Chapter 79: Let himself fall
Adrian wasn’t sure what possessed him to go.
Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was the heavy weight of his father’s voice ringing in his ear like a gavel pronouncing sentence after sentence: Fix this. Marry her. Own it.
Maybe it was his own weakness.
The apartment Clara was staying in wasn’t hers—it was one of her family’s high-rise properties, secured to keep her out of the paparazzi’s direct reach for now. Clean white walls, chrome finishes, glass everywhere like a showroom pretending to be a home. It looked exactly like how Clara lived her life: perfect, curated, hollow.
He stood at the door for three full beats before knocking.
And when it opened, he almost wished he hadn’t come.
Clara was barefoot, wearing one of those oversized knit sweaters that hung off one shoulder, long legs bare beneath it. Her cheeks were flushed, whether from crying or staged for the occasion, he couldn’t tell anymore. Her eyes, red-rimmed, widened when she saw him, and for a split second—just one—she looked like the Clara he remembered.
The girl who used to climb into his bed at three a.m. whispering secrets like they were currency. The girl who once told him she couldn’t remember what happiness felt like, and how he tried—God, he tried—to make her believe she was worthy of it.
Now, it was all broken shards.
"Adrian," she breathed, stepping aside for him to come in.
It was deliberate—the way she stood, the angle of her bare shoulder, the careful placement of the soft sweater that made her look vulnerable and undone.