By the time they returned home that evening, Lena's head was pounding. The luncheon had been exhausting enough, but Clara's perfect smile lingered in her mind like a shadow she couldn't shake.
Adrian, as usual, seemed unaffected. He loosened his tie and tossed his jacket across the sofa, moving with the unbothered calm of a man who never let anyone see his cracks.
"You handled yourself well," he said simply.
Lena blinked, startled. "I barely spoke."
His eyes lifted to hers. "Sometimes silence is louder than words. You didn't flinch."
She wanted to laugh at that. Inside, she had been trembling. But the faint approval in his voice made her heart stutter. She busied herself with setting her bag down, refusing to let him see her confusion.
What Lena didn't know—what Adrian didn't see—was that elsewhere, Clara sat in her pristine penthouse, a glass of wine in hand, replaying the same event with very different emotions.
"Wife," Clara whispered to herself, her lips curling into a mocking smile. "How quaint."
She set her glass down with a sharp clink against the table. She had watched Adrian for years, studied his habits, his walls, his weaknesses. He didn't let people in. Ever. And yet, he had married this… ordinary woman?
Clara's pride burned hotter than jealousy. This wasn't just about Adrian. This was about her place. She had been the one everyone assumed would one day stand beside him. If Adrian had chosen differently, then Lena was nothing more than an obstacle in the way of what was rightfully hers.
And Clara never lost to obstacles.
Her fingers tapped lightly against the glass, her mind already spinning. Reputation, image, influence—these were her weapons. Lena wouldn't last long in Adrian's world. All Clara had to do was push in the right places.
Back at the penthouse, Lena stood on the balcony, gazing at the city lights. For the first time since entering Adrian's world, she wasn't just overwhelmed. She was angry.
She thought of Clara's smirk, of the way her words had been dipped in poison, and something inside her shifted.
She didn't want to just survive here. She wanted to prove—to herself, to Adrian, maybe even to Clara—that she wasn't fragile. That she could stand tall.
Behind her, Adrian stepped out onto the balcony, his presence filling the space. His voice was low, almost thoughtful.
"Don't let her get under your skin."
Lena turned, surprised. "You noticed?"
"Of course." He met her gaze, steady and unflinching. "Clara thrives on control. Don't give her what she wants."
It should have sounded like a command, but for once, it felt like something else. A warning. Maybe even… concern.
The city glimmered between them, silent witness to a promise Lena made to herself in that moment.
She would not let Clara win.