Moisture still clung faintly to Clara's hair as she leaned against the cool hallway wall, ribs protesting every step. Natalia had been right to warn her, though Clara wasn't sure she'd wanted a warning at all.
"She was his fiancée."
The words rang in her head like a bell toll, each echo slicing through the fog of her fatigue. She almost asked Natalia to repeat herself, but she'd stopped herself . Natalia wasn't one to exaggerate.
Now, with Natalia's steady arm under hers, Clara hobbled forward, trying to still the unease knotting in her stomach.
"Should I… even be here?" Clara murmured, voice low.
Natalia's lips curved faintly, as though she'd expected the question. "Cyra asked for you, he's been waiting for you," she said simply. "You should be here."
Clara wanted to argue, but the sound of muffled voices drifted down the hall—a woman's melodic laugh and a bass-filled one from Cyra's. She never heard him laugh like that.
Her chest tightened. She tried to walk faster, but Natalia gently slowed her.
"Careful," Natalia said softly, her grip firm. "No rushing."
When they reached the living room door, Clara felt her heart hammer against her ribs. Natalia pushed it open for her, and the scene inside made her pause.
The living room looked like a staged photo from a lifestyle magazine—sunlight spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows, pure white furniture, and the faint scent of fresh flowers from the arrangement on the coffee table. Where did those flowers come from?
Cyra sat lounged in an armchair, his long legs crossed casually, but there was an intensity in the way he watched the woman seated across from him.
The woman was striking—polished and poised, with glossy waves of dark hair and a form-fitting green dress that screamed effortless confidence. Her posture was perfect, her smile sharp but warm.
Clara suddenly felt painfully aware of her damp hair twisted in a messy bun, the loose dress she'd chosen out of necessity, and the faint limp in her step.
Cyra's gaze flicked up at her entrance. His expression softened instantly.
"Darling," he said, his voice low and warm, immediately rising from his chair. The single word was enough to send Clara's pulse racing. He strode toward her with that effortless confidence that came so naturally to him, his focus entirely on her. "—come sit."
The woman turned her head, and Clara felt that smile sweep over her like a blade.
"You must be Clara," she said smoothly, rising to her feet. She extended a hand, nails perfectly manicured. "I'm Selene."
The name sent a faint jolt through Clara's chest. She took Selene's hand briefly, forcing a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."
Selene's grip was light but confident. Her eyes lingered on Clara with a glint of curiosity—maybe even amusement.
Cyra stood then, moving toward Clara with a quiet, protective energy. "Sit," he murmured, guiding her gently toward the armchair nearest him. His hand rested at her lower back, steady but light, as though he was mindful of her injury.
Clara sank into the chair, pulse racing.
Cyra crouched briefly, adjusting a cushion behind her. "Comfortable?" he asked softly.
She nodded, though her mouth was dry. Selene watched them, her lips curling in a faint, knowing smile.
"You're interviewing for a personal assistant position?" Clara asked, breaking the silence.
Selene's smile widened. "Yes. I used to handle Cyra's schedules before… well, before life took me elsewhere. I'd like to come back."
The way she said —"come back" made Clara's chest tighten.
Selene's gaze flicked to Cyra briefly, something unreadable passing between them. Clara clenched her hands in her lap.
Cyra straightened, his expression unreadable now. "Selene's experience is unmatched," he said coolly. "But I told her this wouldn't be a social call."
Selene chuckled softly. "Of course. Strictly business."
Clara swallowed hard, her mind whirling. She wasn't the jealous type, was she? Yet the elegant woman across from her radiated a kind of familiarity with Cyra that made Clara feel like a stranger in his world. She hated that feeling.
"Would you like to ask her something, Clara?" Cyra asked, turning his gaze to her. His voice was gentle, coaxing.
Clara blinked. "Me?"
"Of course," Selene said smoothly, folding her hands. "If I'm going to be working closely with him, your opinion matters."
I'll give her my opinion alright.
The sincerity in her tone only made Clara's stomach twist tighter. She cleared her throat, searching for her voice.
"What do you think makes you the best fit for this?" Clara asked, keeping her tone even.
Selene's smile didn't falter. "I know Cyra's world," she said softly. "His schedule, his habits, the people he trusts. I can handle the pressure that comes with his life… and I'd do it well." Her gaze flicked to Cyra, who was watching her with that same calm intensity.
Clara shifted in her seat, wincing slightly at the pull on her ribs. Cyra was instantly beside her, crouching again, his focus all hers.
"Are you hurting?" his hand ghosting near her rib.
"I'm fine," Clara whispered, though her voice trembled. His concern was so palpable, so warm, that she almost forgot Selene was in the room.
Almost.
Selene's expression was unreadable now, but Clara thought she saw a flicker of something sharp in her eyes.
Cyra returned to his position on the arm chair but kept his eyes on Clara for a few moments more.
"Why the assistant role?" Clara asked, her voice sharper than intended.
"I know him." Selene's smile never wavered. "His schedule, his preferences, his business connections. I'd be an asset."
"You're overqualified."
Selene's lips parted slightly, and for a fraction of a second, Clara thought she saw hesitation. But Selene only smiled. "Sometimes we choose where we can be most useful."
"Or where we can stay close," Clara murmured, not quite under her breath.
Selene's brows lifted slightly, but she said nothing.
"Clara," Cyra whispered, there was a ghost of amusement in his eyes.
Clara flushed but lifted her chin, refusing to back down. She wasn't rude, just… honest.
"Well then, the three of us have a lot to discuss then don't we."
Selene rose to leave, her smile was still as elegant as ever.
"Thank you for your time," Selene said, glancing at Cyra. "Both of you."
"We'll keep in touch," Cyra said smoothly, standing as he moved to open the door.
Selene's eyes lingered on Cyra for a moment—soft, almost wistful—before she nodded once and left.
The door clicked shut behind her, and Clara exhaled slowly.
Well," she said, breaking the silence, "—she's impressive. But you should interview more people. Just to be sure."
Cyra leaned back in his chair, studying her with quiet amusement. "Jealous, darling?"
Clara scoffed, crossing her arms carefully to avoid pulling at her rib. "No. Just practical."
His lips curved in a slow smile. "Our engagement," he said lazily, "was nothing more than a business deal. Two families merging power, back when I cared about my parents' approval. Nothing more."
Clara arched a brow. "So why's she here? If she's so well off, why apply for this?"
His smile widened. "Maybe she misses me."
Clara rolled her eyes, ignoring the warmth creeping up her neck.
"You liked that, didn't you?" she muttered. "That I was jealous."
Cyra chuckled softly, his gaze dark and warm. "A little."
"Mm." Clara shifted in her seat. "Then you won't mind interviewing the rest of Emily's candidates."
"Not at all," he answered, matter-of-fact.
Natalia snorted, pushing off the wall. "Call me when the next one comes, I'll bring popcorn next time."
Clara shot her a look. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Of course." Natalia smirked. "Watching you glare at ex? Priceless."
"I wasn't glaring," Clara muttered.
Cyra's soft laugh filled the room, low and rich, and Clara felt heat creep up her neck again.
"I hate you both." A smile tugged just slightly at Clara's lips. She wiped it away before they could notice.