Clara didn't confront Dylan immediately.
That was the first mistake.
The photograph stayed hidden beneath her mattress, pressed flat between the pages of a book she hadn't opened since moving into the penthouse. She told herself it didn't matter. That the image was old. That it proved nothing.
But images had power.
And this one crept into every quiet moment.
Dylan noticed the change before she said a word.
She was quieter. More distant. The ease that had begun to grow between them vanished overnight, replaced by something brittle and guarded.
"You're avoiding me," he said finally, stopping her in the hallway.
"I'm busy," Clara replied, not meeting his eyes.
"That's not an answer."
She looked at him then, really looked—and wondered how she hadn't seen it sooner.
"How long were you with Vanessa?" she asked.
The question landed wrong.
Dylan stiffened. "Why?"
"Just answer."
He studied her carefully. "Years."
Her chest tightened. "And why did it end?"
He hesitated.
That hesitation did more damage than any lie.
"Because it stopped being useful," he said at last.
Clara felt something inside her fracture.
"Useful," she repeated softly.
"That's not what you think," Dylan said quickly.
"Isn't it?" she asked. "Because that's exactly how you talk about everything else."
He exhaled sharply. "What is this really about?"
She didn't answer.
Not yet.
The breaking point came later that evening.
A private meeting.
No press.
No audience.
Just truth.
Or so Clara thought.
She entered Dylan's office unannounced and froze.
Vanessa was already there.
Standing far too close.
Laughing too softly.
Something in Clara's chest went cold.
"Oh," Vanessa said brightly. "You're home."
Dylan straightened immediately. "This is a business discussion."
Clara closed the door behind her.
"Then include me," she said. "I'm your wife."
Vanessa smiled thinly. "Are you?"
Clara ignored her and looked at Dylan. "Why is she here?"
He didn't answer fast enough.
"She's helping with damage control," Vanessa said smoothly. "The article from last week rattled some investors."
"So the woman attacking me is now protecting you?" Clara asked.
Dylan's jaw tightened. "This isn't the time."
"When is?" Clara shot back. "Because I'm done pretending this doesn't matter."
Vanessa crossed her arms. "You're emotional."
Clara laughed sharply. "And you're desperate."
Vanessa's eyes flashed.
"Careful," Dylan warned.
Clara turned on him. "No. You be careful."
She reached into her bag and pulled out the envelope.
The photograph slid onto the desk.
Silence slammed into the room.
Dylan stared at it.
Then at Vanessa.
"Where did this come from?" he asked slowly.
Vanessa smiled faintly. "Memories."
Clara's voice trembled despite her effort to stay steady. "She sent it to me."
Dylan's gaze snapped back to her. "Why?"
Vanessa tilted her head. "I thought she deserved the truth."
"What truth?" Clara demanded. "That you loved him?"
"That he still does," Vanessa replied calmly.
The words struck like a blade.
Dylan moved instantly. "That's enough."
"No," Clara said, her heart pounding. "I want to hear this."
Vanessa leaned back against the desk. "Dylan doesn't fall in love easily. When he does, it's because it benefits him."
Clara turned to Dylan. "Is that true?"
He didn't answer.
That silence was the betrayal.
"You told me people were liabilities," Clara whispered. "Was I one too?"
Dylan's voice was low. "This isn't how I wanted you to find out."
Her blood turned cold. "Find out what?"
He closed his eyes briefly.
"That this marriage wasn't just about public image."
Clara felt dizzy. "Then what was it about?"
Vanessa smiled.
"Control," she said.
Clara's breath caught.
Vanessa continued, "The board needed stability. A wife who wouldn't challenge him. Someone expendable."
Expendable.
Clara's vision blurred.
She looked at Dylan one last time. "Tell me she's lying."
The silence stretched.
Then he spoke.
"I needed this marriage to secure my position," he said quietly. "I didn't expect—"
Her hand flew up.
"Don't," Clara said, her voice breaking. "Don't explain this."
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
"You used me," she said. "From the beginning."
"That's not—"
"You knew exactly what you were doing," she interrupted. "You let me walk into this blind."
Vanessa watched with satisfaction.
Clara laughed softly, shakily. "Congratulations."
She turned to Vanessa. "You win."
Vanessa's smile faltered. "I didn't say that."
Clara ignored her and faced Dylan.
"I want out."
Dylan stiffened. "You can't."
"I don't care," Clara replied. "I'd rather lose everything than stay another second in this lie."
"You don't understand what you're risking," he said sharply.
"I understand perfectly," she said. "I'm risking you."
The words landed hard.
Dylan stepped toward her. "Clara—"
She backed away.
"Don't touch me."
The command shocked them both.
She turned and walked out without looking back.
Clara packed that night.
Not everything.
Just what mattered.
The penthouse felt colder than ever.
Her phone buzzed.
Dylan.
She ignored it.
Then another.
And another.
She shut the phone off completely.
For the first time since signing the contract, she felt strangely light.
Broken—but free.
She paused at the door, her hand resting on the handle.
This was it.
She whispered goodbye to the woman she had been when she arrived.
Then she walked away.
Dylan stood alone in his office long after she left.
The photograph still lay on his desk.
Proof.
Not of love.
But of loss.
Vanessa stepped beside him. "You handled that poorly."
He didn't look at her.
"She was never supposed to leave," he said.
Vanessa smiled slowly. "Then you shouldn't have made her disposable."
His jaw tightened.
For the first time, the truth hit him fully.
The contract hadn't protected him.
It had cost him the one thing he hadn't planned for.
Her.