Chapter 3

The door clicked shut behind me, sealing off the crude laughter and the specifics of their wager.

The hallway was quiet—only the sharp tap of my heels echoed against the marble floor.

Step by step, I walked toward the elevator, Sebastian Hale’s mocking voice replaying in my mind like a broken record.

My phone buzzed.

I pulled it out. The screen lit up with a number I’d never saved but knew by heart.

The message was starkly simple—and yet heavy enough to make my fingers tremble:

“Clara, I know this isn’t the right time.

But if you’re willing… will you marry me?

Not for business. Not for appearances. Just me…

Please. Let me take care of you. I’ve waited so long.”

It was from Grayson Ellis.

Sebastian’s fiercest rival.

I stood on the sidewalk, watching headlights streak past like rivers of light.

Then, without hesitation, I typed one word into the reply box:

“Yes.”

I hit send.

Less than five seconds later, my phone vibrated violently.

Grayson’s name flashed across the screen.

I answered.

On the other end, his breathing was controlled—but barely. Ragged with urgency.

He stayed silent for two full seconds before speaking, his voice thick with disbelief.

“Clara… did I read that right? You—you really mean it?”

“Yes,” I said calmly. “I’ll marry you.”

I heard him suck in a sharp breath, as if finally convinced this wasn’t a dream.

His voice cracked with emotion, trembling despite his effort to steady it.

“Are you serious? This isn’t some cruel joke?”

He forced himself to calm down instantly, switching to a tone both careful and protective.

“Then… would you consider moving out tonight?

I can arrange a place right away—somewhere quiet, safe. No one will find you there.”

I didn’t hesitate.

That so-called “home” choked me just thinking about it.

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ll send someone and a car immediately. They’ll wait downstairs. How long do you need?”

“An hour.”

“See you in an hour, Clara…”

When I got back to the Hale Mansion on Polpis Road, the entryway light was on—but the air reeked of whiskey.

In the living room, Vanessa Reed struggled to support Sebastian, who was slumped over her, dead drunk. She was trying to drag him toward the sofa.

He leaned heavily against her, muttering nonsense into her shoulder.

When she saw me, Vanessa didn’t flinch. Instead, she pressed herself even closer to him, lifting her chin with deliberate provocation.

“Well, look who finally showed up,” she drawled. “If it isn’t Mrs. Hale.”

She emphasized the title with venom, her eyes raking over me with open disdain.

“It’s awfully late for a wife to be coming home. Guess you don’t care much about Sebastian after all.”

She smirked, then added with theatrical sweetness, “Oh wait—you’re not his wife anymore, are you? This isn’t your house. Kindly leave.”

Her gaze flicked down my body, slow and judgmental.

“Honestly, age really does catch up with you. Can’t even keep your own husband sober.”

Sebastian lifted his head slightly, bleary-eyed. He squinted at me, then waved a limp hand at Vanessa.

“Vanessa… knock it off.”

His voice was slurred, half-hearted—the kind of reflexive defense he’d long since stopped meaning.

Vanessa’s lips immediately puckered into a pout. She shoved him hard, her voice rising into a whine.

“You’re yelling at me? For that washed-up hag?!”

She turned on me, eyes blazing.

“I don’t care! Get her out of here! I don’t want to see her face—not tonight!”