“Seriously getting married?”

Clara stood outside Ethan Hale’s office, hand halfway up to knock before silently dropping it back down.

It was Liam Satterly’s voice—Ethan’s close buddy and the only one who knew she and Ethan were engaged.

“It’s just marriage. Bound to happen sooner or later.”

Ethan’s tone was flat, like he didn’t care at all.

Liam chuckled. “Wow. Can’t believe Clara chased you for six whole years and actually made it happen. So this is what ‘never give up’ looks like?”

Clara’s face stayed calm, but deep down, she knew what “marriage” meant to Ethan.

Sure enough, seconds later Ethan’s voice came, laced with annoyance.

“My parents like her. Marrying her shuts them up. I don’t like her though.”

Oddly enough, hearing him say it out loud didn’t sting as much as she’d thought.

Maybe she’d grown numb to it. Basically couldn’t even get a glance from him most days.

Liam responded, “But marrying someone you don’t even like? That's so unfair to her.”

Ethan let out a quiet laugh. “Since when did you get so soft? You like her that much? Go ahead, take her. She’s the one throwing herself at me anyway.”

Liam didn’t show much emotion, just calmly said, “You shouldn’t talk like that. Clara’s done a lot for you. Besides, you two grew up together. Don’t say things you’ll regret later.”

But Ethan wasn’t moved at all. In fact, that probably just set him off more.

“She did a lot? Then why’d she jump into my arms right after Ivy got hurt? Yeah, right. She made her choice.”

In his eyes, everything was Clara’s fault.

This whole mess? All on her.

Standing by the door, Clara’s fingers gripped the edge of the invitation so tightly they started to tingle. The corner was already all bent and wrinkled.

She swallowed hard, trying to calm herself down.

The soup she was holding in her right hand suddenly felt ridiculously heavy, like she was lugging around a block of cement.

Inside, the conversation was still going.

Liam clearly gave up convincing him and stood up. “Suit yourself. I’m out.”

He pulled the door open—and there she was. Clara.

He froze.

Liam’s brows slightly furrowed—she had obviously heard everything. He looked like he wanted to say something.

“You here for Ethan? He’s inside.”

As Clara turned to leave, Liam said softly, “Take care of yourself. Ethan’s really not the one for you.”

He gave her shoulder a light pat before walking off.

Clara stood there for a few more seconds before finally stepping inside.

Ethan looked up at the noise, instantly frowning.

“What are you doing here?”

Clara placed the soup on his desk.

“Your mom made this. I brought it over. And this, my concert invite. Come if you want.”

After all that, she wasn’t expecting him to show.

But then he actually reached out and took it, although his tone was as cold as ever. “Got it.”

Maybe afraid she’d read too much into it, Ethan added without missing a beat,

“Clara, the only thing you’re ever gonna get from me is the title of Mrs. Hale. Don’t expect anything else. This is me being generous.”

Generous.

Clara gave a bitter laugh.

Yeah, great speech. What a hero.

She walked over to the side, filled a glass with water, took a sip, and finally opened her mouth.

“Ethan Hale, we’ve known each other over ten years. And this marriage? You call it your charity. Well, I think I’ll pass on that kind of generosity.”She looked up. Ethan Hale was still staring at the documents in front of him, eyes downcast.

As soon as he finished speaking, he put his pen down on the desk. His tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth like he was holding back something.

“You really think I’d go that far just for a spot? Just so I could get your attention? Do you even realize what you’re accusing me of? Ivy’s hand still hasn’t recovered — do you seriously not feel any guilt?”

Every word he said hit her like a punch to the gut, sharp and merciless.

Guilt? She honestly didn’t.

Clara Bennett's fingers clutched the hem of her dress so tightly it wrinkled. She’d heard this same speech countless times over the years.

“Ethan, I’ve said it a hundred times — I didn’t do it. You just don’t want to believe me.”

She couldn’t understand. They’d known each other for so long. Why wouldn’t he trust her?

Why was it always someone else he chose to believe?

Ethan suddenly slammed his files to the floor. The loud smack made Clara flinch.

“You’re the one who stood to gain the most, Clara. How do you expect me to believe you? You were the one who replaced her at the performance, weren’t you?”

Clara went quiet.

No proof, just motive. And that was enough to condemn her.

Years ago, Ivy had won a spot as Professor Morgan’s apprentice and was supposed to go overseas with him. But a car accident left her hand useless—her music career shattered.

Clara had always thought the whole thing was just karma in action.

When the spot ended up going to her, Ethan immediately assumed she was to blame.

What a joke. Six years she’d spent trying to prove her innocence, and all it got her was his growing disgust.

She let out a soft laugh, bitter and mocking — at herself.

Six years. No point talking anymore.

She got up and began tidying the documents, placing them neatly back on his desk, even dusting off the file rack.

Fine. If this is what he thought of her, might as well go along with it.

She said calmly, “You’re right. Having the title of Mrs. Hale is enough.”

As long as it meant Ivy wouldn’t have him—good enough.

Ethan stared at her, watching as she quietly put the files in place, even wearing a faint smile on her face. He didn’t know what to make of it.

Every time he said something hurtful, this was her reaction — that calm, almost indifferent look. It irritated him even more.

He lifted his gaze like he was watching something ridiculous, eyes turning cold. Suddenly, he grabbed Clara’s chin.

“Do you even hear yourself?”

Her expression didn’t change. His fingers dug into her jaw until her fair skin turned red, but there was no pity in his eyes — just annoyance. He let go and pulled out a tissue, slowly wiping off his hand like he’d touched something filthy.

Clara didn’t react. She was like a puppet — empty and numb.

She’d learned long ago that arguing only made things worse.

“Don’t forget to bring the soup container back home,” she said quietly, then turned and walked out of the office.

Her steps were unsteady. She didn’t take the elevator, just stumbled into the stairwell and leaned against the wall, slowly sinking down to the floor.

Back home, Clara sat for a long time, unsure if what she was doing was right or wrong.

But this marriage—it wasn’t just her decision. It was something her mother had arranged before passing away.

Mom, if you could see me now, is this the life you wanted for me?

The stars outside blinked faintly like they were answering her.

Clara didn’t think about it anymore.

Her personal recital was just days away—that was what she needed to focus on.

It was the most important performance of the year for her.

Whether Ethan showed up or not, she had to give her best.