Ghosts of the Past

The darkness of the night offered no comfort, dragging Clara down into the familiar, suffocating depths of her worst memories.

She was back in that sterile hospital corridor three years ago. Chloe stood before her, her face twisted into a smug, triumphant grin as she patted her belly.

"Sis, I’m pregnant. The baby belongs to Dominic!"

The sheer betrayal provoked a desperate instinct. Clara's hand swung out, landing a sharp slap across Chloe's cheek. The next moment, the dream warped. The loud sound of the strike faded, replaced by the terrifying sight of bright red blood pooling on the cold, sterile floor. Chloe lay there, weeping, as a miscarriage claimed the unborn child.

Then came the voice of her former mother-in-law, Sylvia Croft, screeching through the chaos. "Just because you can't get pregnant, it doesn't mean other women can't!"

Before Clara could process the guilt and confusion, a cold, indifferent voice sliced through her mind. "These are the divorce papers. Sign them." It was Dominic's lawyer, shoving the thick stack of documents in front of her. "President Thorne is a busy man. Don't waste his time. Signing them now is best for everyone involved."

The agonizing realization that she was losing the man she had loved with every fiber of her being for five years tore her heart to pieces. She had envisioned spending the rest of her life with him, yet it was ending in this cold, clinical room.

Clara gasped, her eyes snapping open. She sat up straight in bed, her chest heaving as her heart hammered against her ribs.

It was four in the morning.

The phantom pain of the nightmare still held its tight grip on her chest, leaving her skin damp with cold, sticky sweat. Knowing sleep was out of the question for the rest of the night, she pulled herself out of bed. She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the lingering chill of the past. Once dressed, she forced down a quick, simple breakfast, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach, and prepared to leave.

Her boss, Tristan Hayes, was a demanding man who tolerated zero delays. He had recently arrived in River City, and his swift, decisive nature meant his assistant had to be just as efficient. Clara could not afford to be late. She hurried out of her rented room and into the dim, winding alleyway outside her apartment. Many of the old streetlights in this run-down neighborhood were broken, forcing her to navigate the uneven pavement by memory.

The chilly morning air nipped at her cheeks as she caught sight of the number 28 bus turning the corner. She quickened her pace into a run, her worn shoes clicking against the pavement as she dashed toward the stop.

She did not notice the sleek, black luxury car parked quietly in the shadows near the intersection.

Inside the vehicle, the tinted window rolled down a fraction, letting out a trail of smoke. Dominic Thorne sat in the darkened interior, a glowing cigarette pinched between his fingers. His sharp, dark eyes locked onto her rushing figure, tracking her every movement as she scrambled up the steps of the bus.

Three years of silence, and now she had suddenly stepped back into his world. He had not heard a single word from her since their divorce, and her abrupt return stirred a mixture of unreadable emotions within him.

Dominic took a slow, deliberate drag of his cigarette, his handsome face remaining serious. *Clara Vance, it is good that you have finally shown up.*

Clara arrived at the Vanguard office long before the morning rush. The open-plan workspace was dead quiet, the desks empty and the lights dim. She walked straight into Tristan’s private office, organizing the scattered files on his desk and carefully brewing his specific morning tea just the way he liked it. Once finished, she sat down at her own desk and booted up her computer to review his daily schedule.

By the time she finished sorting the appointments, the sound of footsteps echoed from the corridor.

Tristan walked in, flanked by his special assistant, Simon Blake.

Seeing Clara already sitting at her desk, Tristan stopped, a mocking smirk playing on his lips as he scanned her appearance.

"Well, look who we have here. Clara Vance," Tristan said, leaning against the doorframe with a sigh. "Do you think coming in this early will get you a bigger bonus? Stop dreaming. I would rather spend my money on a beautiful woman than waste my resources on an ugly girl like you!"

Clara didn't blink. She kept her face neutral, refusing to let the insult get under her skin.

She had worked for Tristan for three months and understood his true nature. Despite getting the job through Caleb’s recommendation, she had been wary of Tristan's reputation as a flirtatious playboy. To protect herself from unwanted attention, she had disguised her looks from day one. She wore baggy, shapeless clothes that hid her figure, wore no makeup, and wore thick, old-fashioned black-framed glasses. Knowing Tristan loathed women who wore glasses, she made sure they were a permanent fixture of her work attire.

The disguise worked perfectly. To him, she was nothing more than an eyesore, and he never spared her a second glance except to deliver a harsh remark. She had endured his insults more than a hundred times, developing a thick skin that made her immune to his daily rudeness.

Simon, however, looked uncomfortable. Sensing that his boss was going too far, the assistant stepped forward to steer the conversation away from Clara's appearance.

"President Hayes," Simon said, opening a folder to shift the subject. "I heard that Dominic Thorne is getting engaged soon. What kind of gift should we prepare for the wedding?"

The curse of that name hit Clara like a physical blow.

She froze in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat. Slowly, she raised her head, her eyes locking onto Simon in shock.