Chapter 98 up
“Selena.”
The name left Clark’s mouth on a broken breath, as if he had to crack something inside his chest just to force it out. The door to the private office wasn’t fully closed when he stepped in. His hand was still gripping the handle, fingers tight, as though he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be there at all.
Selena didn’t turn around.
She stood by the window, spine straight, one hand resting against the cold glass. Afternoon light cut sharply across her silhouette—too composed, too calm for someone who had just been summoned with a voice like that.
“So you came,” she said at last, without looking back. Her tone was flat. Almost polite.
Clark closed the door. The click echoed too loudly in the room.
“I didn’t come to fight,” he said quickly. “I just want… to talk.”
Selena let out a quiet laugh. Not happy. Not angry. Just a short exhale that carried something long dead.
“You always want to talk,” she said, finally turning around. Her gaze locked onto his face—sharp, unblinking. “Usually after it’s too late.”
Clark swallowed. He took a step forward, then stopped in the middle of the room, like someone unsure whether the floor ahead of him would hold.
“I know you’re angry,” he said. “And I don’t blame you. But what you’re doing now—dragging the past into all of this—it could destroy a lot of people.”
Selena raised one eyebrow slightly. “A lot of people,” she repeated. “Interesting. You didn’t say us. You said a lot of people.”
Clark rubbed his face with one hand. The exhaustion etched around his eyes was unmistakable.
“I did the best I could back then,” he said more quietly. “I was young. I was stupid. I was scared.”
Selena stepped closer. Her heels made no sound against the floor, but her presence felt like a shift in pressure, like the air itself tightening.
“Scared?” she asked. “What were you afraid of losing, Clark?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Words collided in his head, none of them clean enough to escape.
“I was afraid my life would fall apart,” he said finally. “My career. My reputation. I wasn’t ready—”
“You weren’t ready,” Selena cut in, her voice still low. “So you left.”
She stopped directly in front of him. They were close enough now that Clark could smell her perfume—clean, cool, stripped of any warmth.
“I didn’t leave,” Clark argued. “I just… took some space. I needed time.”
“Time,” Selena echoed. This time, a small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. It carried no kindness. “Do you know what I did with my time back then?”
Clark didn’t answer.
“I threw up every morning,” she continued. “I counted loose change to buy vitamins. I stood alone in a clinic, holding paperwork with shaking hands, hoping—desperately hoping—your name would light up my phone.”
She stepped back one pace, giving him space only so her words could land harder.
“But my phone stayed silent.”
Clark closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, there was a sheen of moisture he tried to hide.
“I didn’t know you were—” His voice faltered. “You never told me—”
Selena laughed again. This time it was sharper, edged.
“I told you,” she said. “In my own way. By waiting. By not reporting you. By not showing up in your life carrying a truth you didn’t want to face.”
She drew in a slow breath, as if restraining something from breaking loose.
“I gave you an exit, Clark. And you took it without looking back.”
Clark stepped forward once more. His hand lifted slightly, then dropped back to his side, afraid to touch anything.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “Every day. Do you think I’ve lived without guilt? Do you think any of this was easy?”
Selena studied him for a long moment. Too long. Her gaze stripped him down—not as a man, but as a choice.
“Your regret,” she said softly, “came after you were safe.”
Clark went still.
“After you had a name,” she continued. “After you had a house, a partner, a polished life. You regret things from a place of comfort.”
She moved closer again, her voice calmer now—dangerously so.
“I survived from a place of collapse.”
There was no shouting. No explosion of rage. Just sentence after sentence, arranged with the precision of a legal document that could not be overturned.
“I gave birth without your hands there,” Selena went on. “I made medical decisions alone. I cried through nights you spent with other women—laughing in photos you didn’t even bother to hide.”
Clark lowered his head. His shoulders slumped, as if he had finally run out of excuses strong enough to keep him standing.
“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered.
“You don’t need to,” Selena replied immediately. “I didn’t come here for explanations.”
She stepped away, returning to her desk, and picked up a thin folder. She didn’t open it. She didn’t show it to him.
“I came to make sure you understand one thing.”
Clark lifted his head.
“There are sins,” Selena said, meeting his eyes directly, “that cannot be paid for with regret. Not with money. Not with apologies. Not with becoming a good man in another version of life.”
Something collapsed inside Clark—not from threat or anger, but from clarity that had come too late.
“You never paid the price,” Selena continued. “And now, the price is standing in front of you.”
Clark stepped back half a pace, as if only now realizing the ground beneath him was no longer solid.
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
Selena looked at him—really looked at him—then slowly shook her head.
“I don’t want anything from you,” she said. “That’s the worst part.”
She opened the door.
“You just have to live with the knowledge that there is a life you walked away from,” she added without turning back. “And this time, you don’t get to leave.”