Chapter 36

“You don’t get to decide that for me.”

Clara’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade drawn cleanly from its sheath.

They were still standing where the previous chapter had left them—too close to the edge of something neither of them had named out loud yet. The city lights beyond the glass felt unreal, like a backdrop that didn’t quite belong to the moment unfolding between them.

Adrian didn’t move immediately.

He studied her the way he always did when he was recalibrating—when instinct and strategy collided.

“I wasn’t deciding,” he said carefully. “I was trying to prevent.”

“That’s the same thing,” Clara replied. “You just dress it up better.”

A beat.

“You’re angry,” he said.

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “And not because of Serena.”

That landed.

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Then because of what?”

“Because you keep treating me like fallout,” Clara said. “Like something that happened to you instead of someone who chose to be here.”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to,” she replied. “It’s in the way you close ranks without asking me. In the way you try to shield me instead of standing beside me.”

Silence followed—heavy, charged, unresolved.

Adrian exhaled slowly. “The world isn’t fair to women who get too close to power.”

Clara smiled faintly. Not amused. Not impressed.

“And men don’t get to decide which women survive that,” she said.

He looked at her then—really looked.

Not the consultant.

Not the woman in the headlines.

Not the variable Serena kept trying to neutralize.

But Clara.

The one person in the room who refused to be managed.

“I don’t know how to do this without risking you,” he said quietly.

Clara stepped closer.

“Then stop trying to do it without me.”

Across town, Serena Vale—still carrying his last name like a title she refused to relinquish—watched a different screen.

Footage scrolled silently across her tablet: clips from the gala, zoomed-in moments of Clara’s arrival, her proximity to Adrian, the way cameras had lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.

Serena didn’t need sound.

She understood optics better than language.

“Interesting,” she murmured.

Her assistant stood nearby, tense. “The board is asking questions.”

“Of course they are,” Serena replied. “Visibility invites curiosity.”

“And concern,” the assistant added. “Some donors are… uncomfortable.”

Serena’s smile sharpened. “Good.”

She set the tablet down.

“Draft a statement,” Serena said. “Subtle. Supportive. Emphasize values. Stability. Continuity.”

“And Clara?” the assistant asked carefully.

Serena considered.

“We won’t name her,” she said. “We’ll let the world do that for us.”

The statement went live less than an hour later.

Not dramatic.

Not accusatory.

Worse.

It praised Adrian’s leadership.

Reaffirmed the foundation’s commitment to integrity.

Mentioned “recent public speculation” and the importance of “maintaining professional clarity.”

Professional clarity.

Clara read it on her phone while sitting alone in her apartment, shoes kicked off, tension still humming beneath her skin.

She didn’t need Adrian to explain what it meant.

Serena had just drawn a line.

And placed Clara directly on it.

Her phone buzzed again.

Unknown number.

You should see this.

A link followed.

Clara hesitated only a second before opening it.

The article was already climbing.

Speculative headline.

Anonymous sources.

Language that pretended neutrality while implying everything.

Adrian Vale’s Consultant or Something More?

Clara didn’t finish reading.

She closed the tab.

Sat back.

And laughed once—short, incredulous.

“So this is how you play it,” she murmured.

Adrian found out ten minutes later.

He was already in motion when his assistant brought it up, already pulling on his jacket, already bracing for impact.

“This crossed a line,” he said.

“Yes,” the assistant agreed. “And it’s gaining traction.”

“Kill it.”

“We can’t,” she replied carefully. “It’s not false enough.”

That was the most dangerous kind of truth.

Adrian stopped walking.

“Get me a meeting with Serena,” he said.

“Tonight?”

“Now.”

Serena didn’t act surprised when he arrived.

She had been expecting him.

“You should sit,” she said lightly, gesturing to the chair across from her desk.

He didn’t.

“You released a statement designed to isolate Clara,” Adrian said.

“I released a statement designed to protect the foundation,” Serena replied. “If Clara feels implicated, that’s unfortunate—but not intentional.”

