𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓪

It'd been four days since I'd last spoken to or seen any of the two. I spent my days with Violet and/or working. I spent it cleaning the house. I spent it baking and trying new recipes, remembering Mini as I did.

I refused to respond to Maverick's messages. He sent me one every couple of hours every day - checking on me, asking if I was okay, apologizing, and talking to me about Owen.

"I don't know what that man is to you, but you have to listen to me. He's no good. Please answer me, Clara."

Could I simply unravel those threads on the word of another? On suspicions that had no solid ground?

I continued to ponder over every interaction, every smile, every touch. Was it all a facade? A carefully constructed lie?

Maverick's warnings clashed with the recollections of Owen's kindness. I was caught in the middle, extremely confused with it all.

I took a walk shortly after dropping Violet off at school. The February air was cold, a frosting of snow of the ground. I remembered how close Valentine's Day was in that moment - Wednesday - and thought about Violet and Dominic. He was away in Paris, and Violet was stuck here to spend her first Valentine's Day alone.

I couldn't help but sympathize with her.

As I rounded the corner towards the park, remembering the encounter I had just a few days before, I saw Owen sitting on a bench, his helmet beside him. He wasn't doing anything, just tapping a foot on the concrete path and staring across the park.

My heart skipped a beat, not out of affection, but a sudden surge of anxiety.

He looked up, a smile spread across his lips. "Clara," he called out, his voice smooth.

I approached cautiously, my mind racing as I thought about Maverick's accusations and the memories of Owen's kindness.

Which was the truth? Which was the lie?

He stood, his smile was warm, but I couldn't shake off the chill that settled in my gut.

"How are you?" He asked, his voice holding a slight edge.

I managed a small smile. "I've been... good." I kept a cautious distance.

Owen nodded, "I've been worried about you."

My heart raced, Maverick's words echoing in my mind. "You're scared of him."

Was I?

Owen's expression shifted ever so slightly. "Maverick, was it? He's been filling your head with nonsense," he said dismissively, as if he could read my mind.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came. I didn't know what to say.

Owen laughed, "he's just jealous, Clara. Can't you see that?"

"I... I don't know," I said.

He stepped closer. I took one back, noticing my hands had begun to shake.

Owen’s eyes bore into mine, and I wondered how much he could see - the turmoil, the doubt, the fear.

“Clara,” he repeated, as if testing the syllables on his tongue. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

I nodded slowly, my throat dry. “I needed time to think.”

His smile widened, "And?”

The snow crunched under my shoes as I took another step back. Maverick’s words echoed like a haunting refrain.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I don’t know who to believe.”

He stepped closer, and I retreated until my back pressed against a tree trunk. His eyes held mine, and for a moment, I glimpsed something darker beneath the warmth.

“Clara,” Owen murmured, his lips brushing my ear. I closed my eyes. "Have I ever been mean to you? Hurt you...? No. Maverick is trying to get rid of me. He's jealous."

Snow fell softly, covering the ground like a white veil. And as Owen’s lips brushed mine, I didn't move, I didn't fight, and I was transported back into that small dark room at the orphanage.

This is my job.

I let Owen press me into the tree and kiss me.