Only Ever You

“Clara, I’m talking to you.” “I’m listening.” Clara Vale turned to Vincent Langley and blinked at him innocently. She had the kind of rich, striking beauty that was hard to look away from. With makeup on, she was almost breathtaking. Vincent steadied himself. “There’s still time for you to leave…” Clara was flitting between the dessert tables like a bright little butterfly, forcing him to hurry after her. “I’ll have the driver take you home. I’ll come see you later.” “Why would I leave?” Clara stopped and popped a small piece of financier into her mouth, wolfing it down as if she hadn’t eaten in three days. Vincent looked at her unconcerned expression, frustration rising in his chest. “I’m proposing to Cecilia Whitmore in a little while. Don't you think you should leave?” “Then go propose.” Clara picked up a drink from the table and took a sip. She paused as if something had suddenly occurred to her. “Are you worried I’ll try to steal you away? Relax. I won’t…” “Can you be serious for once?” Vincent took the glass from her hand and set it firmly on the table, his voice hardening. They had known each other for years, and Clara rarely saw him angry. When Vincent’s face went cold like this, he could be a little intimidating. “…I am being serious,” she said quietly. Her eyes kept drifting toward the glass. The sweet wine was good, and she hadn’t had nearly enough. “I told you on i********: yesterday that you didn’t need to come today. You knew perfectly well—” “I know.” Clara’s father had once made his fortune with the backing of the Langley family. During those years, Clara had been sent to Asterfield Academy, where she ended up in the same class as Vincent. The two of them had gone everywhere together. Since the Vale and Langley families were also close, people often assumed they were dating. Neither of them corrected the misunderstanding. They simply used each other as disguise. Later, the Vale family collapsed under a mountain of debt, and Clara transferred out of Asterfield. Her friendship with Vincent, however, remained untouched. It has lasted to this day. The Langleys had been in business for three generations and carried considerable influence in Asterfield. Wealth accumulated, social circles divided, and the walls between them became nearly impossible to cross. Even at the height of the Vale family’s success, they had only reached the outer edge of the Langleys’ world by riding on their influence. Now that the family had fallen, Clara should have known her place and kept her head down. She refused. She took advantage of her friendship with Vincent to attend every gathering and was always conspicuous about it. People rarely did anything without a reason. Clara wasn’t using these connections to polish her appearance, raise her value, or leverage them for greater profit. That left only one likely explanation: she wanted to remain in Vincent’s orbit, build up enough history between them, and gamble on a chance to marry into the Langley family. Clara was beautiful, but she never acted like she knew it. She was charming, knew how to keep a conversation going, played along when the occasion called for it, and could be trusted with a secret. Someone like her never lacked friends, not even in this circle. But there were different kinds of friends. Some genuinely cared about her. Some were merely being polite. And some were waiting to see how her story would end. The Langley and Whitmore businesses complemented each other. Vincent had known for years that he would most likely marry Cecilia one day. What was obvious to him was obvious to everyone else. They were all waiting for this little drama to reach its climax. “Since you know, why won’t you think about what’s best for you?” Vincent asked. “Clara, I don’t want people laughing at you.” “I don’t care.” “Then what do you care about?” Her indifference finally set off his temper. “You’re obviously uncomfortable here. What are you getting out of this?” “…You should know I’m not trying to marry into the Langley family.” “When did I say you were?” Realizing he had lost control of his emotions, Vincent pressed his lips together and fell silent. Clara said nothing either. She put the half-eaten pastry back on the plate, turned, and leaned against the dining table as she looked across the vast living room. Even if tonight’s gathering had not been arranged around a proposal, Cecilia would still have been the unquestioned center of attention. She became the main character wherever she went. Everyone had gathered around her without being asked, arranging themselves according to family background, seniority, closeness, and usefulness. No one said aloud who belonged in the center and who was meant to remain on the edge, but everyone understood perfectly. Whenever Clara saw something like this, she thought of the nature documentaries she had watched as a child. That world had its own strict hierarchy. A chimpanzee that wasn’t trusted wouldn’t even be allowed to pick fleas off the alpha. Clara understood the same unspoken rules as everyone else. Sometimes, however, she deliberately pretended not to. She would make an inappropriate joke or cause a scene at exactly the wrong moment. Oddly enough, everyone was remarkably tolerant of her, as though their only explanation was: Well, it was Clara. Her refusal to behave had earned her a free pass. The price attached to that free pass was simple. They kept her around because they wanted to see how the show ended. If she left, wouldn’t this whole show fall apart? It would end with a whimper. What a letdown. In old Western courts and noble households, there had often been a jester, a servant kept specifically to entertain the ruler and his guests. The jester’s job was to amuse the powerful through ridiculous words and behavior. As far as Clara was concerned, everyone was part of the same play. Kings, nobles, jesters—there was no real difference between them. Some people believed they were kings or aristocrats, when in reality, they were the biggest fools onstage. But Vincent probably wouldn’t understand that explanation. It would only convince him that she was content to play the clown and had no intention of