Betrayal? (2)

That evening, Clara waited for Aiden at home, her emotions a tangled mess. When he walked through the door, his usual charming smile in place, she didn't return it. Instead, she held up the tablet, the photo of him and the woman displayed prominently on the screen.

"Care to explain this?" she asked, her voice calm but edged with firmness.

Aiden's smile faltered as he glanced at the screen. For a moment, he looked genuinely surprised, but then his expression shifted, his tone defensive. "Clara, it's not what it looks like. She's just a friend. We were discussing business."

Clara raised an eyebrow, her gaze unwavering. "At a fancy restaurant? With her hand on your arm? And you didn't think to mention it to me?"

Aiden sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't think it was a big deal. It was just dinner, Clara. Nothing more."

Clara's heart ached at his words, but she held her ground. "Aiden, we're supposed to be building something real here. But how can I trust you if you're keeping things from me? If you're out having dinner with other women and not even telling me about it?"

Aiden's expression softened, and for a moment, he looked genuinely remorseful. "Clara, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just… I didn't think it would matter."

Clara shook her head, her voice quiet but firm. "It matters, Aiden. It matters to me."

After speaking, Clara let out a sigh. She had never imagined she would lose control like this. She never thought she would become the kind of person who could be so confrontational, so demanding.

But here she was, her emotions laid bare, her heart aching with a truth she could no longer ignore. It seemed that, without even realizing it, she had fallen deeply in love with Aiden. And now, that love had made her vulnerable in ways she hadn't anticipated.

The days that followed were fraught with tension. The cracks in Clara and Aiden's relationship continued to deepen, with each small incident adding to the mounting strain between them. Clara had tried to give Aiden the benefit of the doubt, believing his excuses to be genuine. But as time passed, the signs became increasingly hard to ignore.

Aiden had always been a busy man, but lately, his phone seemed to ring more often than usual. Clara noticed how he would step away to take calls, his voice low and guarded, as if he didn't want her to overhear. Sometimes, he would leave the room entirely, disappearing for long stretches of time.

Other times, he would abruptly end a call and make an excuse to leave the house, even late at night. "Work emergency," he would say, or "A friend needs help." Clara wanted to believe him, but the frequency of these incidents made it hard to ignore the nagging suspicion that something was off.

The late nights became more frequent, and when Aiden did come home, he often carried the faint scent of perfume—something floral and expensive, nothing like what Clara wore. Once, she even noticed a smudge of lipstick on his collar, a detail she couldn't unsee no matter how hard she tried. It was a small thing, but it spoke volumes.

Clara's heart ached with every new discovery, but she tried to push the feelings aside. She had built her life on practicality and self-reliance, and she wasn't about to let her emotions get the better of her. Still, the doubts lingered, a quiet ache that grew harder to ignore with each passing day.

Clara had reached her breaking point. The late nights, the excuses, the lingering scent of perfume—it was all too much. She couldn't keep pretending that everything was fine, that Aiden's behavior didn't bother her.

One evening, as Aiden was about to leave the house yet again, Clara stopped him at the door, her voice firm but trembling with emotion.

"Aiden, we need to talk. Now."

Aiden paused, his hand on the doorknob, and turned to face her. His expression was calm, almost too calm, as if he had been expecting this. "Clara, I really don't have time right now. There's a work emergency, and I need to—"

"No," Clara interrupted, her voice sharp. "You don't get to brush me off this time. I need to know the truth. Was this all just a game to you? Was I just another conquest? Another challenge for the great Aiden Whitmore to conquer?"

Aiden's expression softened, and he stepped closer, reaching out to pull her into a hug. "Clara, don't be ridiculous. You know how much I care about you. This isn't a game."

Clara stiffened in his arms, her heart pounding. She wanted to believe him, but his words felt hollow, his actions speaking louder than anything he could say. Before she could respond, Aiden leaned down and kissed her cheek, his touch gentle but fleeting. "I'll be back soon, okay? We'll talk then."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Clara standing in the doorway, her emotions a tangled mess. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but she knew it wouldn't change anything. Aiden had always been a master of deflection, of charming his way out of difficult conversations. And now, she was left with nothing but doubts and a growing sense of betrayal.

Days turned into weeks, and Aiden continued to insist that he loved her, that she was the only one who mattered to him. But Clara's instincts told her otherwise. The late nights, the phone calls, the excuses—it all pointed to something she didn't want to face. Still, she held onto a sliver of hope, a fragile belief that maybe, just maybe, Aiden was telling the truth.

That hope shattered one evening when Clara returned home earlier than expected. As she walked through the door, she heard it—a woman's voice, soft and breathless, coming from Aiden's room. Clara froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She told herself she was imagining things, that there had to be another explanation. But as she approached the room, the sounds became unmistakable.