Episode 9- Confused Heart
717 Words
Her heart was still echoing from the kiss — a phantom warmth that refused to fade.
Even after Alexander left the car, Clara could still feel the ghost of his lips on hers.
Inside the penthouse, everything was cool, silent, pristine — and yet her thoughts were chaos.
Did he love me? Or did he want revenge?
The questions spun like a storm in her chest. Could a man like Alexander Steele — cold, merciless, untouchable — ever love someone like her? The idea felt foolish… and dangerously intoxicating.
Her phone chimed. Mira.
> “Hey girl, it’s been ages. Let’s go out. Drinks, dancing — you need to breathe.”
For a heartbeat, Clara hesitated. Then she thought of laughter, freedom, a moment where no one whispered mafia’s wife behind her back.
But another thought slid in — quiet, sharp.
If I’m his wife, even for six months… shouldn’t I look like it?
Not to impress him.
Just to step into the role. To look like a woman no one could humiliate again.
She opened her wardrobe. The same faded clothes — hand-me-downs, cheap fabric, the scent of old memories she wished she could forget.
Then she picked up the black card Alexander had given her. It gleamed between her fingers like a promise — or a temptation.
Five boutiques. Ten cars, she thought, lips curving. Use it. Enjoy it. Before the six months end — or before he decides you’re no longer useful.
---
She met Mira at a boutique that screamed luxury — marble floors, mirrored walls, dresses that looked like dreams stitched in silk. The salesman’s smile widened the moment he saw the card in Clara’s hand. Tonight, she wasn’t a girl from a broken home. She was Mrs. Steele.
A black jacket caught her attention. Structured shoulders. Sleek collar. Power.
She paired it with a fitted top, short skirt, long boots, and a tilted hat.
When she looked in the mirror, she almost didn’t recognize herself.
The reflection staring back wasn’t timid.
She was bold. Fearless. Unapologetic.
> “You look like you walked straight out of a movie,” Mira grinned.
“Like the real mafia boss’s wife.”
Clara smiled, a real smile — maybe the first in a long time. She paid for everything without blinking. Each swipe of the card felt like shedding her old skin.
---
Then she heard that voice.
> “Well, well. If it isn’t the ugly duckling trying to play swan.”
Lissa.
Glossy hair, painted lips, and that same poisonous smirk that had haunted Clara through school.
She stood with two bulky guards, her tone dipped in mockery.
> “People like you shouldn’t be in places like this,” she sneered. “Try the thrift store next time.”
Heat flared under Clara’s skin, but this time, the pain didn’t burn — it sharpened.
She heard Alexander’s voice in her head:
> ‘Never show weakness. Weakness invites cruelty.’
So she didn’t.
She lifted her chin, met Lissa’s gaze, and let silence do the work.
Lissa frowned, thrown off by Clara’s calm.
> “What? No comeback? No tears?”
Clara didn’t answer.
She moved to leave.
But one of Lissa’s men stepped in front of her.
> “You think you can walk away?” he growled.
Clara’s hand moved before her mind caught up —
Slap.
Once.
Then again.
The boutique went still. Lissa staggered back, eyes wide, palm pressed to her burning cheek.
> “Don’t you dare touch me again,” Clara said, voice steady and cold.
Mira grinned behind her.
> “That’s my girl.”
Lissa’s guards tensed.
> “Hold her down,” one of them barked.
Everything slowed.
The air smelled of expensive perfume and tension. The shoppers’ whispers turned into echoes.
And then—
A voice.
Low. Calm. Deadly.
> “Stop.”
The sound cut through the air like a blade.
Every head turned.
Even Lissa’s men froze mid-step, eyes wide with sudden fear.
Because standing at the doorway — his black suit cutting through the light like sin itself —
was Alexander Steele.
His eyes found Clara.
Unblinking. Possessive. Burning.
And with one simple glance, everyone in that boutique understood —
The devil had come to collect what was his.
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