improving her life. “Do you think…” Clara began slowly. Vincent glanced sideways at her. “…it’s raining outside?” The look on Vincent’s face seemed to say, you took that long just to come up with that? “I’ll have the driver take you home,” he insisted again. “There’s really no need. Stop worrying about me.” Clara reached out and reclaimed the sweet wine she had only taken one sip from. “Do what you need to do. Good luck with the proposal.” She winked and copied Leonardo DiCaprio’s toast. “…” Vincent looked at her with the weary frustration of someone facing a hopeless case. “Fine. Do whatever you want.” He had warned her. It wasn’t his fault if she refused to listen. He had no more time to waste. The proposal was the big show of tonight, and it was almost time for him to take the stage. Clara’s mood remained completely unaffected. She continued stuffing herself with food. She’d come straight from the shoot without eating lunch or dinner. The pastries were far too delicate to fill her up. For one brief moment, she almost wished the person she wanted to see wouldn’t come tonight. Then she could leave without regret and head to Uncle Chen’s for a steaming bowl of beef noodle soup. They closed at nine, and on rainy nights they sometimes shut early. It would be such a shame if she missed it. She was lost in thought when someone approached. Clara looked over sharply, panic flashing through her. Once she saw it wasn’t him, she calmed down again. “I thought Miss Vale wouldn’t be here tonight.” The man stopped beside her and his gaze traveled over the desserts. Nothing seemed to appeal to him, so he casually picked up the same pastry she was holding. Mirroring was often an unconscious attempt to gain someone’s favor. Most people never noticed themselves doing it. “Why wouldn’t I be here?” “Because…” The man paused, perhaps deciding that saying it outright would be unnecessarily cruel. His name was Elliot Vane. It’s hard for Clara to remember faces. The only reason she had remembered him was because there was something oddly familiar about one angle of his profile. His family background was a mystery. He had studied abroad, apparently majoring in film, and had returned to work as a director. As for what he had directed, Clara had no idea. The subject lay far beyond the limits of her curiosity. Elliot stood beside her and took a bite of the pastry. He swallowed with visible difficulty. Instead of continuing the subject he had started, he looked toward the front door. “It seems to be raining.” “Oh.” He showed no embarrassment at being brushed off. He slowly forced down another bite. “Have you given any more thought to what I mentioned last time?” “Didn’t I already turn you down?” “I told you there was no need to reject me so quickly. You could take your time and rethink about it.” “But I already rejected you.” “You really won’t reconsider?” Elliot looked at her. “No. I can’t act. Find someone else.” “It isn’t difficult. We have acting coaches.” “I have dyslexia. I can’t memorize lines,” Clara lied without hesitation. Someone seemed to be walking toward the entrance through the curtain of rain. Clara narrowed her eyes, trying to see more clearly, and her attention drifted away. “According to scientific studies, Chinese-language dyslexia isn’t especially common.” “Then I must be a rare case. Sorry…” Clara set down her pastry and wineglass, then brushed the crumbs from her fingers. She had finally made out the approaching figure. “Some things just don’t work out. I’m going to the restroom. Make yourself at home, Mr. Vane.” As soon as she was away from the dessert table, she quickened her pace. She slipped into the dressing room and locked the door behind her. Her makeup was still intact, though her lipstick had faded a little. She touched it up in the mirror and smiled at herself. What a pointless thing to do. She would probably never enter his field of vision. After staying in the dressing room for a while, Clara returned to the gathering. She scanned the room. Cecilia still sat at the center of the sofas, but another center had silently formed near the bar. A tall, handsome man stood beside it. He wore a slightly worn black lightweight sweater and held a glass of water in one hand. His eyes were lowered as he listened to someone speak. He never seemed to dress up for gatherings. He always looked as though he had pulled the first thing he found from his closet and walked out the door. But his face and presence were so singular that anything he wore became formal attire. Before he arrived, everything in the room had felt like artificial stage scenery. Once he was there, Clara’s senses seemed to begin functioning. The crystal chandelier was too bright. The fragrance in the room was too strong. The person currently playing jester at Cecilia’s side was laughing too loudly. Every detail suddenly became real, taking up space in her mind and influencing her movements. Even her breathing felt unnatural, violating her usual rule of not caring. Clara picked up a drink and sipped from it slowly. Again and again, her gaze skimmed over the corner by the bar, touching down for barely an instant before moving away. She was very good at this. So far, no one had discovered where her eyes were truly drawn. Only then could she walk away from this shabby little show the moment it stopped being fun. But she did not want Sebastian Hale connected to her name in any way. In the edge of her vision, Sebastian’s sharply defined hand lowered the glass to the bar. He dipped his head slightly toward the young woman beside him, listening with quiet attention. He was usually distant in everything he did. Only now did he show a rare degree of focus. The woman looked vaguely familiar. Clara searched her memory and finally realized she had seen her in high school. Clara had attended Asterfield Academy for less than two years. Sebastian was two grades ahead, so they had only been at the school together for a single year. The woman speaking to him now had been in his class. Their families were probably close, and the two of them had often been seen together. Back then, Clara had casually asked Vincent about her. He had told her that the woman wasn’t