Chapter 6

Ada Mcfadden POV:

The name hung in the humid Bali air, a fragile truth finally given voice. "Julian," I repeated, my gaze unwavering, meeting Clayton's raw, shattered eyes. "I did it all for Julian."

Clayton stared at me, his face draining of color, disbelief warring with a dawning, terrible understanding. "Julian?" he rasped, the name a foreign sound on his lips. "You... you married me for Julian?"

His voice was hoarse, a strangled whisper. "You endured five years of... this... for my dead brother?" He gestured vaguely between us, then at the chaotic market. His mind, so brilliant at deciphering complex algorithms and market trends, seemed incapable of grasping this simple, devastating truth.

"To fulfill his last wish," I clarified softly, the words a balm to my long-suffering soul. "To scatter his ashes on Mars."

His head snapped back as if struck. "Mars? That's what this was all about? A space memorial? You married me because of some bizarre NASA protocol for him?"

His chest heaved, a storm brewing in his eyes. "You played the devoted wife, the lovesick fool, you tolerated Gisele, you picked up her pills-all for Julian? You used me, Ada? You actually used me?"

The accusation, though true, felt hollow. He had used me, too. We had been two transactional entities, each fulfilling a need for the other, unaware of the vastly different currencies we traded in.

"We both got what we wanted, Clayton," I replied, my voice steady. "You got a compliant wife who didn't interfere with your lifestyle. I got access to Julian's dream."

Gisele, who had been listening with a mixture of confusion and growing alarm, finally interjected, her voice shrill. "Clayton? What is she talking about? Who is Julian? What's going on?" She reached for his arm, her eyes darting between us. "You look... sick."

Clayton didn't respond to Gisele. His eyes were still fixed on me, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within them: anger, betrayal, and a raw, agonizing pain that seemed to rip through him.

Then, with a sudden, violent movement, he shoved Gisele's hand away. "Get away from me, Gisele," he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Just... leave."

Gisele recoiled, her face contorted in shock. "What? Clayton! What are you saying? You just promised to marry me! We're engaged!"

"No," he said, his eyes still on me, still burning. "We're not. It's over, Gisele. Go."

"Over?" Gisele shrieked, her voice echoing through the market. "You can't do this! Not after everything! Not after five years of being your public girlfriend! You'll regret this, Clayton! I'll ruin you!"

He finally tore his gaze from me, turning to Gisele, but his eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth or concern. "Do what you want, Gisele," he said, his voice flat, emotionless. "Say what you want. I don't care anymore."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and extracted a thick wad of cash. He threw it at her feet. "Here. For your troubles. Now go."

Gisele stared at the money, then at him, her face a mask of disbelief. "You're... you're breaking up with me? For her?" She pointed a trembling finger at me. "After she just admitted she used you?"

Clayton ignored her entirely. He took a hesitant step towards me, his eyes now filled with a desperate plea. "Ada," he whispered, his voice raw with pain. "I... I made a mistake. A terrible mistake."

He reached for my hand, his fingers trembling as they brushed mine. "I understand now. I understand why you did it. But please, Ada. Don't leave. Don't leave me now. We can fix this. We can start over. A real marriage. I swear, I'll be different. I'll be the husband you deserve. I'll be... Julian for you, if that's what you need."

His words, intended to be a heartfelt confession, were a perverse insult. To be Julian for me? Julian was gone. He could never be Julian. And I didn't want him to be. I wanted him to be nothing.

I pulled my hand away, my gaze firm. "No, Clayton. There is nothing to fix. And I don't want you to be Julian. Julian is dead."

His eyes widened, his face crumpling in pain. "Ada, please! Don't do this! I love you! I know it now! I love you!" He tried to grab my arm, but I sidestepped him.

My hand snapped out, a sharp, stinging slap echoing through the market. My palm burned. His head jerked to the side, a crimson mark blooming on his cheek.

He stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock, his hand slowly rising to touch the red imprint on his face. He looked utterly bewildered, as if he couldn't comprehend what had just happened.

Gisele, who had been momentarily stunned, suddenly shrieked. "You bitch! How dare you hit him!" She launched herself at Clayton, clawing at his chest, her nails raking through his expensive shirt. "You changed him! You made him like this!"

Clayton barely flinched, his eyes never leaving mine. He seized Gisele's wrists, his voice a low, urgent plea. "Ada, please! Don't go! I need you! I love you more than anything!" He looked at me, a desperate, raw plea in his eyes, even as Gisele continued to struggle against his grip.

"Gisele, stop," he said, his voice strained. "It's not her fault. It's mine. All mine." He pushed Gisele away, not roughly, but with a finality that brooked no argument. "I never loved you, Gisele. I used you. Just like I let Ada use me. It was all a game for me. But it's not a game anymore."

He reached into his wallet again, pulling out a credit card. "Take this, Gisele. Go wherever you want. Buy whatever you want. It's yours. Just leave us alone."

Gisele stared at the card, then at Clayton's tormented face. Her fury slowly dissolved into a mixture of disbelief and a chilling understanding. She snatched the card, her eyes still narrowed, but her voice was surprisingly calm. "You'll regret this, Clayton," she vowed, her words a chilling prophecy. Then she turned and walked away, her heels clicking rapidly, her head held high.

Clayton watched her go, then turned back to me, his eyes pleading, desperate. "See, Ada? She's gone. It's just us now. I'll do anything. Anything you want. Just tell me what to do. I'll change. I promise."

I looked at him, at the desperation in his eyes, the bruised mark on his cheek. He was vulnerable, broken. And yet, I felt nothing. No pity, no desire to comfort him. He was a stranger.

"I don't love you, Clayton," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I never did. And I never will. We are over. There is no 'us.' There never was."