Chapter 136: Klara

Isabella remained sitting on the edge of the plush leather sofa, her spine straight, fingers lightly resting over her knees.

The room around her was filled with the low hum of muffled chatter and distant clinking glasses, but the woman sitting across from her seemed to occupy all the space in her immediate vicinity.

"Sorry. That was rude," Klara said. She didn’t sound particularly apologetic. Her voice was smooth, heavy with a low, unbothered cadence that seemed to take up space without asking for permission. A brief pause hung in the air. "I get worse when I’m curious."

Isabella blinked, her hands settling slightly deeper into the fabric of her skirt. "It’s fine."

She wasn’t frightened, nor was she genuinely offended, just caught off guard by the sheer bluntness of it.

"Good," Klara said, the sound of her shifting posture rustling against the cushions. "I’d hate to waste a perfectly interesting woman on politeness." She leaned forward slightly, her tone dropping into something casual, almost friendly, though still completely dominant. "Klara Moretti. Matteo’s wife."

Isabella paused at the name. ’Matteo.’ She didn’t know a Matteo. She searched her memory for any mention Aaron might have made in the car, but nothing came up.

Before Isabella could offer a formal greeting in return, Klara leaned in a bit closer. Isabella felt the subtle shift in air pressure, the faint scent of sharp perfume and lingering tobacco smoke drifting across the small gap between them.

Klara stared at her face for a quiet second. "You smoke?"

"No," Isabella said automatically. "It’s bad for the lungs."

"That’s what they all say," Klara replied without missing a beat.

"I really don’t."

"My grandmother smoked for seventy-two years," Klara said, her tone as dry and matter-of-fact as if she were reading off a grocery list.

"Oh." Isabella hesitated. "That’s... impressive."

"Lived to be ninety-eight." ℯ

"I’m sorry for your loss," Isabella offered, trying to keep up with the absurd turn the conversation was taking.

"Don’t be. She died falling down the stairs," Klara said. "She was ninety-eight and hated everyone. It was probably the happiest day of her life."

Isabella opened her mouth, closed it, and found herself completely out of words. She could only sit there, her lips parted slightly, wondering if this woman was completely unhinged or simply enjoyed watching people struggle to process her words.

Klara didn’t wait for her to recover. She shifted again, propping her chin on her hand, her gaze locked onto Isabella with zero regard for personal boundaries.

"So," Klara began, her tone turning inquisitive. "Aaron."

Isabella’s shoulders stiffened just a fraction. "What about him?"

"Does he sleep?" Klara asked directly. "Does he ever actually laugh when no one is watching? Or does he just survive on black coffee and threats?"

Isabella felt a nervous bubble of laughter rise in her throat, though she forced it down. "He... eats... I think"

"Fascinating," Klara murmured, sounding genuinely intrigued. "Matteo says Aaron is private. That’s a polite word for emotionally constipated."

Isabella nearly choked on her own breath. She cleared her throat quickly, pressing a hand to her chest. "He just keeps to himself."

"He keeps everyone at a distance," Klara corrected easily. "Women follow him everywhere. Beautiful women. Bored women. Married women, occasionally... which is always entertaining because their husbands are usually standing three feet away pretending not to notice."

Isabella kept her head tilted, listening, her green eyes wide though unseeing. "And Aaron?"

"He chooses one. Maybe two. Keeps them around as... what do you call them over here? Friends with benefits?"

"Friends with benefits," Isabella repeated, her voice sounding small in her own ears.

"Ah, yes. That," Klara said with a wave of her hand. "And then they disappear."

"Disappear?"

"Not literally," Klara added after a deliberate beat. "Usually."

Isabella felt her skin prickle. "Usually?"

"They stop appearing at parties," Klara explained smoothly, leaning back. "They stop posting photographs. They stop telling people they know him. Sometimes they leave angry. Sometimes they leave heartbroken. Sometimes they leave with a watch worth more than my first apartment."

She paused, her eyes searching Isabella’s quiet face. "The point is, he has never brought anyone into the center of his life. Not like this."

The words lingered In the space between them, heavy and unexpected. Isabella felt her heart give a strange, uneven thud against her ribs.

"I expected you to be quieter," Klara admitted after a moment, studying her profile.

"I am quiet," Isabella said quietly.

"No. You’re restrained. There’s a difference," Klara countered. "I expected someone fragile."

Isabella let out a soft, breathy exhale, a small, subtle smile touching the edge of her lips. "People usually mistake what they can’t see for what isn’t there."

Klara let out a low, appreciative hum. "I’m beginning to notice." She stood up abruptly, the smooth movement rustling her dark dress. "Come outside with me."

Isabella hesitated, her hands tightening on her lap. "I should probably wait here."

"Why?"

"Aaron told me to stay put."

Klara stopped, letting out a short, meaningful sigh. "Ah. So you do everything he says?"

"No," Isabella snapped back instantly, her tone sharpening.

"You’re doing this one," Klara pointed out smoothly. "He asked you to sit still, and you’re sitting still like a good little girl."

Isabella’s jaw set tightly. The pride inside her, battered as it was, flared up at the challenge. "Fine. Let’s go."

Klara smiled, reaching out and gently touching Isabella’s elbow to guide her. "For the record, if I were an intruder, I would have killed you before the server finished bringing your water."

Isabella frowned as she let Klara lead her forward. "That is not reassuring."

"It wasn’t meant to be. It was meant to establish efficiency," Klara said, stepping around a cluster of guests. "Relax. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t waste time making conversation."

They walked through the grand hall toward the double doors leading out onto the upper terrace. Halfway there, Klara abruptly veered toward a passing server holding a silver tray laden with ice and wine.

"These two," Klara commanded, stepping directly into the man’s path.

The server froze, looking startled. "Madam?"

"You heard me," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument as she snatched two heavy, chilling glass bottles straight off the tray. "Take the empty ones back."

"The glasses—" the server stammered, reaching for the crystal stemware resting nearby.

"Are unnecessary," Klara cut in, already walking past him and pulling Isabella along.

Isabella listened to the server’s confused silence behind them and shook her head. "Did you just steal wine?"

"No. I liberated it from a room full of people who don’t deserve it," Klara replied carelessly, pushing open the heavy glass doors that led outside.

The cool night air hit Isabella instantly, sweeping away the stifling, perfume-heavy heat of the ballroom. She heard the faint, distant rustle of water below them, a lake or a large pool reflecting the estate’s sprawling lights. The cool stone of the balcony railing pressed against her hips as Klara guided her to stand beside it.

Klara set one of the bottles down on the ground with a dull thud, clicked open a lighter, and lit a fresh cigarette. She took a deep drag before picking up the first bottle, popping the top open with a practiced flick of her hand.

"Do you drink?" Klara asked, offering the cold bottle toward Isabella’s hands.