The next morning arrived with a heavy sky and air that felt like it had held its breath all night. Rain tapped gently against the windows of the Blackwell estate, a steady rhythm that filled the silence left in Clara's chest.
She stood in the kitchen alone, the warmth from the espresso machine fogging the glass in front of her. But her hands were cold. She wrapped her fingers around the coffee cup, the ceramic no longer warm, and stared at the unread newspaper spread across the counter.
She was not reading. She was trying to breathe.
Last night had unraveled her. Julian's hesitation, her own vulnerability spilling out like a wave she had tried too long to contain. The storm outside had mirrored the one between them. And when she walked out that door, she had not known if he would follow.
He hadn't.
The front door opened with a creak that snapped her out of her daze. She turned, half expecting Harper, or maybe Mrs. Delacroix. But instead, it was Julian. His tailored coat was damp, dark strands of hair curling slightly at his temple. He was already on the phone, voice clipped and sharp.
"No. That's not acceptable. Marcus was not cleared to speak to the press, and he knows it."
Julian paused at the threshold, eyes scanning the room like he had walked into something colder than the weather. His gaze landed on her for a beat too long before he looked away and continued the call.
"I do not care what Allegra thinks she heard. If they publish that angle, we will sue."
He ended the call with a terse goodbye and slipped his phone into his coat pocket, his shoulders still tense. Clara remained quiet as he walked into the kitchen, shedding his coat and rolling up his sleeves like muscle memory alone could keep him composed.
"Coffee?" she asked softly, her voice steadier than she expected.
He hesitated, then nodded. "Please."
She poured him a cup and slid it across the counter, the silence between them dense but not sharp. He picked it up, holding it more than drinking it, like it grounded him.
"I didn't wake you this morning," he said finally, looking down at the steam curling from his cup. "You were tired."
"You usually leave a note."
Julian's eyes flicked to hers. "I should have."
She nodded, accepting the small admission, even if part of her still wanted more.
"What happened?" she asked. "You sounded..."
"Marcus Lang happened," Julian interrupted. "He's stirring up speculation about the Kingwell merger. Making it look like my personal life is interfering with business decisions."
Clara stiffened. "Your personal life. Meaning me."
Julian gave a small, humorless smile. "Meaning us."
She looked down, unsure how to respond.
"And Allegra Voss is watching. Always watching. Her latest draft implies you're a liability to the firm's image. That marrying you was impulsive. Reckless. That I lost control."
The words hung in the air, cruel in their accuracy. Because deep down, Clara knew there were board members who whispered the same things. She had never fit their mold, and Julian had broken more than expectations when he married her.
"I see," she said quietly.
"I didn't say I agree with them," Julian added, voice low.
"But you believe it's becoming a problem."
He placed the cup down and stepped closer. "I believe the problem is letting them control the narrative."
Clara looked up at him. "Then what do you suggest?"
"You come with me tonight. To the Kingwell gala."
Her heart stopped. "The one with the press? Investors?"
"Yes. We show them who you are. Not a liability. Not a headline. You are my wife, and you belong there."
Clara's lips parted, her instinct to protest kicking in. Crowds, flashing cameras, judgmental stares. It terrified her.
But then Julian stepped closer, his voice softer now.
"I know you hate the spotlight. But they are already talking, Clara. This time, we speak first."
She looked at him, at the man who had once offered her a contract instead of a promise, who now stood here asking—not commanding—her to stand beside him.
He was trying. In his own imperfect way, he was reaching for her.
Before she could respond, Mrs. Delacroix appeared at the edge of the hallway, holding a garment bag with black satin detail.
"This just arrived, Miss Wynter. From the Vera Vogue team. As per Mister Blackwell's request."
Clara blinked. She had not said yes. But he had already prepared. Somehow, that felt less like arrogance and more like hope.
She reached for the dress bag, her fingers brushing the cool zipper.
Julian watched her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were steady. Waiting.
Clara held his gaze. Her voice, when it came, was quiet but clear.
"Alright. I'll go."
Something in him relaxed, though he said nothing.
And then the silence was broken again.
Julian's phone buzzed on the counter.
This time, he didn't reach for it right away.
But Clara did.
Her eyes flicked to the name glowing on the screen.
Vincent Hale.
A name she had never seen before. A name that suddenly felt like a shadow stretching across their shared morning.
Clara set the phone down slowly, her gaze lingering on the name. Vincent Hale. It meant nothing to her yet, but the chill that passed down her spine said otherwise.
Julian didn't move.
She finally broke the silence. "Should I be concerned?"
His jaw tightened. "Vincent is... complicated."
"That's not an answer."
Julian looked away, as if searching for the words. "He's a former business partner. He was part of Blackwell Capital's expansion into Europe five years ago. Things ended badly."
Clara folded her arms. "How badly?"
"He tried to tank a merger from the inside. We cut ties, but not before the damage was done."
"And now he's texting you."
Julian nodded once. "He's sniffing around again. Probably trying to stir something before the gala."
Clara's brow furrowed. "So what does he want now?"
"I don't know," Julian said, his voice low. "But whatever it is, it won't be harmless."
Before she could respond, Harper's voice rang through the hallway.
"Clara? You here?"
