Chapter 3

Pinned by the collective stare of the room, Clara felt a hot flush creep up her neck. She kept her eyes on the floor. "I... I was just leaving." Julian raised an eyebrow. The lazy amusement was gone, replaced by something colder, more commanding. "I didn't say you could. Come here." He gestured with his chin toward the floor space beside the arm of his sofa. It wasn't an invitation to sit. It was a summons. The humiliation of it felt like a physical blow, like being called to heel. Ethan's face tightened, a muscle jumping in his jaw. He shot Clara a warning look, but he said nothing to Julian. He wouldn't dare. There was no choice. Clara walked slowly across the room, each step feeling like she was wading through thick mud. She stopped beside him, deliberately leaving a full arm's length of distance between them. It was a small, pathetic act of defiance, but it was all she had. Julian noticed. A ghost of a smile touched his lips before vanishing. He leaned back into the sofa, the picture of casual dominance, as if he'd already forgotten her. Then, his gaze shifted to Ethan. "So," he began, his tone deceptively light, "what was all the drama about before I came in? Someone made your girl cry." He used the phrase "your girl" with a pointed casualness, a verbal brand that tied her directly to Ethan, highlighting the very connection she wanted to sever. Ethan shifted uncomfortably. He glanced at Brooke, who was now staring intently at her champagne flute. "It was nothing," he stammered, his usual composure gone. "Just a misunderstanding. Brooke... she accidentally took a picture of you, Julian. Caused a bit of a scene." He threw Brooke under the bus without a second thought, trying to erase Clara from the narrative. Julian listened, his expression unreadable, his fingers drumming a silent, steady rhythm on the arm of the sofa. The sound was the only thing moving in the tense room. When Ethan finished his clumsy explanation, Julian spoke again, his voice dripping with boredom. "Taking my picture? That's it?" He let the pathetic excuse hang in the air. Then his gaze flickered between Ethan and Clara. "I heard rumors," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Are you two engaged?" The question landed like a grenade. It was the secret everyone knew, the foundation of Ethan's power over her, but no one ever spoke of it so bluntly. Clara's heart hammered against her ribs. What was he doing? Ethan's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes darted away, unable to meet Julian's steady gaze. Julian pressed on, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Because if you are, you're not doing a very good job of it. Letting another woman hang all over you while your fiancée stands in a corner." His words were a precise dissection of the evening's cruelty. He laid the truth bare for everyone to see. Clara's cheeks burned. It was a strange, dizzying feeling-to be so publicly shamed, yet to feel, for the first time, a sliver of validation. Someone else saw it. Ethan took a deep, shaky breath. He looked at Julian, then his eyes moved to Clara. They were cold, devoid of any warmth, any history. They were the eyes of a stranger making a calculated decision. He spoke, his voice unnaturally clear. "You heard wrong. We're not engaged." The words hit Clara with the force of a physical slap. A roaring sound filled her ears. She had wanted out, she had dreamed of this engagement ending, but not like this. To have it, and by extension, her, publicly denied and discarded by the man who had trapped her in it for years... it was a new, deeper level of pain. On the sofa, Brooke's face lit up with undisguised, triumphant joy. And Julian Carlisle just watched, his dark eyes revealing nothing. He was the one who had lit the match, and now he was simply observing the fire he had started.