Chapter 94 up
“Clark.”
The name slipped from Selena’s lips without intention, almost soundless, swallowed by the swell of music and laughter filling the charity hall beneath glittering crystal chandeliers. She hadn’t meant to call him. It was closer to a reflex—a name once spoken too often in prayers and fury alike.
Clark didn’t hear her.
He was laughing. Not the polite, controlled laugh he used in meetings or boardrooms, but something unguarded and light. At his side stood a woman in a pale blue gown—Elara—her hand resting casually on his arm as she leaned closer, as if the world beyond them didn’t exist. They looked effortless together. Balanced.
Too balanced.
Selena stopped walking.
The wine glass in her hand trembled—not from fear, but from something older, heavier. A rage long settled at the bottom of her chest, now stirred awake.
“So… this is how it looks,” she murmured.
Clark looked happy. Whole. Untouched. As if his life had never cracked open. As if he had never walked away from a woman without explanation. As if there had never been a small life whose existence he never once asked about.
Selena smiled.
Then she laughed softly.
It wasn’t a sound meant to invite anyone in. It wasn’t bright or warm. It was the laugh of irony—the sharp realization that time could be cruel in its fairness. Clark had been given a clean ending. A new life. A love unmarred by consequences.
While Selena carried the remnants alone.
She moved closer—not to greet him, but to be sure her eyes weren’t lying. Clark was really there. In a tailored suit, hair neatly styled, features more mature now—and not a trace of guilt anywhere on his face.
Elara laughed again, louder this time. Her hand brushed Clark’s chest as she said something Selena couldn’t hear. Clark leaned in slightly, his expression softening.
The same gesture.
Her chest tightened.
The memory came without permission.
A younger Selena stood in front of a cracked mirror in a narrow bedroom, hands shaking as she stared at the pregnancy test. Two red lines. The world had gone silent. She remembered sinking to the floor, her back against the bed, breathing like each inhale might shatter her.
She remembered the message she sent Clark that night—long, rambling, full of fear and hope.
There was no reply.
Instead, photos appeared online. Clark. Nightclubs. Bottles raised. Other women draped around him. A smile wide and careless. No sign that someone else’s life was hanging from his choices.
The memory faded, replaced by the scene before her.
Nothing had changed.
Clark had always been like this. Always moving forward without looking back at who was left behind.
“Do you have any idea,” Selena whispered to herself, “how easily you forgot us?”
Clark shifted, scanning the room. For a fraction of a second, their eyes met. Selena was certain of it. She saw the slight crease in his brow—the flicker of recognition that didn’t quite land.
Then he looked away.
Not in fear.
In disinterest.
Elara followed his gaze, then smiled warmly at someone else. Selena studied every detail—the way Elara stood close, the way Clark allowed it, the way the world seemed to make space for them.
Space Selena had never been given.
“Funny,” Selena murmured, voice nearly drowned by music. “I survived. I bled. And you… you lived beautifully.”
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass until the pressure hurt.
She could walk away. She knew that. Leave with her dignity intact, let the past remain unacknowledged.
But dignity had never protected her before.
Selena took a breath and stepped forward.
“Clark.”
This time, she said it clearly.
He turned.
For a heartbeat, confusion crossed his face. Then recognition—slow, reluctant, like a door he hadn’t intended to open.
“Selena,” he said. His smile faltered. “I—wow. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“No,” she replied evenly. “You never do.”
Elara glanced between them, curiosity flickering. “Do you know each other?”
Clark hesitated. Just long enough.
“We… worked together. A long time ago,” he said.
Selena tilted her head. “That’s one way to put it.”
Clark cleared his throat. “Selena, this is Elara.”
“Elara,” Selena repeated, offering a thin smile. “You seem… happy.”
Elara returned the smile, unaware of the landmines beneath it. “Thank you. It’s a wonderful evening.”
“It is,” Selena agreed softly. “Charity always looks good under bright lights.”
Clark shifted uncomfortably. “Selena, can we talk somewhere quieter?”
She studied him—really studied him. The careful posture. The contained discomfort. Not regret. Just inconvenience.
“No,” she said calmly. “I don’t think there’s anything left to say.”
His eyes searched her face, perhaps hoping for anger. Tears. Accusation.
She gave him none.
“I just wanted to see,” Selena continued, “how easy it was for you to forget.”
Elara’s smile faded. “Clark?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. “This isn’t appropriate.”
Selena laughed quietly. “Neither was disappearing.”
Silence stretched. Uncomfortable. Public.
Clark lowered his voice. “I didn’t know how to handle it.”
“You didn’t try,” she corrected. “And that was a choice.”
Elara took a small step back, suddenly unsure where she stood.
Selena straightened. Her voice softened—not with forgiveness, but finality.
“I don’t need anything from you,” she said. “Not now. Not ever.”