Sebastian’s girlfriend. But her position was probably similar to Cecilia’s in Vincent’s life. Chosen by the family. Someone he would eventually marry. Clara had once asked Vincent whether he liked Cecilia. He had told her that liking or not liking her wasn’t important. Clara thought liking someone was still fairly important. Maybe that was why she would never become a tycoon or make a great fortune. The soft pastry suddenly became difficult to swallow. Only then did Clara notice the tightness in her throat. Still, she probably had time to get noodles at Uncle Chen’s. She set down the food and turned around. A person carrying a bowl of soup while looking back to talk walked straight into her. Normally, Clara would have dodged in time. Tonight, she was one step too slow. Thick tomato soup spilled over the white rose at her neckline and poured down the front of her dress. Clara was the one covered in soup, but the person who had spilled it screamed. Clara looked down. The color was actually rather beautiful. It reminded her of the moment drag queen Farida Kant poured red wine over a white wedding dress during a drag show, transforming the bride into a vampire. “I’m sorry…” The woman put down what she was holding and hurriedly pulled out tissues to wipe Clara’s dress. “Did you bring anything to change into?” The small commotion drew everyone’s attention. Clara had the vague sense that one of those gazes came from the bar. It struck her with the precision of lightning. She muttered that it was fine, turned, and hurried away toward the restroom. One look in the mirror was enough to confirm that the dress was beyond saving. The woman followed her in and stood anxiously to one side. “Do you want to change? I can go ask if there’s something you can wear…” “It’s fine. There’s no need.” Clara did not look at her. “Really, it’s okay.” “Then can I pay for the dry cleaning?” “Sure. Please let me be alone for a while.” “Okay…” The woman hesitated, but eventually left. Clara was washing her face when someone else walked in. The woman who had spilled soup on her had done it by accident. This one was clearly the leader of the group waiting to enjoy the show. The ringleader pretended to wash her hands while secretly studying Clara. Her voice carried a carefully measured amount of sympathy. “Are you okay?” “No.” Clara leaned closer to the mirror. “Look, I’m crying.” The woman stared at her. Apparently, this was not the brave, devastated reaction she had expected. “…Aren’t you upset?” “Of course I am. I look so pretty when I cry. I want to take pictures and post a crying carousel on Instagram.” The woman frowned, muttered, “You’re insane,” dried her hands, and left. Clara slipped out of the villa without drawing anyone’s attention. The rain was heavy enough that she regretted leaving as soon as she reached the gazebo. The rain in early spring was bitterly cold. If she stayed out in it, she would definitely get sick. She stepped into the gazebo and opened Uber. Rich people loved building their villas in the middle of nowhere, and there wasn’t a single Uber available anywhere nearby. She left the app searching and leaned back against one of the gazebo’s pillars. A soft crackling sound threaded through the rush of rain. She turned her head and listened. It came from the tree in the corner, one she couldn’t name. Its broad leaves looked like open hands, palms turned toward the sky. A shapeless, murky emotion had gathered inside her chest. She didn’t know what it was. It was simply heavy, like the leaden storm cloud overhead had settled into the place where her heart should have been. She had stopped trying to analyze her emotions a long time ago. Eventually, she seemed to have forgotten how. She exhaled, hoping to breathe the cloud out. It didn’t help. Ten minutes passed, and she still hadn’t found a ride. She scrolled to Vincent’s name in her contacts, then changed her mind. The proposal had been planned for eight. It was five past now. He had probably already proposed successfully and was taking pictures with Cecilia. Asking him for help at a moment like this would be rather inconsiderate. The app offered an option to pay extra for priority matching. Clara gritted her teeth and was about to select it when two headlights swept toward her. She couldn’t see through the glare and narrowed her eyes. The car came closer. When she finally realized whose car it was, her mind went blank for a second. The window lowered. A cool male voice passed through the rain and the rhythmic sweep of the windshield wipers, slightly blurred by the noise. “Do you need help, Miss Vale?” His tone was so flat that it barely qualified as a question. Clara’s first instinct was to raise an arm and cover the soup stain across her chest. Realizing how pointless that would be, she stopped herself. Her reactions were much slower than usual. She had never rehearsed for a situation like this. The little corner she had reserved for watching him from afar had suddenly been flooded with moonlight. The person hiding there could do nothing but freeze. Sebastian was not a particularly warmhearted person. At least, not from what Clara knew of him. Most of the time, he kept himself apart from everything. Once, another of her closest friends in the circle besides Vincent had mentioned the Hale family and casually remarked, “Don’t you ever get the feeling there’s something hollow about Sebastian?” Clara had answered silently in her head. But that was what made him so captivating. If she had managed to stir pity in a hollow man, then she must look truly pathetic. But she would rather he never see her at all than see her like this. The dark, rain-soaked world was submerged in a layer of gray-white mist. Through it, Clara stared at Sebastian. After a moment, she gave a soft laugh and said in a deliberately suggestive tone, “If you really want to help, then f**k with me.” She was offending him on purpose. He would think she was ridiculous and ungrateful, then drive away. Go. Hurry up. Stop looking at her. The hazard lights flashed in time with her heartbeat. After the fifth blink, Sebastian’s voice came again, utterly without emotion. “That was quite a joke, Miss Vale.”