CHAPTER 79: LET HIMSELF FALL

Adrian wasn’t sure what possessed him to go.

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was the heavy weight of his father’s voice ringing in his ear like a gavel pronouncing sentence after sentence: Fix this. Marry her. Own it.

Maybe it was his own weakness.

The apartment Clara was staying in wasn’t hers—it was one of her family’s high-rise properties, secured to keep her out of the paparazzi’s direct reach for now. Clean white walls, chrome finishes, glass everywhere like a showroom pretending to be a home. It looked exactly like how Clara lived her life: perfect, curated, hollow.

He stood at the door for three full beats before knocking.

And when it opened, he almost wished he hadn’t come.

Clara was barefoot, wearing one of those oversized knit sweaters that hung off one shoulder, long legs bare beneath it. Her cheeks were flushed, whether from crying or staged for the occasion, he couldn’t tell anymore. Her eyes, red-rimmed, widened when she saw him, and for a split second—just one—she looked like the Clara he remembered.

The girl who used to climb into his bed at three a.m. whispering secrets like they were currency. The girl who once told him she couldn’t remember what happiness felt like, and how he tried—God, he tried—to make her believe she was worthy of it.

Now, it was all broken shards.

"Adrian," she breathed, stepping aside for him to come in.

It was deliberate—the way she stood, the angle of her bare shoulder, the careful placement of the soft sweater that made her look vulnerable and undone.

Manipulation. He could spot it from a mile away.

And yet he still walked in.

The door clicked softly behind him, the city’s chaos locked out, leaving him with nothing but the quiet hum of tension.

"I didn’t think you’d come," she whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hand trembled just enough to seem real.

"I shouldn’t have," he muttered, jaw tight.

She stepped closer, searching his face with wide, glassy eyes. "But you did."

He hated how easily she could twist words into soft blades that made him bleed.

"Are you going to say it?" she asked, voice brittle. "That you hate me? That you wish I was someone else?"

Her voice cracked on someone else, and they both knew exactly who she meant. Ella.

Adrian sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. "Clara..."

"I love you."

The words fell between them like shattered glass.

Adrian closed his eyes. "Don’t."

"I love you," she repeated, voice breaking now, raw and aching. "You don’t get it. I don’t care about the money or the engagement or—"

"Don’t lie to me," he snapped, eyes flashing open now, meeting hers squarely. "Don’t ever lie to me again."

Silence.

Clara stared at him like he’d gutted her, lips parted, chest rising and falling quickly.

And then... she broke.

She sank onto the edge of the cream-colored couch, burying her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with sobs that might’ve been real this time.

Or maybe they weren’t.

Adrian’s defenses, already fraying, finally cracked.

He hated her. God, he hated her for dragging him into this mess, for tying herself to him so publicly, for weaving herself into his ruin. But a part of him hated himself more—for letting her. For being too weak to walk away when it mattered. For needing someone to need him this badly, even if it was twisted.

He moved before he thought, sinking down next to her, hands hovering awkwardly before settling on her shoulders.

"Clara..."

Her tear-streaked face lifted to his, devastation written in every line.

"I don’t know what I’m doing anymore," she whispered. "I’m scared. I’m so scared, Adrian."

That part? That part sounded real. The manipulative edge was gone now, just the terrified girl beneath the armor, the one who’d always been better at destruction than building anything whole.

"And now everyone hates me," she said, a broken laugh escaping. "They all think I’m some homewrecking villain. Ella’s perfect. She always was. And I’m the stupid, desperate, crazy ex."

Adrian felt that punch to the gut harder than he expected. Because he’d let her become this. He hadn’t stopped her when he should have. And somewhere deep, where he didn’t want to admit it, he still felt responsible for her.

"They don’t know you," he said finally, low and tired. "Not really."

Her lips wobbled into a humorless smile. "Do you?"

He didn’t answer.

"I’m carrying your baby, Adrian," she said softly, pressing her palm to her flat stomach. "I don’t want to trap you. I just—I just want us to try again. We were good together once."

Were they? It was hard to remember what was real between them anymore.

"I know you still think about her," Clara said after a beat. "I know I’ll never be her."

The sharp honesty in that sentence made something in his chest twist.

"But I can make you forget," she added, softer now, almost a whisper, like a promise wrapped in sin.

She leaned forward, her mouth brushing the edge of his jaw, the warmth of her breath curling against his skin like smoke. "I can make you forget her for tonight."

Adrian’s body betrayed him first. His hand curled at her waist, jaw tightening as she tilted her head and captured his lips with hers.

It wasn’t like kissing Ella. Nothing was like kissing Ella.

But it was familiar. Clara knew his mouth, knew his weaknesses, knew exactly how to make him feel something when he was drowning in numbness.

When her fingers slid beneath his shirt, nails dragging lightly across his ribs, Adrian didn’t stop her.

When she whispered, "I missed you. I need you," against his mouth, he didn’t pull away.

Because right now, broken and furious and utterly lost, he needed to feel wanted.

Ella was gone.

Nicholas had her now, smiling like a bastard in every photo, holding her like she was the goddamn sun.

Adrian was left with shadows.

And Clara was very, very good at filling the void with illusions of warmth.

He didn’t stop it when she pulled him down with her on the couch, didn’t stop her as her legs curled around his waist, didn’t stop the kiss as it deepened, dark and desperate, the kind of kiss that made forgetting feel possible for a few stolen moments.

Maybe later he’d regret it.

But for now?

For now, he let himself fall.