I wake up the next morning with a strange feeling in my chest. Last night's voice still echoes in my mind, that woman's calm, sharp tone.
"You didn't tell me you were married, Adrian."
The name still rings like a warning.
When I walk downstairs, Adrian is already having breakfast. He looks calm, as if nothing happened.
"Morning," I say, trying to sound normal.
"Morning," he replies without looking up. He's reading the newspaper, pretending to be busy.
I want to ask about her, but I stop myself. Showing curiosity would make me look weak. And I can't afford that.
After breakfast, he tells me, "We have dinner tonight. Board members, investors, and… some old friends."
The pause after "old friends" tells me everything I need to know.
"I'll be ready," I say softly.
That evening, I chose a simple black dress, elegant but not loud. The kind of beauty that doesn't need to scream to be noticed.
When we arrive at the restaurant, the lights are warm and golden. Waiters move quietly, music hums softly in the background.
Adrian walks beside me, tall and confident. The moment we enter, heads turn. Cameras flash. Everyone knows who he is.
A few people greet him with polite smiles. Some whisper when they see me. I ignore it.
We take our seats at a long table filled with important faces. I smile, I nod, I play the part.
Then I see her.
Clara Holt.
She walks in like she owns the room, tall, beautiful, in a silver dress that catches every light. Her lips curve in a knowing smile when her eyes land on us.
"Adrian," she says smoothly, "you didn't tell me your new wife would be here tonight."
Adrian stands, polite but distant. "Clara. You weren't invited."
She laughs softly. "When has that ever stopped me?"
Then she turns to me. Her gaze slides over me slowly, judging, smiling. "So this is the famous Emma Blackwood."
I meet her eyes and smile back. "And you must be the not-so-famous Clara Holt."
A few people at the table shift uncomfortably. Clara's smile tightens, but only for a second.
"You're bold," she says. "I can see why Adrian likes you. For now."
I sip my drink calmly. "It's not about what he likes," I reply. "It's about what I can handle."
Adrian's lips twitch slightly, as if trying not to smile.
Clara keeps her gaze on me. "Careful, dear. You don't know what kind of man you married."
Her words are soft, but her eyes are sharp.
"Maybe," I say. "But I know what kind of woman I've become."
For a moment, the air feels thick. Then Clara laughs a light, fake laugh that hides something darker.
The dinner continues, but the tension doesn't fade. Clara keeps watching me, throwing small comments, testing me.
I keep calm. I won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me break.
When the evening finally ends, Adrian and I walk toward the car. The air outside feels cool, but my mind burns with questions.
"Who is she really?" I ask.
He glances at me."An ex. From years ago."
"She doesn't act like it's over."
He sighs quietly. "With Clara, nothing is ever really over."
I look at him. "Does she know about the contract?"
His jaw tightens. "No one knows about that. And she won't."
I nod, but something about his tone doesn't feel right.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I keep thinking about Clara's smile, the way she looked at me, like she knew something I didn't.
Finally, I get up and go to the balcony. The city lights below flicker like stars that forgot how to shine.
I hear footsteps behind me. I turn Clara stands there, calm, confident, holding a glass of wine.
"How did you get in here?" I ask quietly.
She smiles. "I have my ways."
I should call for Adrian, but something in her eyes stops me.
She walks closer. "You're strong," she says softly. "I can see it in your eyes. But strength isn't always enough."
"What do you want?" I ask.
She tilts her head. "Just a warning."
"About what?"
Her smile fades. "About second chances. They don't last forever."
My heart stops.
She leans closer, whispering, "You think this life is new, don't you? But some things follow you no matter how far you run."
I stare at her, frozen.
"How would you know that?" I whisper.
Her eyes glint in the dark. "Because, dear Emma… you're not the only one who remembers."
And with that, she turns and walks away, leaving me alone on the balcony, my heart pounding, my mind spinning with fear and confusion.