Chapter 5 The Jealous Ex

Clara had never worn anything quite like the gown she now stood zipped into-midnight blue silk that shimmered like stars under light. It clung to her curves with elegance, its high slit revealing just enough leg to hint without shouting. Her hair was swept into a soft chignon, the kind that made her look older, more refined.

Like she belonged.

But even with the expensive dress and flawless makeup, Clara felt the weight of her borrowed identity. The diamond earrings-on loan from a high-end boutique Adrian's assistant arranged-were heavier than they looked. Or maybe it was just the pressure of the night ahead.

The Wolfe Foundation Gala.

Adrian's charity event. His public life on full display. And now... hers too.

"You look the part," Adrian said behind her as he entered her room without knocking.

Clara turned slowly. He wore a black tuxedo that fit like it had been poured onto his body, every stitch sharp and intentional. Her throat tightened, not that she'd admit it.

"I feel like a glass sculpture," she replied. "Expensive and one slip away from shattering."

He studied her for a moment. "You won't shatter. Not in front of them."

"Comforting," she said dryly. "Do I get a safety word in case one of your socialites comes at me with passive-aggressive daggers?"

His mouth twitched. "Don't underestimate your own bite."

They walked out together, a silent agreement forming between them: tonight, they would perform. Tonight, they would smile.

Tonight, they would play the perfect couple.

---

The ballroom at the Avalon Grand was drenched in light and elegance. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls above a sea of black tuxedos and gleaming gowns. A string quartet played something soft and forgettable in the background.

As Clara entered on Adrian's arm, heads turned.

She heard the whispers immediately.

"That's her."

"The new wife?"

"She's stunning but... not who I expected."

Adrian's arm stiffened slightly, and Clara gave him a brief, sardonic smile. "We're already famous."

"Keep your smile polite and your voice low," he murmured. "They'll pounce on any sign of weakness."

Clara raised her chin. "Good thing I left that at home."

They moved through the crowd like royalty. Adrian introduced her to board members, politicians, artists, and business magnates. Clara shook hands and made small talk, her stomach tight, her voice steady.

She held her own-until Miranda King walked in.

Tall. Blazing red gown. Hair like spun gold. The kind of woman who knew how to command a room-and every man in it.

She walked straight toward them with the grace of a predator.

"Well," Miranda said, eyes flicking from Clara to Adrian and back. "If it isn't Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe."

Adrian's body tensed. "Miranda."

"Congratulations," she said sweetly. "Married in secret, I hear. How very romantic... or convenient."

Clara smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Some weddings don't need to be a spectacle to be meaningful."

Miranda laughed, sipping champagne. "Of course. And Adrian has always been so... impulsive."

Adrian cut in, his voice smooth and clipped. "Miranda, if you came to cause a scene, I suggest you find a better stage."

She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "You always were protective of your assets."

Clara blinked.

Assets?

Miranda turned back to Clara with mock curiosity. "And what do you do, darling? Or are you a full-time accessory now?"

Clara's voice was soft, but lethal. "I paint. And when I'm not doing that, I endure parties where the real accessories mistake their bitterness for charm."

The smile on Miranda's face faltered.

Adrian looked... amused.

"Well then," Miranda said after a beat, eyes narrowing. "Enjoy the evening. And don't worry-society forgives quickly. Even poor choices."

She sauntered away, hips swaying.

Clara exhaled. "She's delightful."

Adrian's expression hardened. "She's a vulture."

"Ex-fiancée?"

He didn't deny it.

"You have a type?" Clara asked, forcing lightness into her voice. "Sharp jawlines and colder hearts?"

"She was a business arrangement. We both understood the terms-until she didn't."

"And me?" she asked, unable to stop herself. "Another business arrangement?"

Adrian didn't answer.

---

The rest of the night blurred in a haze of dancing and scrutiny. Clara kept her smile in place, fingers glued to the stem of her champagne glass. She spoke when spoken to, laughed when required, and posed when cameras flashed.

But the moment they got into the limo afterward, the mask cracked.

Clara turned to Adrian. "You could've warned me about her."

"I didn't think she'd show."

"She clearly didn't get the memo that we're playing house."

Adrian looked at her, eyes dark. "It's not a game to me."

"Oh really? Then what is it?"

"A necessity," he said. "One I'm managing quite well-until you decide to go off-script."

"I defended myself," Clara snapped. "And you, might I add. Or did you expect me to just smile while your ex tried to shred me in public?"

Adrian's jaw clenched. "She doesn't matter."

"She does if she's part of your past and still orbiting your future."

He leaned in slightly. "You agreed to pretend. Not to pry."

"And you agreed to respect me. So far, you're failing miserably."

The limo slowed in front of the mansion gates.

Adrian's voice dropped. "If you're struggling with this role, Clara, say it now. I'll pay you for the weeks completed and we walk away."

Clara met his eyes, pulse racing. "I don't struggle with the role. I struggle with you."

The car door opened, and without another word, Clara stepped out and marched up the stairs, heels stabbing into the marble like punctuation marks.

---

That night, Clara couldn't sleep. She stood in her robe on the balcony, cold air brushing her skin. Her fingers gripped the railing.

She heard the door creak behind her.

She didn't turn. "If you're here to fight, I'm not in the mood."

"I'm not," Adrian said softly.

She heard him approach, felt his presence beside her, but didn't look.

"I should've warned you about Miranda," he said.

Clara remained quiet.

"She and I were never in love," he added. "It was convenience. Business. But she wanted more. And I didn't have more to give."

She glanced at him now. "What happened?"

"She found out I wasn't broken in the way she thought she could fix." He looked away. "She didn't like that."

Clara hesitated. "You think I want to fix you?"

"I think you're too empathetic for your own good."

They stood in silence.

"I don't pity you, Adrian," Clara said at last. "But I do see you."

His eyes met hers. For a moment, the air between them shifted.

Then, as if catching himself, he stepped back. "We have brunch with the foundation board tomorrow. Be ready by ten."

And just like that, the wall came back up.

But something had cracked. And Clara felt it.

A glimpse beneath the cold. A flicker of something dangerous.

Real.