Between Love And Lies

Chapter 5: The man she shouldn't have noticed

Clara tried to focus. The numbers on her screen stared back at her, neat and organized, exactly the way she liked things to be. Normally, this would have grounded her. Work was the one place her mind stayed sharp, untouched by distraction. But today, her attention kept slipping quietly, frustratingly, like something just out of reach.

Her pen tapped once against the desk. Then again.

She stopped, exhaled, and leaned back in her chair, her eyes drifting away from the screen. For a moment, she said nothing, and did nothing. And then, almost against her will, the memory returned.

That voice. Calm. Almost… indifferent. Her fingers tightened around the pen.

“That man…” she muttered under her breath, irritation threading through the words.

It wasn’t just what he said. It was how he said it. The lack of reaction, the way he didn’t even bother to acknowledge her anger properly. No apology, no explanation. Just that steady, unshaken composure like nothing about the situation mattered.

Clara straightened suddenly and reached for her phone. She didn’t hesitate this time.

“Stella,” she said the moment the line connected, her tone firm. “I need you to find something for me.”

There was a brief pause on the other end before Stella responded, her voice calm but attentive. “What is it?”

“The CEO of Hartwell Corporation,” Clara said. “I want everything. Name, profile, background. Send it to me as soon as you can.”

“Alright,” Stella replied without questioning further. “Give me a bit.”

The call ended, and Clara dropped her phone onto the desk, her fingers brushing lightly against the surface as she leaned back again. She told herself she didn’t care. Told herself it was just business, just necessary information.

But her mind didn’t settle, not even a little.

About forty minutes later, the door to her office opened without a knock.

Stella walked in, a file in her hand, her expression composed, but her eyes sharp and observant.

“You asked for this,” she said simply, stepping forward and placing the file on the desk.

Clara didn’t look up immediately. She finished typing the last line she had been pretending to focus on, then slowly reached for the file.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice steady. Then she opened it.

The first page was just basic information. Company structure, financial highlights, nothing she didn’t already expect. She flipped to the next page, then the next, her movements casual, and unhurried. Then she stopped.

Her fingers froze against the paper. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned forward, her gaze settling on the photograph printed neatly at the top of the page.

For a second, she didn’t react, she simply stared.

“…He looks familiar,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Stella said nothing. Clara’s brows drew together as she studied the image more closely. The angle, the expression, the face.

Something about it pressed against her memory.

Then it came—slowly at first, like pieces falling into place.

The voice, the stillness, the arrogance.

Her breath hitched a bit. “Wait…” she whispered. Her fingers tightened on her phone.

“No… that’s not possible.” Silence stretched between them.

Then, quieter this time, almost disbelieving—

“…that’s him.”

The realization landed fully, heavy and undeniable. Clara sat up straight, then abruptly, she pushed the file away from her as if it had burned her fingers.

“No,” she said, shaking her head quickly. “No, that doesn’t make sense, it's not possible!” she exclaimed

"You're telling me that's the CEO?"

“Julian Hartwell," Stella confirmed calmly. "Owner of Hartwell corporation.”

Clara stood up from her chair and began pacing. Her fingers slipped into her hair, and her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

“Why does he have to be the CEO?" she asked, as if expecting an answer.

“He ran into me and didn’t even apologize,” she snapped, her voice rising slightly.

Stella watched her carefully but remained silent.

“He just stood there,” Clara continued, her movements becoming sharper, more restless. “Like I was the one at fault."

She stopped walking and turned toward Stella, her expression defensive, almost stubborn.

“And he watched me pick everything up,” she added, even though that part hadn’t exactly happened that way. “Didn’t even try to help, when he was the one who bumped into me.”

Stella raised an eyebrow slightly. “Clara,” she said calmly.

But Clara was already shaking her head.

“In fact, it’s his fault,” she insisted. “If he had just—if he had said something. Anything, even if it was just a simple ‘sorry’… instead of just standing there doing nothing." After a second, she added, her tone defensive “he's so arrogant. You can see it in his face."

“Clara,” Stella repeated, this time firmer.

That made her pause. Stella stepped closer, her gaze steady.

“You need him. You need the contract. So whatever it is that happened, you need to put it aside”

The words landed with quiet weight. Clara’s lips parted, but no immediate response came. She turned away instead, exhaling slowly as her shoulders tensed.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Stella continued, her tone softer now but no less serious. “There’s an event next week. A corporate gathering. High-level. I think Hartwell will be there.”

Clara didn’t react right away.

“I’m not in the mood for events,” she said after a second, her voice flat. “And I don’t have time to stand around pretending to enjoy conversations.”

