Chapter 96 up
“Clark, stop walking.”
Clark’s steps faltered in the middle of the underground parking corridor. Elara’s voice echoed between concrete pillars, bouncing off the low ceiling and mixing with the fading hum of a car engine that had just shut down. Cold white lights stretched their shadows long across the floor, distorted and brittle.
“What is it?” Clark turned around, his smile arriving a second too late—like a reflex dragged out of storage.
Elara didn’t answer right away. She opened her bag, closed it again. Her breathing was uneven, shallow, as if her chest couldn’t decide whether to rise or fall.
“The woman earlier,” she said finally. “Selena.”
Clark stiffened—only for a second—but Elara caught it.
“You know her,” Elara continued. It wasn’t a question.
Clark leaned back against the car, crossing his arms. “I told you. The past.”
“Clark.” Elara stepped closer, her heels stopping inches from his shoes. “She mentioned a child.”
The air between them froze.
Clark rubbed his face, then let out a short laugh that sounded wildly out of place. “She likes drama.”
Elara stared at him. Long. Quiet. “You didn’t deny it.”
Clark exhaled sharply and looked away. “It’s complicated.”
“That’s what people say when they’re hiding something,” Elara replied, her voice calm but cutting.
They got into the car. The engine started, but Clark didn’t move right away. The dashboard lights washed his face in pale blue, carving tension into his jaw.
“So?” Elara turned toward him. “Do I hear it from you—or from fragments and excuses?”
Clark gripped the steering wheel and finally pulled out of the garage. “Selena and I… we were close. A long time ago.”
“How close?” Elara pressed.
Clark shrugged. “Before I grew up.”
The car merged onto the main road. City lights streaked across the windshield. Elara watched them pass, then turned back to him.
“And the child?”
Clark bit his lip. “I was never told clearly.”
Elara laughed once, sharp and humorless. “She spoke like you knew.”
“She twists things,” Clark said quickly. “Selena always did.”
Elara closed her eyes for a moment. Always. The word landed with uncomfortable familiarity.
The apartment was suffocatingly quiet when they arrived. Clark dropped his keys onto the table. Elara stood by the window, city light reflecting in her glassy eyes.
“I don’t mind a past,” Elara said softly. “I mind lies.”
Clark stepped closer. “I didn’t lie. I just—”
“Didn’t say,” Elara cut in. “That’s still a choice.”
Clark fell silent.
Elara turned. “Did you ever ask her? About the child?”
Clark lowered his head. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought it wasn’t real.”
Elara frowned. “Not real?”
“She disappeared. Never contacted me formally. I thought… I thought it was her way of attacking.”
Elara stepped closer, studying his face as if searching for cracks. “Or you chose the version that made you most comfortable.”
Clark opened his mouth—then closed it.
Silence fell again, heavier this time. Elara walked away and sat on the couch, pulling her knees to her chest.
“I loved you because you always seemed responsible,” she said quietly. “Because you didn’t run.”
Clark approached slowly. “I’m not running.”
“Then why does it feel like there’s a door you’ve always kept locked?” Elara looked up at him. “This isn’t about love. This is about responsibility, Clark.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Start with honesty,” Elara said immediately. “Now.”
Clark stared at the floor. “Selena and I… it was bad. I left when everything fell apart. I was young. Selfish.”
Elara nodded slowly. “And if the child exists?”
Clark didn’t answer.
Not quickly enough.
Elara stood. “That silence is your answer.”
She walked into the bedroom and closed the door—not slamming it, but firmly enough to end the conversation. Clark remained in the living room, staring at his fractured reflection in the glass, split by the city lights outside.
Across the street, in a small café still open despite the hour, Selena sat by the window. The coffee in her hands had gone cold, untouched. Her eyes followed Clark’s silhouette standing alone behind the apartment glass.
The corner of her mouth lifted—not into a wide smile. Just a small curve of satisfaction.
She watched Elara turn off the bedroom light. Watched Clark shift restlessly. The fracture spread exactly as she had predicted—slow, precise, without the need for force.
Selena took a sip of the bitter coffee.
It tasted right.
The night deepened. Inside the bedroom, Elara lay with her back to Clark, who had finally slipped under the covers. The space between them felt wider than it ever had.
“Elara,” Clark whispered.
No answer.
Elara stared at the wall, her thoughts spiraling. Selena’s face. Her words. Clark’s pauses that lingered too long. The realization settled with a quiet, terrifying clarity: her trust hadn’t cracked from jealousy—but from reasonable doubt.
She pulled the blanket higher.
If there’s one thing he hid, she thought, how many more do I not know?
In the living room, Clark’s phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
Some truths don’t need to be proven. They only need to be left alone long enough to work.
—S