Ethan and Marcus stepped inside quietly.
The door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing the moment in. The apartment was small too small for three people and everything unsaid between them.
The air felt thin, weighed down by exhaustion and things life hadn't been kind enough to fix.
Clara didn't say much.
She gestured toward the sofa with a brief nod and then turned toward the kitchen, moving on instinct more than intention. Hospitality was a reflex she hadn't unlearned yet.
"I'll make some tea," she said softly, already walking away.
Ethan watched her disappear into the narrow kitchen.
Marcus sat, awkwardly clearing his throat, pretending to be fascinated by a crack in the wall.
Ethan didn't sit.
His eyes moved slowly around the living room.
The faded couch.
The chipped table.
The thin curtains that barely kept the outside world out.
It wasn't messy.
It was tired.
This was a place that had been lived in carefully where nothing extra existed, where survival mattered more than comfort. A home shaped by loss and endurance.
The money on the floor earlier came back to him.
The counting.
The waiting.
Something tight settled in his chest.
From the kitchen came the quiet sounds of movement cups clinking softly, water boiling, the steady rhythm of someone keeping busy to avoid thinking too much.
Clara returned a few minutes later, carrying a tray with three simple cups of tea. No fancy set. No ceremony.
She placed one in front of Marcus.
Then one in front of Ethan.
Her fingers brushed the table lightly before she pulled back, as if contact itself required permission.
"Thank you," Marcus said gently.
She nodded once and sat across from them, wrapping her hands around her own cup for warmth more than comfort.
Ethan finally lowered himself onto the edge of the sofa, still silent.
The room filled with quiet.
And as Ethan stared at the walls that carried more struggle than words ever could, one thing became painfully clear
This wasn't a woman living recklessly.
This was a woman who had been surviving alone for far too long.
Ethan's eyes dropped to the table.
The money sat there in uneven piles, some notes folded too tightly, others worn thin at the edges. It wasn't a casual amount. It was counted money. The kind gathered with fear, not ease.
His jaw tightened.
"What's this?" he asked quietly.
Clara followed his gaze for a second then stiffened.
"That," she said flatly, "is none of your business."
Marcus shifted uncomfortably. Ethan didn't look at him.
"You were waiting for someone," Ethan said. "A loan collector."
Clara's fingers curled around her cup. "I said it's not your business."
Ethan inhaled slowly. "Clara—"
"Don't," she cut in sharply. "You don't get to ask questions now."
Silence fell hard between them.
Ethan straightened. "You don't need to count that money anymore."
Her head snapped up. "What?"
"The loan," he said evenly. "Your father's loan. It's cleared."
The words hung in the air.
For a moment, Clara didn't react.
Then she laughed.
A short, disbelieving sound.
"That's not funny," she said.
"I'm not joking."
Her smile vanished. "You had no right."
"I had every—"
"No," she said, standing abruptly. "You had no right."
Her cup rattled as she set it down. "You went behind my back."
"You were drowning," Ethan replied. "I removed the pressure."
"I didn't ask you to," she snapped. "That was my responsibility."
Marcus stood halfway. "Clara, he didn't mean—"
She turned on him. "You knew?"
Marcus froze. "…Yes."
Her eyes burned now not just with anger, but something deeper.
"So that's it?" she said, looking back at Ethan. "You saw money on my table and decided to fix me?"
"That's not what I—"
"You paid my past like it was a bill," she continued, voice shaking. "Do you have any idea what that loan meant to me?"
Ethan frowned. "It was destroying you."
"It was the last thing my parents left behind," she said, tears gathering despite her effort to stay composed. "I was paying it because it was mine to carry."
She pressed a hand to her chest. "You took that away without asking."
"I was trying to help," Ethan said softly.
She laughed again, this time broken. "You helped yourself feel better."
The room went quiet.
Ethan took a step closer. "I didn't do it to control you."
"Then why does it feel like I've been bought?" she whispered.
That hit him harder than any slap.
Her shoulders trembled once. She turned away quickly, wiping her face.
"I didn't need your money," she said, voice low. "I needed respect."
