When Clara reached Elena’s apartment, she didn’t knock.

Her hands were trembling—numb from the cold, stiff from the tension knotted through her veins like steel wires. The brass key she kept on a thin chain around her neck felt unusually heavy now, like a burden instead of a lifeline. Her fingers fumbled, but muscle memory did the rest. The lock clicked open, and she stepped inside quietly.

The door shut behind her with a soft click, muffling the noise of the outside world—the honks, the wind, the echo of her own heartbeat thudding in her ears. The apartment welcomed her with a cocoon of warmth, a heady mix of garlic, simmering tomatoes, and fresh basil. It was the scent of Elena’s cooking, of familiarity, of safety.

But Clara felt none of it.

She stood just inside the doorway, her coat hanging open like she’d forgotten it was still on, her blouse creased and half-untucked, her hair mussed from the wind and stress. Her heels hung from one hand, forgotten. Her face was pale, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something darker—shock. Shame. Maybe both.

She didn’t move.

Footsteps slapped against the hardwood—rushed, uneven, frantic.

“Clara?” Elena’s voice came from the kitchen, sharp with alarm.

A second later, she appeared in the archway—wearing a stained apron, her curls pinned up in a messy twist, a wooden spoon dripping red sauce still clenched in one hand. The color drained from her face as she saw Clara frozen in the hallway.

“Jesus,” Elena breathed. She took in the wrinkled clothes, the ashen face, the vacant stare. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Clara didn’t answer. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her lips moved around phantom words she hadn’t yet found the strength to say.

Elena’s worry deepened. She stepped closer, lowering the spoon as if she were afraid to startle her. “Clara, talk to me.”

“It was him.”

Her voice was raw, cracked at the edges like thin ice over water.

Elena blinked. “Who?”

Clara looked past her, as if seeing something not in the room—something still haunting her. “The man from the club. The one from that night.”

There was a beat of silence.

“…The one who left the check?” Elena asked carefully.

Clara nodded once. Her breath trembled in her chest. “He’s the owner. Wolfe Enterprises. He… he owns the whole damn company. I walked into that interview thinking it was just another small firm. But when I sat down…” She shook her head, her voice breaking. “It was him. Nicholas Wolfe.”

Elena’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.”

Elena gaped. “Wait, so he—he knew? He remembered?”

“Oh, he remembered,” Clara said bitterly. “He just pretended not to. Or maybe he wished he didn’t.” Her hands trembled as she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the envelope. The official Wolfe Enterprises letterhead gleamed under the hallway light. “He gave me the job. After calling me a manipulator. After accusing me of targeting him on purpose.”

Elena’s face went cold. “He said that?”

“He thought I knew who he was all along. That I planned it. That I slept with him to… to climb some corporate ladder.” Her voice cracked on the last word. “I didn’t even know his name, Elena.”

“And he still gave you the job?” Elena asked, incredulous. “After calling you all that?”

Clara let the envelope fall to the floor. It landed with a dull thud.

“I don’t get it,” she whispered. “Why offer me the job if he thinks I’m a liar? Why bring me into his world if he wants me gone?”

Elena stared at her for a moment, then slowly guided her to the couch. “Come here. Sit.”

She wrapped a blanket around Clara’s shoulders, warm and smelling faintly of cinnamon and detergent. Clara clutched it like armor, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Do you think… he’s doing this to punish me?” Clara asked. “I humiliated him, right? He’s used to control. Power. Maybe he wants to keep me close just so he can—”

“No.” Elena cut her off, her voice low and sharp. “Don’t you dare let him twist this in your mind. You didn’t manipulate anyone. You didn’t know who he was. He’s the one who’s playing games.”

Clara’s eyes brimmed. “But I took the check. I cashed it.”

“You took it because your sister needed to stay alive. That doesn’t make you dirty. It makes you human.”

Clara whispered, “It makes me desperate.”

“So what?” Elena snapped, softer this time. “Desperation isn’t a crime. If it were, half this city would be behind bars. You took care of your family, Clara. That’s more than most people would’ve done.”

“I still feel like I owe him something.”

“No,” Elena said firmly. “He slept with you. He left money on a table like you were for sale. Then he let you walk into that interview blind just to see you squirm. And now he’s pretending you’re just another employee?”

Clara’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He didn’t even look at me today. Like I wasn’t there.”

“Good. That means you’re getting under his skin. He doesn’t know what to do with you, so he’s doing the only thing cowards do when they’re confused—they lash out and pretend they’re in control.”

A pause.

Then, quietly, Clara said, “I’m scared, Elena.”

Elena looked at her for a long moment.

“I know,” she said finally. “But you’ve been scared before. You faced chemo wards with Lily. You’ve faced bank notices and rejection letters, and customers screaming in your face. You didn’t run then.”

“This feels different.”

“It is,” Elena said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re any less strong.”

Silence stretched between them.

“I have to go back Monday,” Clara said, wiping under her eyes.

“Then we use the weekend to get you ready,” Elena replied, her voice steady. “You’ll walk in there like you belong in that damn building. Head high, lips glossed, shoes that stab.”

Clara gave a weak laugh. “You sound like you’re planning a war.”

“I am. You think wolves scare me?” Elena’s eyes glinted. “Let him play his mind games. We’ll play smarter.”

Clara nodded slowly, but her mind was still churning—replaying every detail. His cold stare. The way the room shifted when he entered. The subtle way people responded to his presence—as if fear were an unspoken language, they all understood.

Something about it all didn’t sit right.

And then there was the job offer.

Why would he hire her at all?

What was he really planning?

Because Clara was starting to realize something—this wasn’t just business.

And Nicholas Wolfe?

He wasn’t done with her yet.