Chapter 11

"Dominic?"

The butler's voice snapped Dominic out of his reverie. He rose slowly, his eyes rimmed with crimson, his entire demeanor shifted, carrying a new edge. His gaze dropped, and after a moment, he grabbed his phone and dialed his assistant. "Find her. Use every connection we've got. I want Clara's location now."

The next day, in the Hale Business office, the assistant stood nervously before Dominic. "Sir, Clara left on a private plane. The flight details are locked down tight—we can't track her."

Silence choked the room. Dominic stood, his jaw clenched so hard it could've cracked stone. Finally, he spat one word: "Useless."

He strode to the floor-to-ceiling window, irritation radiating from him. The assistant scrambled, holding out a USB drive. "But—but we found some security footage. It's about Clara and Aurora…"

Dominic whipped around.

The projector flickered to life, revealing Aurora, her usual charm replaced by arrogance as she blocked Clara's path. "What, even lapdogs dress up fancy now?" The footage shifted to the coffee shop, Aurora's friends cackling. "Heard she chased Dominic for years, even brought him breakfast every day? Pathetic."

The mocking laughter echoed in the office. Dominic's expression was unreadable, his knuckles white. The assistant didn't dare breathe.

Dominic grabbed his car keys and bolted.

At Aurora's apartment, he was about to ring the bell when her shrill laughter leaked through the door. "Clara's finally gone!" Aurora crowed. "You should've seen her, looking like a kicked puppy. I slapped her, and she didn't even fight back…"

"Seven years chasing Dominic? Talk about obsessed," one of her friends chimed in.

"Obsessed? Try shameless!" Aurora sneered. "Always trailing him like a lost pup. Dominic was sick of her but couldn't shake her…"

Dominic kicked the door open.

Aurora and her three friends jumped, their smug grins frozen. A cake on the coffee table read "Celebrating Clara's Exit" in garish icing.

"Dominic?" Aurora's face paled.

His eyes flicked to the cake, and he let out a cold laugh. "Nice touch."

He turned and left, ignoring Aurora's tearful calls.

In a dimly lit bar at dusk, Dominic slammed his glass down, turning to his childhood friends. "Be real with me. What do you think of Clara?"

The booth fell into an uneasy silence.

"She's… kinda intense?" one ventured cautiously.

"Yeah, always showing up with breakfast, rain or shine…"

"Last time you were sick, she stayed up three days straight by your side…"

Dominic smashed his glass on the table, the crack cutting through the air. "I'm asking what you think of us!"

His friends exchanged looks. Finally, Alex, the oldest, sighed. "Honestly? We thought she wasn't good enough for you. Just some she-wolf who wouldn't let go…"

"You're all full of it!" Dominic shot to his feet, knocking over another glass. "I love her! Do you have any idea what I've done for her? I—"

He stopped short. Everyone stared, jaws dropped.

"You… love her?" Alex echoed, stunned. "Then why never bring her to hang out? Why skip her birthday for work trips? Why—"

Each question was a blade. Dominic opened his mouth but found no defense. He sank back onto the couch, his friends listing Clara's efforts over the years.

"Sophomore year, that downpour? She brought you an umbrella, soaked to the bone herself…"

"When you were starting the business, she sold her parents' heirloom jewelry to help…"

And in return? His endless coldness—forgotten anniversaries, public humiliations, cozying up to other she-wolves to provoke her.

His temples throbbed. Memories flickered like an old film reel. Early on, when he'd upset Clara, she'd cry and throw herself into his arms. But at some point, she started turning away silently. By the end, she wouldn't even look at him.

Crack! His glass hit the floor, shattering. Amid shocked stares, he stumbled out into the night.

The master bedroom was empty, but a faint gardenia scent lingered. Dominic sat at Clara's vanity, his fingers brushing her half-used perfume bottle. He opened a drawer and found a notebook. His heart raced as he flipped it open, hands trembling.

"Today's our 1000th day together. He forgot, as usual. It's fine—the comments said he remembers but wants me to make the first move…"

"Today I had a 102-degree fever. Called Dominic, but he was too busy to come home. The comments said he stayed outside my hospital room all night…"

The diary chronicled seven years—Clara's journey from understanding to doubt to despair. The final entry read: "Maybe he does love me, but real love doesn't need a third party to explain it. Goodbye, Dominic."

Outside, dawn broke. Dominic sat frozen, staring as light crept across the empty room. In the vanity mirror, his bloodshot eyes met the massive wedding photo on the wall—his face blank, Clara's smile blindingly bright.

A tear hit the notebook, smudging the ink. For the first time in seven years, Dominic let his emotions show—but only after she was truly gone.