Clara turned as Harper stepped into the kitchen, dressed in her usual high-waisted jeans and oversized sunglasses, looking like she had walked off a runway in Paris with a coffee in one hand and a stack of magazines in the other.
Her eyes landed on Julian. "Oh. Morning, Ice King."
Julian didn't flinch. "Good morning, Harper."
Clara bit back a smile. Harper turned to her.
"We need to talk. Alone."
Julian gave Clara a questioning look. She nodded. "It's alright."
He hesitated a second longer before excusing himself with a murmured promise to return after his call.
The moment he left, Harper dropped the magazine stack and leaned in.
"Tell me everything."
Clara blinked. "About what?"
"About why you look like someone just handed you a tiara and threw you into a lion's den. And what was that text I saw you reading from Vincent Hale?"
Clara sighed and gave her the rundown. The mention of the gala. The dress. The text from a stranger who suddenly wasn't so strange.
When she finished, Harper sat back, her face unreadable.
"You're going to the Kingwell gala," Harper repeated.
"Yes."
"With Julian."
"Yes."
Harper stared at her. "Okay, first of all, I'm proud. That's bold. That's Queen energy. But also, babe, this is the biggest press event of the quarter. You'll be photographed, dissected, and meme-ified in under five minutes. You good with that?"
Clara hesitated. "I'm not sure."
"But you're going."
"Yes."
Harper smiled, softer this time. "That's the part that matters."
Clara looked down. "I want to be brave, Harper. I really do. But sometimes it feels like I'm walking into someone else's world, wearing a dress that doesn't fit."
Harper leaned forward, taking her hand. "You're not. You're reshaping it to fit you. That's what Julian sees. He might not say it with roses and poetry, but he wouldn't be pushing you into the light unless he thought you could handle it. And let's be honest, he needs you beside him more than he knows."
Clara exhaled slowly. "I just don't want to be the reason he loses everything."
"You won't be. And if someone like Vincent tries to make you that reason, then we deal with him. Together."
A silence fell between them. Comfortable. Supportive.
Then Harper smirked. "Also, we are absolutely doing a full test run. Dress. Shoes. Hair. I want paparazzi gasping."
Clara laughed, the first real laugh of the morning.
Just as they were gathering the dress bag to head upstairs, the intercom crackled.
Julian's voice came through. "Clara. You have a visitor."
Clara froze. "A visitor?"
Julian's pause was brief.
"She says she knows you. Her name is Allegra Voss."
Harper's eyes widened.
Clara felt the room tilt slightly.
Harper grabbed her arm. "Do not go alone."
Clara didn't answer. She was already walking toward the door, her heart thudding louder than the rain.
The foyer felt colder than it had minutes ago. Clara descended the stairs slowly, each step echoing in the silence. Harper followed closely behind, heels clicking sharply against the marble.
Julian stood near the door, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was set in a way Clara had come to recognize. He was protecting something. Or someone.
Allegra Voss stood just beyond the threshold, dressed in a deep red trench coat that clung to her like armor. Her dark hair was pinned in a sleek twist, lips curved in the kind of smile that never reached the eyes.
"Well," Allegra said with a voice smooth as silk. "It's so good to finally meet you, Clara."
Clara straightened her shoulders. "You have the advantage. I don't know you."
"Oh, I think you will," Allegra replied. "Sooner than you'd like."
Julian stepped forward. "This isn't the time or place."
"But it is," Allegra countered without looking at him. "I just wanted to offer my congratulations. A whirlwind marriage. A child on the way. The city loves a good fairy tale. Until they find the cracks."
Harper narrowed her eyes. "Do you always talk in riddles, or is this just for dramatic effect?"
Allegra smirked. "Your loyalty is admirable. Unfortunately, it won't shield Clara when the articles drop."
Julian's voice cut in. "If you publish anything defamatory—"
Allegra turned to him with icy amusement. "Defamation implies falsehood, Julian. What I have is all very real. Emails. Photos. And a few... personal interviews."
Clara felt something cold twist in her stomach. "What exactly are you planning to publish?"
Allegra tilted her head. "I'm not publishing. I'm just passing along what I found. What other outlets do with it is out of my hands."
Julian's tone dropped. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"So are you," Allegra replied, taking a step forward. Her eyes locked with Clara's. "Do you know everything about the man you married?"
Clara said nothing.
Allegra smiled, almost kindly. "You think you've been through the worst of it. But you're just at the beginning."
She handed Clara a sealed envelope. It was thick. Heavy.
"You'll want to open that when you're alone."
Harper took a step, ready to intercept, but Clara lifted a hand. She accepted the envelope, fingers trembling just slightly.
Allegra backed away, unbothered.
"See you at the gala," she said as she turned and walked into the rain.
Julian didn't move. Neither did Clara.
The door clicked shut behind Allegra.
Harper broke the silence. "You okay?"
Clara looked down at the envelope. Her name was written on the front in unfamiliar handwriting. No return address. No hint at what lay inside.
Julian stepped closer, eyes searching hers. "Clara, whatever is in there... we can handle it. Together."
Clara's voice was quiet. "Can we?"
She turned and started up the stairs, the envelope clutched in her hand like it might burn her.
And as she reached the top landing, her phone buzzed again.
A new message lit up the screen.
From: Unknown
You should read what he's hiding before the world does.