Dr Bethany Clary Novels & Stories

"Good morning, ma'am." Beatrice scanned me from head to toe, her smile widening. "Goodness, you are really beautiful. Are you Ethan’s girlfriend? It’s about time he brought some life into this mausoleum." I felt a flush creep up my neck, thinking of the life Ethan had actually brought into my world lately. "No, ma'am. I’m Claire. I work here as the archivist."

“Miss Monroe is actually a patient of mine.” Beth didn’t even blink. “Yes, Dr. Cole has seen me professionally.” The emphasis wasn’t lost on me. Brian’s eyebrows lifted. “Ah. Well then… I’m happy to bring in someone else if that would be more appropriate—” Beth cut in, voice crisp and confident. “Of course not, Brian. We’re all professionals here. If anything, that just makes me even more qualified to understand the target demographic.” She smiled, polished and poised, but there was a flicker in her gaze when it slid back to mine. A silent challenge. Or maybe a reminder.

“Be my moral support. My… non-theoretical entourage.” And that’s how, a month later, we found ourselves in a sterile conference hotel ballroom, surrounded by urban planners, academics, and consultants, all speaking a dialect of jargon that made our heads ache. We were fish out of water, dressed in our best “city” clothes that felt like costumes. Dr. Aris Thorne, resplendent in a corduroy blazer with elbow patches, introduced Clara with grandiose flair. “And here, representing the very *soil* of the coastal narrative, is Clara Gonzalez, educator and community pillar…”

A plaque beneath reads: Bethany Nott (1977-2060) Designer. Survivor. Mother. Warrior. Teacher. She was reborn not to destroy him, but to create this—a legacy of healing that outlived all the hatred. May we all choose as bravely.

“And?” “And there’s no one,” Claire said flatly, turning back to me. “I contacted every auditory specialist within a two-hundred-mile radius. Estelle trained at Vienna Institute, she’s published extensively, her success rate is higher than anyone else’s. The next best option is a man in Boston who has half her experience and charges three times as much.” The hope died instantly and I sagged against the wall. “So we’re stuck with her.” “For now,” Claire agreed grimly. “Which means we need to be more careful than ever. No more slips.”

Clara's POV I received an unexpected visitor. She arrived at the foundation's original site on a Tuesday morning. Not for the program. For me specifically. Rosa called to tell me and I drove in. Her name was Professor Anya Sharma. She was head of the Architecture and Civil Engineering faculty at the country's leading technical university. She was sixty years old and she had the bearing of someone who had been the most important person in every room they had ever entered and had made peace with this as a fact rather than an aspiration.

“Beth, we need proof. Physical evidence. And to get it, Beta Riven needs to access the Alpha’s chambers when Claire isn’t there.” “You want me to spy on Claire.” “I want you to watch her movements. When she leaves the chambers, where she goes, how long she’s gone. Just information, nothing more. You won’t have to do anything that would put you directly in danger.” Beth was quiet for a long moment, her fingers drumming against the table. “I’ve noticed things,” she said finally. “Strange things about Claire’s behavior. The way she controls who sees the Alpha, how she’s always burning that incense, how the Alpha seems… different when she’s not around.”

Grief, carefully locked behind expensive restraint. “Clara worked as a patient advocate after the trial,” Evelyn continued. “She helped women who had participated in medical studies and later realized they had never been properly informed of the risks. She was young, intelligent and far more courageous than anyone gave her credit for. Your father found her because he was investigating irregular payments made to participants in the Phoenix trial.” “My father,” I said slowly. “Yes.” The room seemed to tilt a little. I pressed my palm flat against the table, grounding myself.

The girl's cheek was red and slightly swollen, and her eyes were rimmed with pink as if she had been crying. Clara paused. "Are you all right? What happened to your face?" Emily looked up, startled. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking. It was just... a misunderstanding. Do you have an appointment with Mr. Kingsley?" "I don't have a formal appointment, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with him. I'm Clara Hayes, the project lead on the Whitmore rebranding." She showed her ID. "I was told I could come directly to his office."

Long enough to be honest. "Clara disappeared from this university four years ago," I said. "The dean of students who signed the memo waiving her welfare protections was promoted to provost. She has been sitting at the top of this institution while Clara rebuilt her life from the outside and Preethi kept fourteen months of documentation in the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet." I looked at Ray. "The story is already that size. We are just deciding whether to show all of it." He held my gaze. Nodded once.