Adrian staggered upright, blood streaking down his mouth, yet he laughed—a broken, manic sound. His finger jabbed toward Clara.
“Jonathan, hit me all you want! Even if you kill me, she’ll still love me. Clara loves me to death—she can’t live without me!”
His eyes burned with madness. “I regret everything, do you hear? I don’t acknowledge that filthy agreement. As long as I don’t sign, she’ll always be my wife. Mine!”
He turned that fevered gaze on her, raw and desperate. “Clara, come home with me. Enough of this nonsense. I promise—no more favoritism. One east wing, one west wing, both of you can live in peace. I was only hard on you to humble your pride. And Snowball—Snowball’s waiting at home. Don’t you miss it?”
He didn’t know Snowball was already gone, escorted away by Jonathan’s men and bound for the airport.
Clara looked at him—this man once admired, now pitiful and grotesque. His words were absurd, his eyes deranged. Slowly, firmly, she shook her head.
“Adrian, it’s over. I’m not going back.”
The ice in her voice cut deeper than any slap. His face twisted, first with disbelief, then fury.
“Fine! You think Jonathan is sincere? He’s just playing with you. You’ll see how long you last without me. Sooner or later, you’ll crawl back on your knees!”
With curses still spilling from his mouth, he yanked Vanessa by the arm and stumbled out, leaving only disgrace in his wake.
Jonathan shielded her with his body, then guided her quickly out of the restaurant.
“Jonathan,” her voice was hoarse but steady, “take me to the airport.”
His brow furrowed. “Not even one more night to rest? Your body—”
“No.” She shook her head, voice sharp with finality. “If I stay, even for one night, I’ll suffocate.”
For a moment, he searched her face. Then he nodded, decisive. “Very well.”
In the car, his voice softened. “Don’t worry. Snowball’s already been checked in through special channels. She’ll be on the same flight. Everything’s arranged.”
Her throat tightened. “Thank you.” It was all she could manage. Gratitude sat heavy in her chest, almost painful.
—
At the airport VIP lounge, the lights glowed sterile and bright. Clara sat in the corner, staring at her phone as it flickered with yet another incoming call.
She hesitated, then slid to answer. Silence pressed for a moment. Then came ragged, animal-like breathing, harsh and uneven.
“Clara!” Adrian’s roar cracked through the receiver. “Speak!”
Her lips parted, voice calm. “It’s me. What else is there to say? Goodbye.”
“No! I won’t let you say goodbye!” His voice spiraled out of control, a grotesque mix of rage and terror. “You’re not leaving! Come back here—right now! I was wrong, I admit it! Everything was my fault. Clara, come back… we can start again!”
Her face remained still, expressionless, listening as though to a stranger.
Then his tone snapped, switching to that familiar cruelty. “Don’t forget—in Baybridge, I’m king. Run as far as you want, I’ll drag you back. No one escapes me. Don’t force me to use my hands.”
The threats, the pleas, the arrogance—it was all the same script. For the first time, it no longer stirred her. Her heart was a stagnant pool, empty of him.
When his voice finally cracked into silence, she spoke, clear and resolute.
“No.”
“Goodbye, Adrian.”
She hung up. The screen went dark. With steady fingers, she pulled the SIM card free and dropped it into the trash bin.
From this moment on, Baybridge—and everything tied to Adrian—ceased to exist in her world.
