Chapter 33: Secret Revealed

Chapter 33: Secret Revealed
Clark’s POV
I took the last shot like it was a dare.
Glass tilted. Burn. Regret chased by numbness.
I set the empty glass down a little too hard and laughed to myself, the sound loose, wrong. That’s when someone tapped my shoulder.
“Mr. Wayne?”
I turned slowly, the room tilting with me. A man stood there…mid-thirties, clean-cut, calm eyes. Not a bouncer. Not a bartender.
“I’m the club’s designated driver,” he said. “Miss Collins asked me to take you home.”
I blinked.
“Miss… Collins?” I repeated, rolling the name around my mouth like it might explain itself.
He hummed in confirmation.
Before I could ask anything else, the bartender leaned in from behind the counter. “The woman you were sitting with earlier,” he said, nodding toward the far end of the bar. “She arranged it.”
Oh.
Her.
The woman.
The one with the voice that slid into my head and stayed there. The one whose smile felt like it knew things about me I hadn’t said out loud.
I frowned, suddenly irritated with myself. I hadn’t even asked her name. Again. Three months, two encounters, and I was still an idiot.
But now I had it.
Collins.
I nodded, pushing myself off the stool. My legs immediately betrayed me, the floor tipping sideways. I would’ve gone down if the driver hadn’t caught me easily, steady hands gripping my arm like he’d done this a thousand times.
“Easy,” he said.
“Hey,” I grumbled. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t argue. Just guided me toward the exit like I weighed nothing at all.
Outside, cool air slapped my face, sobering me just enough to realize how far gone I was. He opened the back door of a sleek black car and handed me a bottle of water.
“Drink,” he said.
I scoffed. “You baby all your clients?”
“Only the ones who need it.”
I shot him a look but twisted the cap anyway and drank. Half the bottle went down in one go. Damn it—it helped.
The car pulled into traffic, music spilling from the speakers. Something old-school. Familiar. I found myself singing along, badly, loudly, tapping my knee, laughing at nothing.
For a moment—just a moment—I felt good.
No rink. No coaches avoiding my calls. No contracts slipping through my fingers. No house filled with tension and sharp words.
Just the road. The music. The hum of motion.
“All right,” the driver said eventually, slowing. “We’re here.”
I squinted out the window.
Home.
He got out first, opened my door, handed me my keys. I fumbled for my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Miss Collins already took care of it.”
I straightened a little. “She did?”
“Yes, sir.” He gave a polite nod. “Have a good night.”
And then he was gone, pulling away, leaving me standing there with my keys in my hand and a head full of questions.
Miss Collins.
Who the hell was she?
And why did it feel like she’d just stepped into my life and rearranged things without even trying?
I stumbled inside, locking the door behind me.
Silence.
Thank God.
No shouting. No pacing. No voice cutting through the air like a blade. I kicked off my shoes and leaned against the wall, breathing out slowly.
This…this was what I needed. Quiet.
I made my way down the hall toward the bedroom, rubbing a hand over my face, already planning to pass out fully clothed.
The light was on.
I froze.
Sarah stood near the bed. She looked… different. Tense. Alert. Like she’d been waiting.
“Hey,” I slurred. “Why’re you up?”
She rushed toward me instinctively, reaching for my arm. “Clark, you’re drunk…”
Then she stopped.
Pulled back.
Her eyes narrowed, fixed on my face.
“What’s that?” she asked.
I frowned. “What’s what?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed my wrist, harder than necessary. “Come here.”
“Hey, stop…” I protested, but she dragged me toward the mirror, shoving me in front of it.
She wiped my cheek roughly.
I blinked at my reflection.
Red.
Lipstick.
On my cheek. And another faint smear near my collar.
My stomach dropped.
Sarah’s voice shook. “Are you cheating on me, Clark?”
The question hit me sideways. I stared at her, then laughed…an ugly, disbelieving sound. “Are you serious right now?”
She stepped back like I’d slapped her. “You smell like alcohol and another woman. Don’t lie to me.”
“Lie?” I scoffed, gripping the sink for balance. “You think I have the time? The energy? Look at me!”
She laughed then. Not happy. Not kind. Sharp and brittle. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Oh, I’m unbelievable?” I shot back. “You’re the one accusing me like…”
“You’re a loser,” she snapped.
The word sliced clean through the fog in my head.
“A failure,” she continued, voice rising. “A drunk. A man who can’t keep a contract, who can’t keep his life together, who thinks alcohol and women will fix what’s broken.”
My chest tightened. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”
“I do,” she said, eyes blazing. “Because I married you thinking you were going somewhere. Thinking you were someone.”
“And now?” I demanded.
“And now?” she laughed again, bitter. “Now I see the truth.”
She turned away, pacing. “You want to know the worst part? I didn’t even get you the CrownLakers endorsement.”
The words landed softly.
Too softly.
I blinked at her, certain I’d misheard. The room was still spinning, but that sentence…that sentence… cut through the alcohol like a blade.
“What?” I asked.
She laughed, short and ugly. “I didn’t pull any strings, Clark. I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t do anything.”
My grip tightened on the sink.
“You told me you did,” I said slowly.
“I thought you already had it,” she snapped. “I thought I was marrying a man whose future was already secured.”
Something cold slid down my spine.
“You looked me in the eye,” I said, my voice dropping, sobering by the second, “and told me you were the reason I got signed.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
Didn’t think it mattered.
My chest tightened painfully.
All those arguments. All those times I’d defended her to my mother. All the sacrifices I’d made believing I owed her my career.
A lie.
One big, convenient lie.
I staggered back, pressing a hand to my forehead. The room felt smaller now. Suffocating.
So if it wasn’t Sarah…
Then who?
I didn’t have an answer. Just a hollow ache where certainty used to live.
Sarah was still talking, her words blurring together, but I couldn’t hear her anymore. All I could hear was the echo of my own thoughts…how easily I’d been misled, how blindly I’d trusted.
How much of my life had been built on things I never bothered to question.
I laughed quietly. Not because it was funny.
Because it hurt too much not to