Ethan stood there, realization sinking in painfully slow.
For the first time, his solution had hurt more than it healed.
And for the first time, Clara looked at him not with anger
but with disappointment.
Ethan exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
"Listen to me," he said. "Please."
Clara didn't turn around.
"I didn't clear your loan to own you," he continued. "I did it because I couldn't watch you break under something that was never your fault."
She laughed bitterly. "And now?"
"And now," he said quietly, "I'm asking—not deciding."
She finally faced him. "Asking what?"
Ethan hesitated for the first time that evening. "I need your help."
Her eyes narrowed. "With what?"
"My family," he said. "My grandfather."
Marcus shifted, clearly uncomfortable, but said nothing.
"He wants to meet you," Ethan went on. "He believes you're my girlfriend. He believes there's… a future."
Clara crossed her arms. "So this is a performance."
"Yes," Ethan admitted. "Temporary."
She stared at him, incredulous. "You want me to act as your wife."
"Not wife," he corrected. "Not yet. Just—someone important. Someone real enough to stop a marriage I don't want."
"And after?" she asked sharply.
"After my grandfather leaves," Ethan said, "everything ends. No pressure. No expectations."
She stepped closer. "You're asking me to lie."
"I'm asking you to protect yourself," he replied. "And me."
Clara shook her head. "You think pretending is easy?"
"I think you're stronger than you realize," Ethan said. "And I swear—this isn't about control."
Marcus finally spoke, gentle. "Clara… he's trying to do this right. For once."
She looked between them, pain and pride warring in her eyes.
"And the loan?" she asked. "That was the price?"
"No," Ethan said firmly. "The loan is done—whether you agree or not. This isn't payment. This is a request."
Silence stretched.
Clara's voice softened, but the hurt remained. "You don't believe in love. You don't believe in marriage. And you want me to stand beside you and pretend I'm chosen."
Ethan met her gaze. "I don't believe in love because I've never seen it stay. That doesn't mean I don't respect it."
She searched his face for a long moment.
"And if I say no?" she asked.
Ethan didn't flinch. "Then I walk away—and I take the consequences."
Another beat.
Clara inhaled slowly. "Rules."
Ethan nodded immediately. "Your rules."
"No touching for show," she said. "No lies about me. No decisions without asking. And when this ends—it ends."
"Agreed," he said.
She closed her eyes, just for a second.
"I'll do it," she said at last. "Until your grandfather is here."
Ethan let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Thank you."
She looked at him, steady and sad. "Don't thank me. Just don't make me regret this."
The deal was made.
Not with smiles.
Not with trust.
But with two people choosing survival—together—for now.
And none of them said the one thing hanging in the room:
That pretending had a way of becoming real.
Clara's expression hardened.
The softness vanished.
As something strike on her mind..
She took a step back, as if distance alone could protect what mattered most.
"No," she said firmly.
Ethan frowned. "Clara—"
"No," she repeated, louder now. "I won't do it."
Marcus straightened. "Wait—"
She shook her head, eyes fixed on Ethan. "You asked me to end my pregnancy."
The words fell heavy.
"You looked at me," she continued, voice shaking despite her strength, "and told me the baby would be better off not existing."
Ethan opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
"So don't ask me to stand beside you," she said bitterly. "Don't ask me to pretend to be your wife while I wonder every day if you'll decide my child is an inconvenience again."
"That's not fair," Ethan said quietly.
"It's honest," she shot back. "You don't believe in love. You don't believe in marriage. And you definitely don't believe in this baby."
She placed a hand protectively over her stomach, instinctive and fierce.
"You talk about acting," she went on. "About deals and rules. But all I hear is control."
Ethan stepped forward. "I would never hurt—"
"You already tried to," she interrupted, tears finally spilling. "With words. With money. With logic."
Marcus swallowed hard, staying silent.
"You think I can trust you?" she asked, voice breaking. "You think I can sleep under the same roof as someone who saw my child as a problem to erase?"
Ethan's chest tightened painfully. "I was scared."
"And I was alone," she replied. "And pregnant. And terrified."
