The call ended, but the words lingered like an aftertaste she couldn't rid herself of. Clara's fingers curled around her phone, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, the weight of his voice still pressing against her.
"Do I mean anything to you anymore?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push it away. But she couldn't.
Instead, the city lights outside her window blurred into something else—something softer, warmer. Suddenly, she was there again.
The mountain air had been crisp, scented with pine and wildflowers. The sun had kissed her skin as they climbed the winding trail together, her laughter mixing with his as he reached for her hand.
"Come on, slowpoke!" His grin was teasing, his fingers outstretched toward her. "You said you wanted adventure."
She had rolled her eyes but taken his hand anyway, feeling the warmth of his palm against hers. "I meant a relaxing picnic, not a survival challenge."
He had only laughed, tugging her up beside him until they reached the peak. The world had stretched endlessly before them—rolling green hills, a golden sky painted in the hues of a setting sun. It had been perfect. He had been perfect.
They had spread out the picnic blanket, sitting close as they shared sandwiches, sipping from the same bottle of lemonade. His arm had rested lazily behind her, his fingers tracing gentle circles against her shoulder.
Then, his voice had turned softer. "Promise me something."
She had turned to him, a playful glint in her eyes. "What?"
His fingers had laced through hers, squeezing lightly. "No matter how big your dreams get, you won't forget this. Us."
She had smiled then, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I could never."
For a long time, she had believed that.
But now, standing alone in her dimly lit apartment, reality felt colder than ever.
HOOOONK!
Clara's eyes snapped open, her heart leaping into her throat. A car horn blared from the street below, breaking the illusion. The scent of wildflowers was gone, replaced by the faint aroma of her perfume. The warmth of his hand? A ghost.
Her hands trembled as she pressed them against the edge of her vanity, forcing herself to breathe.
"Get it together, Clara."
But her reflection betrayed her. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her lips pressed into a thin line. No matter how much she told herself she was fine, the truth was undeniable.
She had promised.
She had meant it.
But life had a way of pulling her forward, whether she wanted it to or not.
Another honk echoed from the street. This time, she straightened, blinking away the last remnants of the past.
"No. I haven't forgotten. But I can't live in a memory, either."
She inhaled deeply, smoothing her blazer. Tonight wasn't about him. It wasn't about what they used to be. It was about the future she had spent years chasing.
She grabbed her clutch and headed for the door. Because no matter how much the past whispered to her, the future was screaming her name.
As Clara stepped out of her apartment building, the crisp evening air kissed her skin, carrying the electric buzz of the city. But her attention wasn't on the world around her—it was on the Tourbillon Bugatti parked elegantly at the curb.
Her heart did a little flip.
Her dream car.
Even after seeing it countless times, the sight still took her breath away. The deep black exterior gleamed like a night sky drenched in moonlight, sleek and untouchable. Every line, every curve of its body was sculpted to perfection—raw power disguised as elegance.
She traced a finger lightly across the door, whispering, "You beautiful thing."
A teasing voice broke her trance.
"You're admiring it like it's yours."
Clara turned to see Anastasia Stelle—her manager, her best friend—leaning against the open driver's door, arms crossed with a knowing smirk. Dressed in a crisp white blazer with matching stilettos, Anastasia looked effortlessly powerful, the kind of woman who owned every room she walked into.
Clara scoffed, flipping her hair. "Give me a few more months, and it will be."
Anastasia laughed, tossing the keys in her hand. "Well, until then, you'll have to settle for riding with me."
Clara slid into the passenger seat, inhaling the unmistakable scent of fine leather and fresh cologne lingering in the air. Everything about this car was intoxicating.
As Anastasia revved the engine, the deep, purring growl sent a shiver of satisfaction down Clara's spine.
"You do realize this car is more than just a ride, right?" Clara mused, running her fingers over the dashboard. "It's a statement. A masterpiece. A reminder that you've made it."
Anastasia smirked. "And you're about to."
The words settled deep within Clara's chest. The meeting tonight wasn't just another collaboration—it was the collaboration. If this deal went through, her dream of winning the Best Designer of the Year award would be as good as sealed.
She glanced out of the tinted window, the city lights flickering like stars guiding her toward the future she had fought so hard for.
No matter what the past tried to whisper in her ear, she was moving forward.
And with Anastasia by her side, there was no stopping her.
As the Bugatti glided smoothly through the streets of Verona, the hum of the engine filled the comfortable silence between them. The city lights flickered past, casting golden reflections on the windshield, but Clara barely noticed. Her fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on the leather armrest, her mind still tangled in the remnants of the phone call she had tried so hard to push away.
Anastasia, ever perceptive, stole a glance at her. Her smirk faded, replaced by a knowing look.
"Okay, spill."
Clara blinked, snapping out of her daze. "What?"
Anastasia drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. "You've been quiet for way too long. And you look like you just walked out of a tragic romance novel."
Clara let out a dry laugh. "Wow. Dramatic much?"
"Clara." The softness in her voice was rare, reserved for moments when she wasn't just her manager but her best friend. "Your eyes are red."
Clara stiffened. She turned her face toward the window, watching the world blur past. "It's nothing."
Anastasia scoffed. "Yeah, because 'nothing' always makes you look like you just cried in your best designer blazer."
Clara exhaled slowly. There was no point in lying—not to Anastasia. She knew her too well.
"He called." Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.
Anastasia's grip on the wheel tightened. "Oh, great. That explains everything."
Clara shot her a warning look. "Don't start."
"I don't have to start, Clara. We both know how that conversation went."
Silence stretched between them. Clara swallowed, her fingers curling into her lap.
"He just… he said things."
Anastasia sighed. "He always does."
Clara hesitated before admitting, "He asked if he still meant anything to me."
The car slowed at a red light, and Anastasia turned fully toward her. "And?"
Clara bit the inside of her cheek. "I didn't know what to say."
Anastasia's eyes softened. "Because you do know, Clara. You just don't want to say it out loud."
Clara didn't answer. Her heart twisted in her chest, torn between the love she once knew and the life she was building.
The light turned green, and the Bugatti surged forward, but the weight in the car remained.
Anastasia reached over, giving Clara's hand a brief but firm squeeze. "Listen to me. You are about to walk into the biggest deal of your career. You are on the verge of everything you ever wanted. Don't let a ghost from your past make you question what you already know."
Clara inhaled sharply, holding onto those words like a lifeline.
She turned to Anastasia and smiled—small, but real."Thank you."
Anastasia smirked, flipping her hair dramatically. "Of course. I'm the best best-friend-manager combo in existence."
Clara laughed, shaking her head. "You really are."
As they drove deeper into the heart of Verona, Clara felt lighter. The past was still there, lingering like a shadow, but tonight? Tonight was about her.
And she wouldn't let anything—or anyone—take that away.
~~Who was he after all? does he still have this effect on her? Was he always toxic? Or did something change along the way? What if she loses the deal tonight? What will Clara feel when she steps out of the car and walks into that meeting?Confidence? Anxiety? Or both? What will she think of him when she stands on that stage as the Best Designer of the Year? Will he still gonna matter? Or what if he will cheat her? Did he love Clara, or did he love controlling her? Or did really Clara care for him? Was he ever good for her? Had he really been perfect?
~Stay Tuned To Know More....