clara replied, turning back to face me.

Clara looked at me for a long moment before she spoke, her eyes sharp with hurt she no longer bothered to hide.

There was disbelief there, too raw and exposed, like a wound left uncovered.

“How do you want me to feel?” she asked, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. “When you showed me my boyfriend and my best friend together.” The words came out slowly, deliberately, each one heavy with accusation. “How do you expect me to feel, Jason?”

“You stood there like you were delivering facts,” she continued, bitterness edging into her tone. “Like this was something I could just process, accept, move past.” Clara's laugh was short and hollow. “They’re the two people I trusted the most. And you’re asking me to be calm?”

I frowned, confusion cutting through my concern. Clara straightened, squaring her shoulders. “I’m not going to fall apart in front of them,” Clara said quietly. “I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing what they’ve done to me.” Her voice steadied as the idea took shape in her mind. “They think I don’t know. That gives me time. That gives me power.”

I met Clara's gaze, unwavering now. “I just need you to trust me,” I said. “And I need you to stay calm, because if you lose your head, this all unravels.” Beneath the pain, beneath the betrayal, Clara had found something solid to stand on.

“Clara you have to relax, cause I have a plan, you need to get well soon, so you can be out of here,” I said