~Clara’s POV ~
Smile.
Don’t cry.
Keep walking
The mantra repeated in my head with every step I took.
The heels I wore were too high, the corset of my dress too tight, but the tightest thing of all was Julian’s hand on my arm.
The Lumina ballroom was as the rumors says; grand, intimidating and screamed of wealth.
Being in this type of places always leaves me feeling like an imposter, not like I ever belonged anyway.
Then there’s the heavy, cloying scent of lilies, a scent that always made me think of funerals.
I supposed that was fitting.
In a way, I had been attending my own wake every single day for the past three years
“Keep your head up, Clara,” Julian’s voice hissed in my ear, his breath smelling of one of the expensive wines he’s been drinking all night.
“You look like a corpse. Do you want people to think I do not take care of you?”
I felt his fingers tighten around my upper arm.
His grip was practiced; he knew exactly where to squeeze so that the pain stayed hidden beneath the cloth, away from the prying eyes of people.
I forced my lips to curve upward, the skin of my face feeling tight and brittle, like old parchment.
“I’m sorry, Julian,” I whispered.
My voice sounded thin, even to my own ears.
“You’re always sorry,” he muttered, turning to wave at a passing senator with a bright, charming smile that never reached his eyes.
“You’re lucky you are pretty. Otherwise, you’d be back in the gutter where I found you in.”
Looking down at the floor and watching the reflection of the chandeliers on the glass tiles, my mind drifted back to the shattered pieces of the life I used to own.
My friends, the few I had left before Julian systematically cut them out of my life had warned me.
Sarah had been the most vocal.
“He’s a collector, Clara,” she had whispered over coffee three years ago.
“He doesn’t want a partner; he wants a trophy to display on his shelf. Once the gold leaf wears, he’ll discard you.”
At the time, I had laughed it off, blinded by the sheer scale of his attention.
I wanted to believe in the fairy tale, to believe that a man like Julian Sterling could truly love a girl who spent her days covered in charcoal dust and oil paint.
The signs had been there, it had been screaming at me.
I remembered that fateful night I walked into his study and found him with a woman, a blonde who looked like a sharper, sexier version of myself.
When I had demanded an explanation, tears blurring my vision, he hadn’t even looked remorseful.
He just simply adjusted his cufflinks and told me she was a “distant cousin” visiting from abroad.
A “cousin” whose hands had been inside his shirt.
He had gaslit me until I doubted my own eyes, until I apologized to him for being “hysterical.” I was his victim long before I became his wife; I just didn’t know it then.
Then came the wedding.
The vows had felt like a love letter, something from a fairytale but the moment i put my signature on the marriage certificate, the trap snapped shut.
The promises of supporting my art, of traveling the world, of a life built on mutual respect, they were all just bait to ensnare me into the Sterling family.
It had been three years of walking on eggshells, of learning the exact tone of his voice that meant a storm was coming, of realizing that the “Sterling Name” was a brand seared into my skin.
My life had become a living hell, a never ending nightmare.
All of sudden, a sharp pressure sliced through my thoughts.
The throbbing pain in my upper arm intensified as Julian’s fingers dug deeper into the bruise he’d given me earlier.
The physical agony was a cold splash of water, dragging me out of my reverie and back into the buzz of the ballroom.
“Are you even listening to me?” he hissed, his breath hot against my ear, while his eyes scanned the crowd for anyone who might notice my distress.
“Senator Chen is looking this way. Look alive, Clara, or I’ll make sure you regret it the moment we get home.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Then I smiled, to keep up with the pretence.
Just then I felt a sudden, dizzying wave of nausea, the corset of my gown suddenly feeling three sizes too small, crushing my ribs until I could barely draw a full breath.
“Julian,” I breathed, my hand fluttering to my chest.
“I… I need a moment. The—”
“You’ll stay right here,” he snapped, his grip turning punishing.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out.
I could feel the bruise from this morning, the one he gave me because I hadn’t heard him come home.
“My father is talking to Evelyn Vance. This is the most important deal of the year. If you ruin this, I swear to God, Clara…”
He didn’t need to finish the threat.
I knew the tone.
I knew what would happen in the backseat of the limo on the way home.
I forced myself to go still.
That was the trick to surviving Julian: you had to become a statue.
If you didn’t move, if you didn’t feel, if you didn’t react, the pain didn’t hurt as much.
I focused on a point on the far wall, tuning out the roar of the crowd, the clinking of glasses, and the suffocating pressure of his hand.
He pulled me toward a group of businessmen, parading me like a trophy he had won.
I felt eyes on me; pitying eyes, lustful eyes, indifferent eyes.
I hated them all.
But then, something happened.
I felt a different kind of gaze.
It was heavy.
Prickling.
It felt like a physical weight on my skin.
I looked up, my eyes instinctively searching the mezzanine balcony.
There stood in a distance was Evelyn Vance.
The ‘Ice Queen’ of the city.
She was alone, silhouetted against the dark sky behind the glass, a crystal glass in her hand.
She was so gorgeous, the magazines doesn’t do her justice
She looked powerful.
She looked untouchable.
And she was looking directly at me.
Our eyes locked across the vast space of the ballroom.
I expected her to look away, or look dismissively at me like other socialite.
But she didn’t.
Her gaze was intense, drilling into me with a terrifying clarity.
It felt as if she were peeling back the emerald gown, the layers of expensive makeup, and the fake smile, seeing the shattered girl hiding underneath.
For the first time in years, I forgot to breathe.
Julian yanked my arm, dragging me toward another group.
“Stop daydreaming, you idiot. Look, my father is waving us over.”
I stumbled, my high heels clicking awkwardly on the floor as I tried to keep up with him.
I wanted to look back, to see if she was still watching.
But I kept my eyes on the floor, with my heart hammering frantically against my ribs.
‘She saw me,’ a small, terrified voice whispered in the back of my mind.
But then I didn’t know that at that very moment, a deal was being agreed.
That Authur sterling, my father inlaw had just shamelessly traded me away to the most powerful woman in the country.
Oh Clara honey, you have no idea what awaits you.