Chapter 6

Clara POV

"Are you alright, darling?" Hailey' s voice, sickeningly sweet, cut through the sudden silence. Her key charm glinted, a cruel mockery of the pain searing through me. A key. My key. To my heart, my home, my life.

Something snapped inside me. The world went red. I ripped the key charm from her neck, the delicate chain breaking with a faint ping. Clutching the sharp edges of the broken metal, I lunged. The painting, "Key to My Heart," was right there. I screamed, a raw, primal sound, and plunged the sharp key into the canvas, tearing through the paint, through the fabric, again and again.

The ripping sound echoed through the stunned gallery, a violent, visceral shriek that silenced every gasp, every whisper. Paint splattered, colors bleeding into a chaotic mess, just like my life. Chaos erupted. Security guards rushed me, their hands grabbing, pulling, pressing me to the cold marble floor. My face was pressed against the polished stone, the chill seeping into my skin. I could see their shoes, polished and expensive, just inches from my face.

Camden and Hailey stood over me, their silhouettes towering, casting long, menacing shadows. Their faces were a mixture of horror and disgust, their eyes glinting with a cold disdain. It was the same look they had given me five years ago, after I had discovered them. They looked at me like I was a rat, vermin they'd found crawling in their pristine world.

"Call the police," Camden said, his voice cold and steady, without a trace of remorse. "She's unstable. A danger to herself and others."

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from deep inside me, growing louder, more piercing, until it filled the entire gallery, bouncing off the high ceilings. It was a terrifying sound, I knew, because I saw people recoil, their faces pale with fear. They thought I was insane. Maybe I was.

The next year and a half I spent behind bars. A felony conviction for vandalism. I tried to end it all, more than once, but they always pulled me back. In that sterile, lonely cell, something shifted. The rage burned itself out, replaced by a quiet, fierce resolve. I was done with them. Done with the past. I would rebuild. I had to. For my mother. For myself. I earned early release for good behavior, walking out with nothing but the clothes on my back and a newfound clarity. I had been foolish, reckless, but I wouldn't be again.

Back in Camden' s car, the scent of expensive leather still clinging to the air, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Hailey had excused herself to the ladies' room, leaving us in a tense silence. Camden cleared his throat.

"Clara," he began, his voice low, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "I... I'm sorry. For everything. For the way things ended. For the exhibition. I know I handled it badly. Hailey... she can be a little insensitive. I'll talk to her. Remind her to be more mindful." He sounded contrite, almost sincere.

I looked at him, a flicker of surprise in my heart. Sorry? After all this time? Was this genuine remorse, or another calculated move? I couldn't tell. "There's no need, Camden," I said, my voice flat. "It's all in the past. I just... I was thinking about my mother, that's all."

His eyes, when they met mine in the rearview mirror, held a flicker of something I couldn't quite decipher. Sadness? Regret? I didn't care.

Hailey returned, her makeup freshly applied, her smile bright and unwavering. She acted as if the awkward silence, the veiled apologies, the raw emotions, had never happened. "So, fire pot, anyone?" she chirped, turning to me. "Just like old times, Clara? Remember our hot pot Tuesdays?"

Camden interjected, a frown on his face. "Hailey, Clara never liked hot pot. Her stomach gets upset easily. Remember how she would always stick to bland food?" He looked at me, a strange possessiveness in his gaze.

"Oh, my stomach is perfectly fine now, Camden," I said, a small, genuine smile gracing my lips. "In fact, I eat everything. And I feel great."

Just then, my phone vibrated in my hand, a cheerful melody filling the car. The screen glowed, displaying a single word: "Husband." My heart fluttered, not with anxiety, but with warmth. I answered, a soft smile spreading across my face.

"Hey, Christian," I said, my voice softer than it had been all day.

"Honey, where are you? Junior is exhausting me at this kiddie party. He just told a group of teenagers he saw me flirting with a barista. Can you believe the nerve?" Christian' s voice, deep and laced with amusement, filled my ear.

In the background, I heard my son's high-pitched voice. "Dad-dy! She was totally smiling at you! You like her more than Mom-my!"

"Junior! That' s enough! Mommy will hear you!" Christian playfully scolded, but I could hear the love in his voice, the joy in their playful banter. I smiled, a genuine, unburdened smile.

My eyes drifted to the large digital billboard across the street. A familiar face stared back at me. Strong jawline, kind eyes, a slight, knowing smile. Christian. My husband. The CEO of Brennan Enterprises, one of the largest tech conglomerates in the world. He was promoting their new philanthropic initiative, his image radiating quiet power and genuine warmth.

I took a quick photo of the billboard, then ended the call, sending the picture to Christian with a laughing emoji. He would love that.

By my side, Camden and Hailey were frozen. Their faces were ashen, their eyes wide with disbelief.

"Husband?" Hailey stammered, her voice a thin whisper. "You're... married? Since when? Who is he? Is he... is he good to you? Do you need anything? Like, financial help?" Her questions tumbled out, a mix of shock and thinly veiled jealousy.

"Hailey, that's enough," Camden said, his voice sharp, a cold edge to it. He looked at me, his eyes narrowed. "You're married, Clara? Really? To whom? And where are you living? That old house you still own, the one that' s practically falling apart? And your shoes, Clara. They' re still the same worn-out sneakers you had a year and a half ago. Don't lie to me."