chapter 4

Chapter 4

Continuation

Clara didn’t cry.

Not when the pictures kept surfacing. Not when the media reduced her to “the other Mrs. Hart.” Not even when she watched Siena lean into Aiden at that final photo call, her lipstick grazing his cheek in a way that felt more territorial than tender.

No—Clara had done her crying years ago. Quiet sobs behind closet doors. Silent tears into coffee mugs at 3 a.m. Those had dried up long before the world ever noticed her name next to his.

Now, she just stood straighter.

“Did you RSVP to the Ambassador's Gala?” Em asked as she adjusted the strap of Clara’s sleek silver gown.

Clara blinked at her reflection. Tokyo’s skyline glittered behind her through the full-length windows of the Imperial Hotel. She barely recognized herself—elegant, composed, eyes rimmed in sharp liner instead of softness.

“I wasn’t planning to go,” Clara said.

“Well, you’re going now,” Em declared. “And before you argue—no, this isn’t about revenge. This is about letting the world know you exist beyond him.”

“I don’t want to make a statement,” Clara said quietly.

“You don’t have to,” Em replied. “You just have to be seen. Trust me, that’s louder than any headline.”

And so Clara went.

She smiled for the photographers. She let herself laugh when someone complimented her elegance. She spoke to diplomats, designers, and one particularly charming novelist who seemed to genuinely enjoy her quiet wit.

And for the first time in weeks, she didn’t think about Siena’s lipstick.

Until the next morning.

Back in Seoul

Aiden scrolled through the headlines without meaning to.

“Clara Hart Dazzles in Tokyo: Is This Her Post-Siena Era?”

“Who’s the Mystery Man with Clara Hart?”

“The Quiet Wife Speaks Volumes in Silver.”

He froze.

The photo was everywhere—Clara smiling beside a tall, unfamiliar man in a navy tuxedo. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back. The image wasn’t provocative. But it was… different. Clara looked radiant. Not reserved, not in the background.

Happy.

And something inside Aiden snapped taut.

His assistant’s voice became background noise. The next slide in the pitch meeting clicked by without him noticing. He stared at the photo again.

She hadn’t texted him. Not even a “made it safely.” Nothing since the night before the launch.

Why hadn’t he noticed?

Because Siena had been everywhere—her voice in his ear, her perfume on his collar, her laugh circling every room they entered. She’d filled every space until he forgot what silence even felt like.

And now?

Now it felt unbearable.

That Evening

Siena swept into the penthouse like she belonged there.

“Dinner?” she asked, setting down a bottle of wine. “I thought we could do something just us. Like old times.”

Aiden didn’t look up from the screen. “I have calls.”

Siena frowned slightly. “It’s just one evening.”

“I said I have calls.”

A pause.

Her eyes drifted to the tablet in his hand. She saw the photo. Of Clara.

“Oh,” she said, voice light and falsely amused. “So she’s decided to go public now?”

Aiden’s silence was an answer.

Siena tilted her head. “You’re not… jealous, are you?”

He looked at her then. Slowly. Coldly.

“She’s my wife.”

Siena laughed, a brittle sound. “Since when does that matter? You’ve barely spoken to her in weeks.”

He stood, sudden and restless, as if staying still would suffocate him.

“She doesn’t do this,” he muttered. “She doesn’t parade. She doesn’t… seek attention.”

“People change,” Siena said coolly. “Especially when they get tired of being invisible.”

He turned to face her fully now. His eyes sharp. “She was never invisible to me.”

Siena stared. And for the first time since her triumphant return, a thread of doubt crept in.

Meanwhile, in Tokyo

The night had been a blur, and Clara felt it catching up to her.

The flowers from the gala still sat untouched on the hotel table. A dozen white lilies. No note.

She hadn’t called Aiden. Hadn’t even checked her phone until Em shoved it into her hand with a look that said You might want to sit down.

Clara had braced herself for hate. Or worse—pity.

But what she found was noise. People asking who she was wearing. Gossip blogs analyzing the body language between her and the “mystery man.” Fashion critics praising her transformation.

She closed the app with a sigh.

All noise. All meaningless.

Until her screen lit up again.

Aiden Hart: “Where are you?”

Three words. No punctuation. Sent at 2:03 a.m.

Her heart thudded. She stared at the screen for a long time, uncertain whether to laugh or cry.

He noticed. Finally.

And yet, it felt... too late.

Back in Seoul – Next Morning

Siena watched Aiden from across the breakfast table.

He hadn’t spoken much. Barely touched his coffee. His phone buzzed three times—each time, he glanced down and then flipped it face-down again.

Finally, she said, “You’re flying to Tokyo, aren’t you?”

His fork paused mid-air.

“I didn’t say that,” he said flatly.

“You didn’t have to.” Siena leaned back, arms crossed. “She didn’t even say anything, and the world is already calling her the queen of your story. That must sting a little.”

Aiden said nothing.

“She always did know how to leave quietly,” Siena added with a venom-laced smile.

His voice came low, measured. “You came back expecting things to be the same. But they’re not.”

Siena’s eyes narrowed. “No, Aiden. You’re not. And the only difference I see is her.”

The silence between them stretched—thick, brittle.

Then he stood.

“I’m leaving tonight.”

Siena’s jaw tightened. “So that’s it? You’re running after her like she’s the one that got away?”

“No,” Aiden said, looking past her. “I think she’s the one I pushed away.”

Later That Day – Airport Lounge, Tokyo

Clara sat with her boarding pass in hand, flight to New York blinking on the departure screen.

She hadn’t told anyone. Not even Em.

She wasn’t running. She just needed… space. Air.

Just as she reached for her coffee, a shadow fell across her table.

She looked up—and her breath caught.

“Aiden.”

He looked disheveled. Travel-worn. Tired in the way only guilt makes you.

“You’re leaving,” he said, as if just realizing.

She nodded. “I didn’t think I needed to ask permission.”

“You don’t,” he said softly. “You never did.”

Silence.

He sat across from her, folding his hands tightly.

“You looked happy,” he said finally.

Clara tilted her head. “I was.”

He flinched.

She didn’t soften it. Not this time.

“You didn’t text,” he said, as if the words accused her.

“I didn’t think you’d notice.”

His eyes snapped to hers. “I always noticed you, Clara.”

“No,” she said, her voice steady. “You noticed me there. Quiet. Constant. You never noticed when I was hurting. When I was fading.”

He looked stricken.

“You and Siena… you always burned so loud. I didn’t want to compete with a fire. I just wanted to be enough in my own way.”

“You are enough,” he whispered.

Clara stared at him, her voice trembling only slightly. “Then why did I feel like a shadow?”

Aiden reached across the table—but stopped short.

“I don’t know when I lost sight of you. I only know that I can’t stand not seeing you anymore.”

The boarding announcement called her flight.

Clara stood slowly, her fingers tightening around her bag.

“I’m not asking you to choose,” she said. “I’m just choosing myself this time.”

And she walked away.

To Be Continued...

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