"Clara," he said, his voice devoid of all previous emotion—no anger, no pity, just finality. "The man you loved, Daniel Brooks, was never the real me. He was a costume I wore hoping you’d look past the tailor. But you didn’t. You only saw the cheap cloth."
He stared at the spot where the ring used to be on her finger.
"Nathaniel Sterling doesn’t love the woman who sold her own future for a temporary convenience. Nathaniel Sterling needs allies, not liabilities. And *I* need clarity for the fight ahead. You, Clara, are a ghost of a past I must exorcise entirely."
He turned his back on her, a gesture that felt far more absolute than any public statement. He walked out of the conservatory, leaving the glass dome and the dead plants behind him. The cold air of the night rushed in to meet hi
