Chapter 10 :The Confession
1133 Words
Clara’s POV
I brace myself for silence the next morning, certain I’ve overstepped some line I can’t come back from, snapping at him in the middle of the lobby like that.
Priya catches me the second I step off the elevator, her expression somewhere between concerned and curious. “How’s your mom?
And also, what happened last night? Security said you and Damian had some kind of scene in the lobby.”
“She’s stable.
And it wasn’t a scene, Priya, I just—” I stop myself, rubbing my temples, too exhausted to fully explain something I don’t understand myself yet. “It’s fine. I’ll tell you later.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t push, though her eyes stay on me a beat too long as I head toward Damian’s office, coffee in hand, bracing myself for whatever conversation is waiting.
“Good morning.” I set his coffee down on the corner of his desk, keeping my eyes fixed anywhere but his face.
“Clara.”
He looks up from his monitor immediately, something careful in his expression. “How’s your mother?”
“Stable. They kept her overnight, but she’s recovering.” I busy myself straightening a stack of files that don’t actually need straightening. “Thank you for asking.”
“I’m glad she’s okay.”
A pause stretches between us, heavier than it should be for a simple morning greeting. “Clara, about yesterday—”
“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. In the lobby.” I force myself to meet his eyes now, bracing for whatever reprimand is coming. “It was unprofessional. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s not what I want to talk about.”
He stands, coming around his desk, closing his office door with a quiet click that makes my pulse jump. “I wasn’t offering to pay for your mother’s care out of pity, Clara. I need you to understand that.”
“Then what was it?” My voice comes out smaller than I intend, some of yesterday’s fear still clinging to the edges of it.
“I don’t know how to watch you carry everything alone anymore.” He says it plainly, no hedging, no careful corporate distance, and something in the bluntness of it catches me completely off guard. “Six years, and I never once knew about your mother’s condition, about the money, about any of it. That’s not because you couldn’t tell me. It’s because you decided I didn’t need to know.”
“You’re my boss. Why would you need to know?”
“Because I care about you.”
He says it simply, like it costs him nothing, though I can see exactly how much it costs him in the way his jaw tightens right after. “More than I probably should. More than I’ve let myself admit, even to myself, until recently.”
“You can’t say things like that to me.” My voice comes out unsteady, half warning, half something far more dangerous than warning. “It isn’t fair, Damian. Not to me, and not to Vanessa.”
“I know.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration and something rawer bleeding through the careful control he usually wears so easily. “I’ve told myself that exact thing every single day for weeks now. It hasn’t stopped being true.”
“Then what do you want from me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Because I can’t keep doing this, whatever this is. Going back and forth between boss and something else I don’t have a name for.”
“I don’t know what I want.” He says it honestly, almost helplessly, an admission I don’t think he’s used to making out loud. “I only know that the idea of you actually leaving, for good, terrifies me more than anything else has in years.”
Something in my chest goes very still, very quiet, like the entire room has narrowed down to just the space between us.
“I’m tired,” I say finally, the truth slipping out before I can stop it. “I’m tired of being the person everyone relies on and no one actually chooses. My mother needs me. My sister needs me. You need me, professionally, for six years running. But nobody’s ever just wanted me. Not for me.”
“Clara—”
“I don’t say that to make you feel guilty.” I press my palms against my eyes for a second, exhaustion finally cracking through six years of careful composure. “I say it because it’s true, and I’ve never said it out loud to anyone before, and I don’t fully understand why I’m saying it to you right now of all people.”
“Maybe because some part of you already knows I’d actually listen.” His voice comes out low, rough, closer than it was a moment ago.
“That’s the problem.” I laugh, though there’s no humor in it at all, just exhaustion and something more fragile underneath. “You listening to me feels more dangerous than you not listening ever did. At least when you weren’t paying attention, I knew exactly where I stood.”
“And where do you stand now?” His question comes out quiet, careful, like he’s genuinely uncertain of the answer himself.
“I don’t know anymore.” I shake my head, frustration and longing tangled together so tightly I can’t separate one from the other. “That’s exactly the problem, Damian.”
“Damian.” I look up at him, and whatever’s written across my face in this moment, I don’t have the energy left to hide it. “You’re getting married in four months.”
“I know what I am.” Something flickers across his face, guilt maybe, or fear, or both at once. “I don’t know what to do with any of this. I’ve never—”
He stops himself, jaw tightening, and I watch him physically retreat behind the careful control he wears like armor every single day.
For a second I think that’s the end of it, that whatever almost surfaced between us just now has already been swallowed back down.
“I don’t want you to leave, Clara.” He says it quiet and almost involuntary, like the words cost him something enormous to let out. “Not the company.”
I wait, my heart hammering so loud I’m certain he can hear it, certain that whatever comes next is going to change something between us that can’t ever be changed back.
“Me.” His eyes hold mine, steady despite the raw uncertainty underneath. “I don’t want you to leave me.”
- Writer
