Chapter 97 up
“So… he’s still alive. Living peacefully.”
Selena said it softly, almost clinically—like she was reading a financial report, not a truth sharp enough to pierce bone. Her fingers froze above the tablet screen. Charts, projections, executive names, lines of authority—everything was structured, orderly, immaculate.
Too immaculate for a world that had once broken her.
She leaned back into her chair, the leather cold against her spine, and stared at the ceiling of her apartment office. Sterile. White. Untouched by history. The bitter scent of coffee still lingered in the air. Night hadn’t fully surrendered to morning, but her mind had already traveled far beyond the clock.
Clark.
The name resurfaced—not as a memory, but as a variable.
Selena had once believed her hatred had dried up. That time, ambition, and professional success had buried it alongside old wounds. She had convinced herself that she’d moved on.
She hadn’t.
The hatred had merely been waiting for direction.
She rose and walked to the window. The city sprawled below her, lights blinking like a massive game board. Somewhere out there, Clark existed—his life intact, his reputation spotless, his hands untouched by consequence.
“Interesting,” Selena murmured. “Very interesting.”
She replayed recent meetings in her mind. Nyla standing firm in the boardroom, refusing to bend. Vincent with his cold, calculated control. And Clark—always appearing at the crossroads, as if he possessed some moral right to intervene in conflicts he never fully understood.
Clark had always been like that.
Arriving after everything had burned, then asking why the fire started.
A thin smile curved Selena’s lips. This time, it wasn’t bitter.
It was sharp.
“I’ve been wrong all this time,” she said to her reflection in the glass. “I kept looking at Nyla as the center of everything.”
But Nyla wasn’t the one who had first taught her what it meant to lose without explanation.
That had been Clark.
The memory surfaced uninvited.
She saw herself younger—too trusting, too convinced that love would force a man to take responsibility. She remembered waiting for messages that never came. Nights spent refreshing her phone. Parties she only saw through other people’s photos—Clark laughing, a glass in his hand, another woman’s arm looped casually through his.
And her?
Counting weeks.
Carrying a secret.
Choosing silence because hope still whispered.
Selena exhaled slowly. There were no tears. Tears belonged to another version of her—a woman who no longer existed.
“You discarded me,” she said quietly, as if Clark stood in the room. “And you kept living as if I had never existed.”
She turned back to her desk and opened a new file. The cursor blinked patiently.
She typed one word at the top:
Clark
Below it, she added two more names.
Nyla.
Reputation.
Slowly, the pattern emerged.
Clark wasn’t just her old wound—he was the knot. The point where past and present converged. Clark was connected to Nyla, emotionally and structurally. Clark had position, influence, and—most importantly—a clean image.
An image that could crack.
“It’s not Nyla who’s the weak point,” Selena concluded softly. “It’s you.”
She rested her chin on the back of her hand, eyes unfocused as her thoughts accelerated—honed by years of surviving ruthless boardrooms and unspoken wars. This wasn’t emotional chaos.
This was calculation.
If Clark faltered, Nyla would feel it.
If Clark was forced to face the past, he would lose control.
If Clark’s moral standing was questioned, the entire balance of power would shift.
Selena let out a quiet laugh. This time, it was genuine.
“I don’t need to destroy you directly,” she said. “I just need to make you feel what you once abandoned.”
She opened an encrypted folder—old messages, notes, fragments of conversations, small pieces of evidence she had kept not out of strategy, but survival instinct. Back then, they were painful memories.
Now, they were ammunition.
Her phone vibrated.
A message appeared from a professional contact.
Are you sure you want to go this far? This could turn against you.
Selena typed her reply without hesitation.
I’m not looking for safety. I’m looking for balance.
She set the phone down and leaned back again. Another voice surfaced in her mind—quieter, darker, more honest.
This isn’t about justice.
It’s about loss.
Selena closed her eyes. She no longer tried to dress her thoughts in morality.
“I don’t want an apology,” she whispered. “I want you to know what it feels like to be abandoned by something you were supposed to protect.”
She imagined Clark sitting in his pristine living room, confusion etched across his face as Elara asked questions he couldn’t easily answer. She imagined the moment a single fact fractured the certainty he’d spent years building. Imagined sleepless nights—not because of love, but fear.
Fear of being seen.
Fear of being exposed.
Selena opened her eyes. There was a new calm there—dangerous in its clarity.
“Once, I wanted you to choose,” she said softly. “Now, I want you to lose the ability to choose at all.”
She knew the risks. She knew this path could destroy her too. But for the first time, that knowledge didn’t stop her. Hatred without direction was poison.
Hatred with purpose was fuel.
She stood and straightened her blazer, as if preparing for an important meeting.
“Clark doesn’t get to walk away again,” she said firmly.