Chapter 150

Chapter 150
Clara’s POV

The house felt too quiet when I stepped inside, like it always did when I hadn’t planned on being there. Familiar, but not comforting. I barely had time to set my bag down before my mother appeared in the doorway, her expression already tight with concern.

“Clara,” she said softly. “Are you okay?”

I nodded automatically, even though my chest felt anything but steady. “I am. I just… needed to see you.”

She didn’t push. She never did, not anymore. Instead, she moved closer and brushed her hand down my arm, grounding, maternal.

“Are you okay?” I asked

“I’m fine,” she replied, studying me now. “But you don’t look fine.”

I exhaled and leaned against the counter, suddenly exhausted. “Did you watch the interview?”

Her expression shifted. “I did.”

“And?” I asked, bracing myself.

She smiled gently. “I thought what Ayleen did was very romantic. Brave. You could see how much she loves you.”

That should have made me feel lighter. Instead, my throat tightened. “Did you hear the questions?”

“Yes,” she said carefully. “I heard all of them.”

“The one about me cheating,” I said, the word still scraping against something raw inside me. “It wasn’t random. It felt… intentional.”

Her brow furrowed. “You think someone planted it.”

“I do,” I said without hesitation. “Someone who knows our history. Someone who wants to keep that story alive.”

She didn’t need me to say his name. We both knew.

Her shoulders tensed slightly. “Marcus.”

“Yes.”

She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Is that why you came all the way here?”

“Yes, I admitted. “I want toconfront him. End it.”

She hesitated, then said quietly, “He’s not here anymore.”

My stomach dropped. “What do you mean he’s not here?”

“He came by briefly,” she said. “He stayed two days with your aunt, that’s all. Then he went back to the city.”

The room felt suddenly smaller. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her eyes softened, guilt flickering there. “Because I didn’t want to upset you. You’ve been through enough. I didn’t want his name dragging you back into all of that.”

I pushed off the counter, panic creeping in fast now. “Someone left a threat note at Ayleen’s studio,” I said.

Her face drained of color. “A threat?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice sharpening with urgency. “And now Marcus is back in the city, and I’m standing here like an idiot while Ayleen is alone.”

“Clara—”

“I shouldn’t have come,” I said, already reaching for my bag. “I should never have left her today.”

“Slow down,” my mom said, stepping toward me. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I can feel it,” I said, my chest tight, words tumbling out too fast. “Something is coming. I don’t know what, but it’s not over. And I walked right into it by coming here.”

She reached for my arm, worry etched deep into her face. “You’re not stupid for wanting answers.”

“But I am for leaving her,” I said, shaking my head. “After everything. After that letter. I promised myself I wouldn’t do that again.”

I turned toward the door, heart hammering.

“Clara,” she called after me, fear creeping into her voice. “Where are you going?”

“Back,” I said, already opening it. “Before it’s too late.”

Outside, the air felt colder, sharper. My hands trembled as I got into the car, the engine roaring to life louder than necessary. I grabbed my phone, fingers slick with nerves, and dialed without thinking.

Ayleen’s name filled the screen.

Ring.

Ring.

“Please,” I whispered, my foot already pressing down on the gas. “Please pick up.”

It rang until it didn’t.

I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the screen like it might explain itself. No missed calls. No message. Just Ayleen’s name fading back into the lock screen.

I checked the time.

2:07 p.m.

She should have been at the studio by now.

My grip tightened on the steering wheel as I dialed again. Straight to voicemail.

A cold weight settled in my stomach.

I swiped to Mia’s number and hit call, my knee bouncing as the road blurred past the windshield.

“Clara?” Mia answered, already sounding distracted.

“Is Ayleen with you?” I asked, skipping any greeting.

There was a pause. Too long. “No. She didn’t come in today.”

My heart dropped. “What do you mean she didn’t come in?”

“I thought she was with you,” Mia said slowly. “I called this morning and she didn’t pick up. I assumed you two had plans.”

“I left early,” I said, my voice tightening. “I haven’t seen her since breakfast.”

Another beat of silence, heavier now.

“That’s… weird,” Mia murmured. “She didn’t text either. Nothing.”

I swallowed hard. “Has anyone heard from her? George?”

“No,” Mia said, and I could hear the concern creeping into her voice. “I was just about to call her again.”

“I’ll handle it,” I said quickly. “If she shows up, call me immediately.”

“Clara—”

“I’ll call you,” I repeated, and ended the call before my voice could crack.

The phone slipped from my hand onto the passenger seat.

My foot pressed harder on the accelerator.

Every red light felt personal. Every second stretched too long. Images crowded my head, unwanted and sharp, all the things I had tried not to imagine since the threat note. The studio door locked. Her phone turned off. Silence where there shouldn’t be any.

I cursed under my breath and changed lanes, barely registering the honk behind me.

This was my fault.

I had felt it. That wrongness. That tightening in my chest that morning when I’d left her sleeping, when I’d told myself I was overthinking, that I was letting fear dictate my choices again.

I should have stayed.

I should have listened.

I grabbed my phone again, dialing Ayleen once more as I drove, my thumb shaking.

“Pick up,” I whispered, eyes flicking between the road and the screen. “Please, Angel. Just pick up.”

Voicemail.

My pulse roared in my ears now, drowning out everything else. The city skyline loomed ahead, closer with every mile, but it wasn’t close enough.

I turned onto the familiar street that led toward the studio, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

Something was wrong.

And I was already too late to pretend otherwise.