News (2)

The next day, Clara reluctantly reached out to Aiden. They met at a quiet café, the tension between them palpable. Aiden looked as charming as ever, his demeanor as calm and composed as it had been the day she confronted him about his infidelity. It was as if the weight of his actions didn't faze him.

Clara studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. She had once loved him, but now, she felt nothing but a cold detachment. The betrayal still stung, but she had made up her mind: she was done. All that mattered now was maintaining appearances.

"Thanks for meeting me," Clara said, her tone businesslike. "My mother wants us to make a statement. Something to 'calm the rumors.'"

A leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I figured. My parents have been on my case too. What do you want to do?"

Clara shrugged, her expression neutral. "I don't care what we say, as long as it gets them off our backs. Maybe something about 'mutual respect' and 'focusing on our careers.' You're good at this kind of thing. You come up with something."

Aiden smirked, his confidence unwavering. "Always so practical, Clara. Fine, I'll draft something. But you'll have to play along, you know. Smile for the cameras, hold my hand, the usual."

Clara nodded. "As long as it's convincing. That's all I care about."

They spent the next hour crafting a statement, their conversation devoid of the warmth they once shared. Aiden suggested a few overly romantic phrases, which Clara immediately shot down. "Keep it simple," she said. "The less we say, the less they can twist."

When they finally settled on a draft, Clara felt a strange mix of relief and emptiness. It was done. The family's reputation would be preserved, at least for now.

The next few days were a whirlwind of staged moments and carefully orchestrated appearances. They went on a "casual" coffee date, strolled through a park, and even attended a charity gala together, all while the photographers they had hired captured their every move.

Clara played her part perfectly, smiling when she needed to, laughing at Aiden's jokes, and even resting her hand on his arm during interviews. But inside, she felt nothing. The love she once had for him was gone, replaced by a quiet resolve to move on.

Aiden, for his part, seemed to enjoy the charade. He was in his element, charming the press and spinning their story with ease.

Clara had to admit, Aiden was better at handling the press than she was. He knew how to play the game, how to manipulate the narrative without making it seem forced. She, on the other hand, preferred to stay out of the spotlight altogether. But this time, she had no choice. The family's reputation was at stake, and she had to play her part.

One evening, Clara returned to her apartment and collapsed onto the couch, exhausted from the whirlwind of the past few days.

The joint statement had been published, and the media frenzy was finally beginning to die down.

She grabbed her phone and absentmindedly scrolled through the news, her eyes skimming over the headlines about their so-called "romance."

"Clara is a workaholic," the statement read, "and wanted to move closer to her office for convenience. However, Clara and Aiden remain as close as ever in private."

Below the text were photos of them, smiling, holding hands, looking every bit the perfect couple. The images were carefully staged, of course, but to the public, they seemed genuine.

As she scrolled through the comments online, she noticed how quickly public opinion had shifted. People were now praising them as the "perfect couple" again, speculating about their future plans, and even admiring Clara's dedication to her career. Some commenters gushed about how inspiring it was to see two successful people balancing love and ambition.

Clara rolled her eyes at the irony but couldn't deny the small flicker of relief she felt. The rumors were fading, and the family's reputation was safe. For now, that was all that mattered.

Just then, her phone buzzed with a message from Tessa: "Saw the statement. You okay?"

Clara typed back quickly: "I'm fine. Just doing what I have to do."

Tessa's reply came almost instantly: "You're stronger than you think, Clara. Don't let them get to you. And remember, I'm here if you need to talk, or if Aiden ever gives you trouble, I'll help you 'accidentally' spill wine on him at the next gala."

Clara smiled faintly, a small flicker of warmth breaking through her exhaustion. "Thanks, Tessa. I'll keep that in mind," she replied.

Later, she set her phone down, got up to make herself a cup of tea, and picked out a book before settling back on the couch. With the book in one hand and the cup of tea in the other, she finally allowed herself to enjoy the quiet. But just as she was about to dive into her novel, the doorbell rang.

Ding, dong—

Clara frowned, setting her book down. She wasn't expecting anyone. Walking to the door, she peered through the peephole and saw Dylan standing there, clearly drunk. His usually neat hair was disheveled, and his tie was loosened, hanging unevenly around his neck.

Clara was surprised. How did Dylan know where she lived? But then she remembered the influence of his family and sighed. Of course, he would have ways of finding out.

Before she could fully process the situation, she opened the door. The moment she did, Dylan stumbled forward, his movements unsteady but determined. Before Clara could protest, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sound echoed in the quiet apartment, amplifying the tension in the air.

"Dylan, what are you—" Clara began, but her words were cut off as Dylan wrapped his arms around her in a tight and unsteady hug. His breath was heavy with the scent of alcohol, and his grip was almost desperate, as if he were afraid she might disappear if he let go.