Chapter 144

Chapter 144
Ayleen’s POV

After a few minutes, I nudged the conversation toward the reason I’d been carrying all day.

“Mia got an email,” I said casually, like it wasn’t a bomb. “A talk show wants to interview me.”

Clara glanced at me, still chewing. “You get those all the time.”

“Yes,” I said. “But this one wants you too.”

Clara froze for half a second. It was subtle, but I caught it.

Then she set her fork down carefully. “No.”

I blinked. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, calm and firm. “That’s your world. Not mine.”

“Ayleen,” she said my name the way she did when she was trying to be gentle but serious, “I’m not going to sit on a couch under studio lights and have strangers ask me about my relationship with you.”

I leaned back, frustrated. “It wouldn’t be about that.”

Clara gave me a look that said she didn’t believe me.

“They’ll ask anyway,” she said. “And they’ll ask about my cases. And my past. And rumors. And things I’m not willing to talk about just because someone wants entertainment.”

George’s voice echoed in my memory. Let her speak for herself.

I tried again, softer. “George thinks it’s good.”

Clara’s jaw tightened slightly. “George isn’t the one who’s going to be dissected.”

“He thinks it’ll help,” I insisted. “To show the world who you are. Not what people online are trying to paint.”

Clara’s gaze dropped to her hands. For a moment, she looked younger, quieter, like the weight of being misunderstood for years was pressing down again.

“Ayleen,” she said carefully, “fame is your thing.”

Her voice was almost kind, and it stung anyway.

“It doesn’t have to be mine,” she continued. “I don’t want to build my life around cameras and interviews and strangers forming opinions about me like it’s their right.”

I swallowed. “I didn’t want this either.”

Clara looked up. “I know you didn’t.”

The way she said it made my chest tighten, because she sounded so certain. Like she trusted me.

Like I hadn’t earned it and she was giving it anyway.

I exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to push harder. “It would be one time,” I said. “We set boundaries. Topics. We walk if they cross the line.”

Clara’s eyes flicked over my face like she was reading my intentions, searching for something.

“What do you want?” she asked quietly.

The question caught me off guard.

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“What do you want out of doing this?” she pressed.

I hesitated, then admitted the truth. “I want people to stop talking about you like you’re a villain.”

Clara’s throat moved as she swallowed.

“And?” I added, quieter. “I want them to understand that if they come for you, they’re not just coming for you. They’re coming for me too.”

Clara stared at me for a long beat.

Then her mouth twitched faintly, the smallest hint of amusement.

“You’re going to start a war,” she murmured.

“I’ll start a war for us," I said simply.

Something softened in her eyes.

Clara leaned back, silent for a moment, as if she was weighing the cost of this against the cost of staying quiet.

Then she exhaled.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

My eyes widened. “You will?”

Clara nodded once, not looking happy about it. “One time. And only because I’m not letting your fans think you’re dating someone terrible.”

I stared at her.

Then I burst out laughing.

Clara’s brows rose. “What?”

“You,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief, “are the most dramatic person I’ve ever met.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed. “I’m realistic.”

“You’re… ridiculous,” I corrected, still laughing. “As if your fans are going to think that. They are calling you Mommy and flirting with you, don't think I didn't see the posts."

Clara’s lips pressed into a line as if she was trying not to smile.

“You’re terrible.. terribly sexy” I teased. “If anything, they’re probably terrified of you hurting me.”

Clara finally smirked, that damn smirk that always made my stomach flip. “They should be.”

I leaned closer, mock-serious. “Are you threatening my fanbase?”

“I’m protecting my girlfriend,” she replied, deadpan.

The word hit me like a punch.

Girlfriend.

She said it so casually, like it wasn’t a landmine.

My smile faltered for a second, not because I didn’t like it, but because it felt too good. Too real.

Clara’s eyes softened as she noticed.

“We can call it whatever you want,” she said quietly. “I just… I’m here.”

I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how late it was, of how quiet the office had become, of how we were sitting on a couch like two people who weren’t trying to survive anymore.

I reached out and brushed my thumb against her knuckles, the simplest touch.

“I like girlfriend..” I whispered.

Clara’s shoulders loosened slightly, like she’d been waiting for me to accept that word without flinching.

She leaned in, pressing her forehead to mine for a moment.

The night didn’t need to turn dramatic. It didn’t need to turn heated. It just settled into something steady and intimate, the kind of closeness that made the world outside her office feel smaller.

After we finished eating, Clara stood to toss the trash, and I watched her move around the office like she belonged here, like she’d built every inch of it with her own hands and stubborn will.

When she came back, she looked at me like she was memorizing the sight.

I stood too, closing the space between us. My hands slid up to her waist, feeling her inhale sharply, and I leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“This one time,” I said quietly, “we do the interview on your terms.”

Clara’s hand settled against my hip, grounding and warm.

“One time,” she agreed.

Then she kissed my temple, and something in my chest eased again, like the world could scream all it wanted and it still wouldn’t pull us apart tonight.

When we finally left her office, it was late enough that the hallways were empty and the city outside looked like it was holding its breath.

Clara locked the door behind us, then reached for my hand without thinking.

I laced my fingers through hers.