27. Fractured

“You’re staring.”

Clara didn’t look away. “I’m observing.”

“That’s worse.”

She finally turned her head, meeting Adrian’s gaze across the narrow space between them. They were standing just inside the quiet corridor outside the conference suite, the hum of voices and muted laughter leaking through the closed doors behind him. Glass walls. Strategic lighting. Too many witnesses nearby for honesty, not enough distance for comfort.

“You’ve been observing since the moment you arrived,” he said. His tone was calm, but his eyes weren’t. “Is there something I should know?”

“Yes,” she replied evenly. “You attract attention.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “That’s not new.”

“I’m not talking about the press.”

Her gaze flicked past him brief, precise toward the far end of the hall where a woman in a fitted navy dress stood laughing softly with one of the senior directors. The woman’s hand brushed Adrian’s arm as she passed, lingering just a fraction too long.

Clara felt it then. Sharp. Irrational. Annoying.

Jealousy.

She hated it immediately.

“That,” she said, nodding once in the woman’s direction. “That’s new.”

Adrian followed her line of sight. His expression didn’t change, but his shoulders stiffened slightly. “She’s a donor.”

“Of course she is.”

“And married.”

“That never stopped anyone before.”

He looked back at Clara, studying her face. “Is that what this is about?”

“No,” she said too quickly. Then corrected herself. “Not entirely.”

Silence stretched. Heavy. Loaded.

“You’ve been distant,” he said finally.

“I stepped back,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“So are you.”

He exhaled slowly, like a man trying to keep his footing on unstable ground. “This isn’t a game, Clara.”

“I know,” she said softly. “That’s why I’m struggling.”

The honesty slipped out before she could stop it.

His gaze sharpened. “With what?”

“With pretending this doesn’t affect me.”

The words hung between them, fragile and dangerous.

Before he could respond, the doors behind him opened and the noise of the room spilled out. Someone called his name. Another hand clapped his shoulder. The moment fractured.

Adrian turned, professional mask sliding back into place. “I’ll be right there.”

He looked at Clara again. “Wait.”

She nodded, though she wasn’t sure why.

As he disappeared into the room, Clara leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes for a brief second. She felt ridiculous an accomplished woman unsettled by a brush of a hand, a laugh that wasn’t hers to hear. She had told herself distance would make things clearer.

Instead, it had sharpened everything.

The event dragged on longer than it should have.

Clara stayed on the periphery, engaging when necessary, retreating when not. She was aware of eyes on her some curious, some calculating. Serena’s absence was conspicuous. That, more than anything, unsettled her.

When Adrian finally reappeared, it was with an expression she recognized: controlled irritation.

“Walk with me,” he said quietly.

They moved toward the exit, their steps falling into an old, familiar rhythm. Outside, the night air was cooler, calmer. The city hummed around them, distant and indifferent.

“You’re angry,” Clara said.

“Yes.”

“At me?”

“No,” he replied immediately. Then paused. “Not only at you.”

She folded her arms. “That’s comforting.”

He stopped walking. She stopped too.

“This is what she wanted,” he said. “To create fractures. To make everything feel unstable.”

“And is it working?” she asked.

He looked at her for a long moment. “Yes.”

The admission startled her.

“I don’t like that you think you have to do this alone,” he continued. “That you keep pulling away as if proximity is the problem.”

“It is,” she said. “When proximity comes with consequences.”

“You think I don’t see that?” His voice dropped. “You think I don’t feel it every time someone looks at you like you’re an extension of me instead of your own force?”

Her breath caught.

“Then why do you let it happen?” she asked.

He hesitated. That hesitation told her everything.

“Because stopping it publicly would escalate things,” he said. “And I’m trying to buy time.”

“Time for what?”

“For you,” he replied. “To decide what you want.”

The words landed hard.

“I didn’t ask you to protect me,” Clara said quietly.

“I know.”

“I asked you to choose.”

His jaw tightened. “And if choosing you costs more than you’re prepared to pay?”

She met his gaze, unflinching. “Then don’t pretend this is about me.”

That stung. She saw it in his eyes.

“You think I’m hedging,” he said.

“I think you’re afraid,” she replied. “And I understand why. That doesn’t mean I’ll wait forever.”

Silence pressed in again, thicker now.

A car passed. Laughter drifted from somewhere down the street. Life continued.

“You were watching her,” he said suddenly.

Clara blinked. “Who?”

“The donor,” he clarified. “Earlier.”

Her instinct was to deny it. She didn’t.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I was.”

“Why?”

She looked away, then back at him. “Because I wanted to know if it bothered me.”

“And?”

“It did.”

The confession was quiet. Honest. Uncomfortable.

Adrian’s expression shifted—not triumph, not satisfaction. Something more dangerous.

“You don’t get to care like that and pretend this is nothing,” he said.

“I’m not pretending,” she replied. “I’m trying to survive it.”

He stepped closer. Not touching. Not crossing the line. But close enough that the space between them felt charged.

“You think I don’t notice when other men look at you?” he said. “When they lean in a little too far? When they smile like they’re already imagining something?”

Her pulse jumped. “You notice?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And it makes me want things I have no right to want.”

The air shifted. The city noise faded.

For a moment, it felt like they were standing at the edge of something irreversible.

Clara’s voice softened. “Then why don’t you step back?”

“Because every time I do,” he said, “you feel farther away.”

She swallowed. “That’s the risk.”

“I know.”

They stood there, suspended.

Then his phone rang.

The interruption was jarring, almost violent.

Adrian glanced at the screen. His expression darkened. “I have to take this.”

She nodded, stepping back instinctively, rebuilding the distance she’d almost let collapse.

As he spoke quietly into the phone, Clara watched his face changetightening, sharpening. Something was wrong.

When he ended the call, he didn’t meet her eyes immediately.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Serena,” he said.

Her chest tightened. “What about her?”

“She’s made a move.”

Of course she has, Clara thought. Of course she did.

“What kind of move?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Public.”

That word again.

“How public?”

Adrian finally looked at her. “Enough that by morning, everyone will have an opinion.”

Clara laughed softly, without humor. “She never wastes a moment.”

“No,” he agreed. “And this time, she’s not targeting you directly.”

“That’s new.”

“She’s targeting me,” he said. “By association.”

Clara felt something cold settle in her stomach. “What does that mean for us?”

“For you,” he corrected gently. “It means the distance you created might not protect you anymore.”

The implication hung heavy.

“So what now?” she asked.

He took a breath. “Now I decide whether to keep playing defense.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then I make a move she can’t reinterpret.”

Her heart pounded. “Which is?”

He didn’t answer.

Not yet.

They parted shortly after, the tension unresolved, the night too full of things unsaid.

Later, alone in her apartment, Clara sat on the edge of her bed, replaying the evening in fragments: the lingering hand, the admission in Adrian’s voice, the word public echoing like a warning.

She told herself she wasn’t waiting for him to choose.

But she was watching.

Her phone buzzed once.

A message from an unknown number.

You looked beautiful tonight. Even under pressure.

She didn’t need to ask who it was.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, then typed.

Pressure reveals character.

The reply came quickly.

Exactly.

She stared at the word, pulse steady, mind sharp.

If Serena wanted visibility, Clara would give her something else.

Clarity.

Across the city, Adrian stood at his window, phone in hand, the city lights blurring as he stared through them. He knew what Serena was capable of. He knew what silence had cost him already.

And for the first time, he admitted the truth he’d been circling for weeks:

Distance hadn’t protected Clara.

It had only delayed the moment he’d have to stand beside her or lose her entirely.

By morning, the world would wake up to a new version of the story.

And this time, someone intended to tell it first.