Vanessa’s eyes gleamed with malice as she tilted her chin, her voice dripping with cruelty. “Adrian bought this cat. Everything it eats, everything it uses—his money. Naturally, it belongs to him. Why should I hand it over to you?”
Her gaze slid up and down Clara’s figure, landing on her dress and bag. A mocking smile curled her lips. “Oh, and that dress—Chanel, this season’s release, isn’t it? Also Adrian’s money. That Hermès bag in your hand? His money, too. Take them off! You’re leaving, don’t you understand? None of this belongs to you.”
Clara’s body went rigid with cold. Her eyes, trembling with a faint plea, turned to Adrian. Even if only a fragment of his past affection remained, surely—surely—he would not allow this humiliation.
For a moment, his brow creased. He glanced at her, then said softly to Vanessa, “Vanessa, forget the clothes…”
It was only fabric, after all. He wasn’t that cruel.
But that tiny sliver of defense struck Vanessa like a blade.
“Forget it? Why forget it?” Her voice broke into a shrill scream. She shoved him, her face twisted with fury. “Adrian, you’re still protecting her! You lied to me! You said you only loved me, but it was all lies!”
Her fists pounded against his chest as hot tears rolled down her cheeks. “I followed you in secret, without a name, without status. I never complained! Now I just want you to take back what’s yours, and you still won’t do it? Fine! Then I’ll leave. I quit!”
She spun on her heel to storm out.
Panic seized Adrian. He yanked her back into his arms, his voice urgent, trembling with desperation. “My dear, don’t be angry. Don’t cry. Why would I protect her? I only want you. You’re right—whatever you say, I’ll listen. Just don’t leave me, okay?”
He clung to her as though she were air itself, fawning, groveling, losing all trace of dignity. Then he turned back, eyes sharp as knives, cold as stone.
“Clara, didn’t you hear me? Take off your clothes and get out.”
His tone carried the finality of a verdict. “Don’t get in Vanessa’s way again.”
Something inside Clara cracked. The man who once swore she was his world, who shielded her through storms, who once cupped her face and promised forever—now debased himself like a dog, clinging to another woman, even at the cost of destroying her.
And above, Snowball’s faint, pitiful cries still echoed from the railing.
Her rage rose like fire—but Snowball’s fragile body, trembling on the rope, chained her fury. One wrong move, and she might lose him forever.
So she swallowed her defiance. Tears threatened to spill, but she forced them back, her nails digging into her palms.
Under Adrian’s icy command, beneath Vanessa’s triumphant smirk, Clara’s fingers shook as she reached for the zipper. Slowly, painfully, she slid it down.
The white dress Adrian had once chosen for her—his lips at her ear, whispering, “Clara, you’re most beautiful in white, like my bride.”—slipped to the floor.
Standing in nothing but her underwear, her body trembled under the cruel draft. But the cold in the room was nothing compared to the frost consuming her heart.
Once cherished like a bride, she was now stripped bare and cast out like a prostitute.