Stella didn’t move.

“It’s your chance,” she said simply. “To meet him properly. To talk to him.”

Clara let out a quiet, frustrated breath, running a hand lightly through her hair.

“I can’t just walk up to him after…” she trailed off, the memory flashing again.

Stella tilted her head a little. “After what?”

Clara didn’t answer. Silence settled again, heavier this time.

Then Stella added, more gently, “If the partnership matters, this is the easiest way in.”

Clara hesitated. Her gaze dropped briefly to the file still sitting on her desk. The name printed clearly across the page… Julian Hartwell.

She inhaled slowly. “…Fine,” she said at last, though the reluctance was still there. “I’ll go.”

The week didn’t pass quickly. If anything, it dragged.

Clara found herself distracted in meetings, missing details she would normally catch without effort. She paused mid-sentence more than once, her thoughts slipping away before she could finish them. Even when she tried to focus, something kept pulling her attention back—to that moment, to that voice, to the unsettling calm that still lingered in her mind.

By the time the evening of the event arrived, she was more restless than she cared to admit.

The venue was exactly what she expected—elegant, polished, filled with quiet wealth that didn’t need to announce itself.

Soft music played in the background, blending with the low hum of conversations. Glasses clinked occasionally, and the air carried the faint scent of expensive perfume and polished wood. Everything felt controlled, measured.

Clara walked in beside Stella, her posture straight, her expression composed. Well, at least on the outside.

Inside, there was a tension she couldn’t quite name.

She greeted a few familiar faces, exchanged polite conversations, but her attention wasn’t fully there. Her eyes moved occasionally, scanning the room without seeming obvious.

And then, something shifted. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there.

Conversations softened just slightly. A few heads turned, not abruptly, but with quiet awareness, the kind of reaction that didn’t need explanation.

Clara noticed it immediately. “Someone important just walked in,” she said under her breath.

Stella didn’t respond. She didn’t have to.

Clara turned, and saw him.

This time, there was no distraction, no rushed moment, no scattered files pulling her attention away. Nothing blocked her view.

He walked in with an ease that didn’t look practiced, yet carried absolute control. His suit fit him perfectly, tailored in a way that didn’t need to show off to be noticed, the dark fabric sharp against his frame. The lines of it followed his shoulders cleanly, emphasizing a build that was strong without looking forced.

His movements were unhurried, one hand slipped casually into his pocket, the other relaxed at his side, revealing a wristwatch that caught the light just enough to hint at its value without drawing attention to it.

But it wasn’t just the way he dressed. It was him.

His height alone set him apart. Not exaggerated, but enough that he stood above most of the room without trying. His posture was straight, not stiff, but naturally commanding, the kind that came from confidence rather than effort.

As he moved further in, the lighting caught his face properly.

Sharp, defined features. A jawline that looked almost too precise to be unintentional. His expression remained calm, but there was something beneath it—something controlled… and observant. His eyes carried a quiet intensity, not loud or dramatic, but focused in a way that made it feel like he saw more than he showed.

His hair was neat, slightly relaxed, styled without looking overly arranged, adding to that balance between effortlessness and precision.

People noticed.

Some tried not to stare, others didn’t bother hiding it. Conversations paused just enough to acknowledge his presence before continuing, as if everyone understood exactly who he was without needing to say it out loud.

Clara stood still for a second longer than she intended.

That was the man she had snapped at.

That was the man she had dismissed without a second glance.

Her grip tightened slightly around the glass in her hand, though her expression remained composed.

“…You see him?” Stella asked quietly.

Clara didn’t answer immediately.

“I see him,” she said after a moment, her voice steady, even if her thoughts weren’t. She told herself she was only observing, only assessing, but the truth was more complicated. There was something about the way he carried himself that made it difficult to look away for too long. Still, she forced herself to stay grounded.

Arrogant, she reminded herself. That hadn’t changed.

He moved further into the room, acknowledging a few people with brief nods, his attention controlled, selective.

Clara watched him, not openly, but enough that she was aware of every step he took, every subtle shift in expression, every quiet reaction he caused without trying.

She was still thinking about how she would approach him, how she would start a conversation without giving him the satisfaction of thinking she cared too much, when it happened.

He stopped.

Not abruptly, not dramatically. Just enough. Then—

He looked in her direction. Directly at her.

Clara’s breath caught for a fraction of a second before she looked away, almost instinctively, her composure returning just as quickly as it slipped.

But not before she saw it. The slight curve at the corner of his lips.

A smirk. Small. Controlled, as if he remembered exactly who she was.