Chapter 275 Are you done performing?

Chapter 275: Chapter 275 Are you done performing?

Clara’s POV

Meanwhile.

I sat in the car outside Ethan’s villa, staring at the darkened windows.

The night had been long. I’d spent hours at Julian Cross’s side, smiling through endless toasts and tedious business talk, playing the perfect companion. When I’d finally dropped him off at his hotel, exhaustion had settled into my bones.

I should’ve gone straight home.

But Sophie had called earlier, her voice tight with worry. "He’s hurt, Clara. He won’t talk to anyone. He’s just... sitting there."

I couldn’t ignore that.

No matter what had happened between us, no matter how many times I told myself I was done waiting, done hoping—I still cared.

And now that I had connected with Julian, now that I had real power backing me... maybe things could be different.

Maybe we could finally stop pretending. Maybe the Old Guard would have no choice but to accept me.

Maybe Ethan and I could finally be recognized as true mates.

After all, we’d already completed the Mark. The bond was there—I could still feel the faint pull of it, like a thread connecting us even when we were apart. That had to mean something. That had to be worth fighting for.

I stepped out of the car and walked up to the front door, my heels clicking softly against the stone pathway.

The first password I tried didn’t work.

I frowned and tried again.

*Invalid.*

My chest tightened.

He’d changed the locks.

Already.

Anger flared hot and bitter in my throat. I jabbed at the doorbell, then pulled out my phone and called him. The line rang and rang, but no one picked up.

I pressed the doorbell again. And again.

For half an hour, I stood there in the cold, my breath misting in the night air, my fingers going numb.

My wolf whimpered softly inside me, restless and confused. She could sense him nearby—could feel the Mark we shared—but the distance between us felt wrong. Unnatural.

Finally, I turned to leave.

That’s when the door opened.

"What are you doing here?"

Ethan stood in the doorway, wrapped in an oversized black sweater that hung off his frame like he’d lost weight. His hair was a mess, his face gaunt and shadowed. The bandage on his head was slightly askew, and the bruises on his face had faded to a sickly yellow-green.

He limped as he moved, his gait uneven and slow.

And the smell—God, the smell of alcohol rolling off him was overwhelming, masking his natural cedar scent almost completely.

"You’ve been drinking?" I asked, stepping inside before he could stop me.

He didn’t answer. He just turned and limped back into the house, his shoulders hunched, his back no longer straight and proud.

The place was a disaster.

Empty bottles littered the floor. Takeout containers were scattered across the counters. The air was stale and thick.

I followed him into the dining area, where he dropped heavily into a chair at the bar.

"Ethan, what happened to you..." My voice came out softer than I intended.

When I’d left, he’d been cold, yes.

Determined to divorce. But he’d still been *himself*—controlled, composed, put-together.

Now he looked like a man who’d given up.

"When are we signing the papers?" His voice was slurred, detached. He reached for another bottle without even looking at me.

My stomach dropped.

"Is that really all you have to say to me?" I demanded. "Sophie told me you were hurt. I was *worried* about you. I came here to see if you were okay!"

"Yeah. Thanks to you, I’m still breathing." His laugh was bitter, hollow. He lifted the bottle to his lips.

"Why are you doing this?" I snapped, snatching the bottle out of his hand.

"So what if the Pack’s struggling? So what if Rose won’t give you the money? We can rebuild. We don’t need her. We don’t need *any* of them."

I thought that was what this was about. The money. The pressure.

But Ethan didn’t even react. He just stood, swaying slightly, and shuffled toward the fridge to grab another beer.

I stepped in front of him and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind.

"Ethan... I mean it. I don’t want to lose you."

My voice cracked.

"Even if Aria doesn’t want you anymore. You still have me. You still have Marcus."

I pressed my forehead against his back, my words tumbling out in a desperate rush.

"You promised me once, remember? You told me you’d never leave. I know marriage is hard. I know the Pack doesn’t accept us yet. But we’re bonded, Ethan. We Marked each other. That’s supposed to mean something. Please... don’t give up on us. Not like this."

I hated how small I sounded. How pathetic.

But ten years. Ten years of my life, I’d given to this man. We’d completed the Mark in secret, built a family together.

I wasn’t about to let it all go to waste.

"Clara."

His voice was cold. Flat.

"Are you done performing?"

I froze.

He pulled my arms off him and stepped back, turning to face me.

The look in his eyes—it was empty. Hollow. Like looking into a frozen lake with nothing beneath the surface.

"Ethan... are you seriously questioning my feelings right now?" My voice shook. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. "After everything I’ve done for you—we’re *Marked*, for goddess’s sake!"

"You’re not her."

The words hit me like a slap.

"What?" I whispered.

"I said, you’ve been lying to me for ten years. I think the performance is over, don’t you?"