Chapter 70 ~ A Simple Plan

Chapter 70 ~ A Simple Plan
{Clara’s POV}

They were looking at her the way they used to look at me.

That was the first thing I noticed.

I stood at the back of the hall at Haus Eleven, half-shadowed by a column that hadn’t moved since our student days, and watched the room lean toward Noelle without realizing it was doing so. Heads turned when she shifted. Conversations lowered when it drifted past. Even silence felt organized around her.

She hadn’t said a word to anyone yet.

She didn’t need to.

I felt something sharp cut through my chest— clean and surgical. It was not surprise. I had known this was coming. I had prepared myself for the applause, the reverence, the way the school would parade her like proof of its own relevance.

Still, preparation doesn’t blunt recognition.

They had replaced me.

Not ceremonially. But completely.

I watched her sit where the important people sat, composed, distant, whole. The girl who had once stood frozen in a courtyard while laughter peeled her open now existed as something untouchable. Polished. Finished.

And everyone in this room knew it.

My hands curled slowly at my sides.

This was the lie she had been selling so well— inevitability. As if her rise had been clean. As if no one else had bled at the beginning and fed her ideas. As if I hadn’t been there when it all started.

Because I had.

I was there when she was still unsure. When she needed someone beside her to make the world feel less hostile. I had listened to her ideas before they were refined. I had known her before she learned how to harden herself into spectacle.

And now, here she was, reveling without me.

I didn’t want her place.

I wanted my name returned to the story.

That was the difference, and it mattered.

I continued watched her from across the hall, measuring the space around her. The way people respected her distance. The way no one tried to claim her attention. Even Julian— faithful, hovering Julian, sat beside her without leaning in.

Interesting.

My plan was simple.

I didn’t plan to confront her here. Not yet. That would be crude, emotional, and wasteful. I had already learned what happened when I moved too loudly against her.

This time, I would enter cleanly.

As a favor.

The idea settled into place with disturbing ease.

I didn’t need to accuse her outright. I didn’t need documents or leaks or half-truths fed into the system like before. All of that had failed because it had happened away from her body, away from her voice.

The stage was different.

The stage rewrote meaning.

If I stood beside her on the stage— not as an enemy, not as a rival, but as someone invited, the room would adjust automatically. People would assume reconciliation. They would assume shared history. They would assume legitimacy.

They always did.

And once I was there, once the cameras framed us together, I wouldn’t have to shout. I would only need to ask.

Questions were more dangerous than accusations.

Where did the velvet idea originally come from?

Who had access to the early drafts?

Why had certain designs appeared before Noelle officially “returned”?

Doubt didn’t need proof to spread. It only needed oxygen.

I smiled faintly to myself now. She had spent years building control. I would unravel it in minutes.

All I needed was her permission.

And she would give it to me.

I knew she would.

Because for all her power, Noelle still carried something human. I had seen it earlier, when our eyes met briefly across the hall and also at the cafe where we had met days ago. There was no hostility. Just distance.

Distance could be mistaken for mercy.

And mercy was exploitable.

I straightened my posture and began walking toward her. Each step felt deliberate and calm. Earned.

I wasn’t angry on the surface. That was important. Rage made people sloppy. Rage showed its teeth too early. I carried mine carefully, folded tight beneath my ribs where it sharpened instead of spilled.

As I approached, I felt eyes flicker toward me. Some recognition. Some confusion. My name still existed here, even if it had been reduced to a footnote.

That would change.

Noelle noticed me before I reached her. Of course she did. Her gaze lifted, settled, and assessed. She didn’t stiffen. Neither did she smile. She simply waited.

That composure almost impressed me.

Almost.

“Clara,” she said evenly when I stopped beside her.

“Noelle,” I replied, letting warmth edge my voice. Familiarity. Shared past. I let it live in the tone without forcing it.

Julian shifted slightly beside her. I ignored him.