The wind rustled gently through the trees, but Clara felt none of its coolness. Her heart thundered in her chest like a war drum, but she managed to keep her face steady and composed.
Her eyes never left Jace’s as he delivered his words like knives, “Maybe it is better if you leave.”
His voice was cold, deliberate, meant to wound.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t cry. Not here, not in front of him.
She tightened her jaw, fire burning behind her eyes. “If that’s what you want,” she said quietly, each word laced with pain, but also with something harder, unbreakable.
Jace hesitated, for just a second. But the storm in his own heart was buried beneath layers of pride and confusion. So he turned, his footsteps crunching against gravel, walking away without looking back.
Clara stood in the