Silence crushed the room.
"I won't act," she said finally. "Not as your wife. Not as your girlfriend. Not as anything that puts my baby at risk."
She wiped her tears, straightening her spine. "You want to help? Then respect my no."
Ethan nodded slowly, defeat clear on his face.
"I won't force you," he said hoarsely.
"Good," she replied. "Because this child is the only thing I trust myself to protect."
She turned away, walking toward the window, her back rigid.
The room stayed silent after her refusal.
Heavy. Final.
Ethan didn't move. He didn't argue. He looked… smaller somehow. Defeated.
Marcus was the one who spoke.
"Clara," he said quietly.
She didn't turn.
"Please don't think I'm taking his side," Marcus continued. "I'm not. I'm here because I see both of you bleeding in different ways."
She let out a shaky breath. "Then you should understand why I said no."
"I do," Marcus said honestly. "And you're right to protect your child. No one gets to question that."
She finally looked at him. Her eyes were red, tired, guarded. "Then why are you still talking?"
Marcus stepped a little closer—but not too close.
"Because running won't protect you either," he said softly.
Her jaw tightened. "I've been protecting myself alone my whole life."
"And it nearly crushed you," Marcus replied gently.
She flinched.
Ethan looked up sharply, but Marcus raised a hand, stopping him from interrupting.
"She's not wrong," Marcus said to Ethan without looking at him. "But she's also not safe pretending she can do everything alone forever."
Clara shook her head. "You don't know what safe is."
Marcus met her gaze. "I do. I've watched Ethan sabotage every good thing because he doesn't believe he deserves it."
She scoffed. "That's supposed to comfort me?"
"No," Marcus admitted. "It's supposed to explain him."
She crossed her arms protectively. "He asked me to end my pregnancy."
"I know," Marcus said. "And it was wrong."
Ethan's throat tightened, but he didn't deny it.
Marcus continued, "But listen to me carefully Ethan doesn't destroy things because he's cruel. He does it because he's terrified."
Clara laughed bitterly. "So was I. Still am."
"And yet," Marcus said, "you're here. Still standing."
She looked down, blinking back tears.
"You're not agreeing to marry him," Marcus said. "You're not signing away your life. You're not giving him control."
"Then what am I doing?" she whispered.
"You're buying yourself time," Marcus said. "Time without collectors at your door. Time without fear hanging over your head. Time to decide—freely."
She turned toward Ethan. "And what if he changes his mind again?"
Ethan stood up slowly.
"I won't," he said quietly.
She shook her head. "You already did once."
"I know," he replied. "And I'll spend the rest of my life regretting that moment if you let me."
Marcus added softly, "This isn't about trusting him forever. It's about trusting yourself enough to set rules—and walk away if they're broken."
Clara hugged herself, breathing unevenly.
"And the baby?" she asked. "What guarantee do I have?"
Marcus answered before Ethan could.
"You have me," he said firmly. "I won't let anything happen to you or the child. Not legally. Not emotionally. Not physically."
She searched his face. "Why do you care so much?"
Marcus smiled faintly. "Because someone once failed me when I needed protection. I won't repeat that mistake."
Silence fell again.
Long. Crushing.
Finally, Clara spoke voice barely above a whisper.
"If I do this… it's not because of money."
"I know," Marcus said.
"It's not because of you," she said to Ethan.
"I know," Ethan replied.
"It's because my child deserves stability," she finished. "Even if it's temporary."
Ethan nodded slowly. "Then we do it your way."
She closed her eyes, tears slipping free.
"Rules," she said again.
"Your rules," both men answered at once.
She took a deep breath.
"I'll act," she said finally. "Until your grandfather leaves."
Ethan exhaled sharply, relief and guilt mixing in his chest.
"But the second I feel my child is unsafe," Clara added, eyes blazing now, "I disappear. No explanations."
Ethan met her gaze. "Fair."
Marcus smiled softly—not happy, but hopeful.
The agreement wasn't sealed with joy.
It was sealed with fear, exhaustion, and a mother's love.
And sometimes
That was stronger than trust.