He laughed, once, without humor. “You’re lying.”

Serena leaned back, unbothered. “You’re emotional.”

“She didn’t ask for this.”

“No one ever asks to be adjacent to power,” Serena said. “They just learn how to survive it.”

“That’s your line,” Adrian said. “Not hers.”

Serena’s eyes sharpened. “You’re too close.”

“Yes,” he said. “And that’s exactly why this stops now.”

Serena stood.

“For months,” she said calmly, “I’ve given you space. I’ve allowed you to pretend this situation was manageable. That Clara could exist outside the narrative.”

She stepped closer.

“She can’t.”

“And you don’t get to decide that,” Adrian said.

“I already have,” Serena replied. “The world has noticed her. You don’t unring that bell.”

Adrian stared at her.

“You’re using her,” he said.

Serena smiled faintly. “I’m leveraging inevitability.”

Clara didn’t wait for Adrian to call.

She dressed deliberately—not to impress, but to anchor herself. Neutral colors. Clean lines. No softness Serena could twist into suggestion.

By the time she arrived at the office, the atmosphere had shifted.

Too many looks.

Too many pauses.

The narrative was spreading.

She walked straight into a meeting room already occupied.

Three board members.

One legal counsel.

No Adrian.

That told her everything.

“Ms. Evans,” one of them said carefully. “Thank you for joining us on short notice.”

“Of course,” Clara replied, taking a seat. “I assume this isn’t about quarterly projections.”

A flicker of discomfort passed through the room.

“We’re concerned,” another said, “about perception.”

Clara nodded. “Of course you are.”

“The foundation values discretion.”

“So do I,” Clara said. “Which is why I’m curious why I’m being summoned instead of consulted.”

Silence.

Legal counsel cleared her throat. “There are discussions about formalizing boundaries.”

Clara tilted her head. “Between whom?”

“You and Adrian Vale.”

There it was.

Clara leaned back.

“You’re worried I’m influencing him,” she said.

“We’re worried,” the first board member replied, “that the perception of influence could compromise—”

“—your comfort,” Clara finished. “Not your integrity.”

The room stiffened.

“You invited me into proximity,” Clara continued calmly. “You praised my results. You amplified my presence when it served you. And now that the optics make you nervous, you want to redraw the lines.”

She folded her hands.

“That’s not boundaries,” she said. “That’s fear.”

One of them shifted. “We’re asking you to consider stepping away more visibly.”

Clara smiled.

“No,” she said.

They blinked.

“I already stepped back,” Clara continued. “Quietly. Professionally. On my terms.”

She stood.

“I won’t disappear to make you feel better about a narrative you helped create.”

She paused at the door.

“And if you force this,” she added, “you’ll turn speculation into proof.”

She left before anyone could respond.

Adrian found her in the hallway.

He’d never been more relieved—or more afraid.

“They tried to box you in,” he said.

“They tried,” Clara replied. “They failed.”

His gaze searched her face. “Are you okay?”

She hesitated.

Then nodded. “I will be.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I should’ve gone public sooner.”

“No,” Clara said. “You should’ve gone honest.”

He flinched.

“What do you want?” he asked quietly.

Clara met his eyes.

“I want control of my name,” she said. “And I want you to stop pretending you don’t care who uses it.”

The tension between them tightened, electric and unresolved.

“I do care,” Adrian said.

“Then prove it,” Clara replied.

⸻

That night, Serena received a message she hadn’t anticipated.

From Clara.

We need to talk.

Serena stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then smiled.

At last.

She typed back.

Tomorrow. Public place.

Clara’s reply came quickly.

Good. I’m done being discussed in rooms I’m not in.

Serena set the phone down.

Across the city, Clara stood at her window, watching headlights blur into streams of light.

She wasn’t afraid.

She was furious.

And clarity had sharpened her resolve into something dangerous.

Because Serena thought she was setting traps.

Adrian thought he could still contain the fallout.

But Clara—

Clara was done reacting.

Tomorrow, she wouldn’t defend herself.

She would redefine the game.