If I thought Clarissa looked furious when Edward rejected her in that room, nothing prepared me for the storm she unleashed afterward.
Edward and I barely made it home before my phone began buzzing nonstop not with messages to me, but with notifications of her meltdown. Social media posts. Cryptic stories. Half-coated insults aimed at an "older woman ruining the future of a good man."
Edward rolled his eyes as he tossed his jacket onto the couch.
"She's predictable," he muttered. "And loud."
But I saw something else.
A spark of obsession.
And obsession… was always dangerous.
The next day, Edward wakes before me.
He stands shirtless in my kitchen, running a hand through his messy hair while drinking coffee like he didn't just set his whole wealthy world on fire.
He turns when he hears me.
"Morning," he says, eyes softening the second they land on me.
I cross the kitchen and hug him from behind, pressing my face into his warm back.
He hums, satisfied, placing his hand over mine.
And then
His phone rings.
He doesn't want to answer.
But he already knows who it is.
He sighs and grabs it.
"Don't," I whisper. "Not today."
"I have to," he says quietly. "Otherwise she'll show up at the door."
He answers.
And I hear her.
Screaming.
"EDWARD! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!"
He steps away from me, rubbing his forehead. "Clarissa, calm down."
"CALM DOWN? After what you did yesterday? Do you know how humiliated I was? Do you know how many people have messaged me?"
"I'm not marrying you," he says simply.
"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO!" she shrieks.
"You were mine. Everyone knew it. We were raised knowing what our future would be!"
"No." His voice turns hard.
"You were raised expecting me. I was never raised wanting you."
She chokes on her breath. "How can you choose her? She's… she's"
"Say it," Edward dares.
Clarissa goes silent.
"You really want me to say it?" she whispers venomously.
"Fine. She's old. She's desperate. She's a lonely woman who clung to you because she knows no one wants her"
Edward hangs up.
Just like that.
He tosses his phone onto the counter with a look of pure disgust.
"She's losing it," he says.
"She lost the moment she started comparing herself to you."
But he was wrong.
Clarissa wasn't losing.
She was beginning.
Later that afternoon, Edward receives an email from his father's assistant.
Clarissa is at your office.
Refusing to leave.
Crying.
Shouting that she'll hurt herself if you don't talk to her.
Edward instantly grabs his keys.
"I'm going," he says.
"No," I step in front of him. "Let her cry. Let her embarrass herself."
"I can't risk her hurting herself," he argues. "Even if she's faking."
"She is faking," I tell him.
"She's manipulating you."
He hesitates.
But he still goes.
And I hate it.
I don't hate him.
I hate her.
And the way she knows exactly which strings to pull.
Edward later tells me everything.
He returns home exhausted, running both hands through his hair like he might rip it out.
"What did she do?" I ask.
He laughs bitterly. "What didn't she do?"
He sits heavily on the couch.
"She showed up in a white dress," he begins.
"The same one she wore at yesterday's meeting. Makeup smeared. Fake tears running down her face. She collapsed the moment she saw me."
I fold my arms. "Of course she did."
He nods.
"She said she couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. That her parents were disappointed. That everyone was calling her pathetic. She even tried hugging me."
I sit beside him. "Did you let her?"
"I stepped back."
His voice is sharp.
"She fell to the ground dramatically. Started screaming that I ruined her."
I close my eyes, frustrated.
"And then," he says, leaning forward with a groan, "she said she was pregnant."
My eyes snap open. "What?!"
"She isn't." He waves it off.
"She was just… testing how desperate I was."
"And what did you say?"
He smirks dryly.
"That I haven't touched her."
I burst into laughter.
He doesn't.
Because the next part wasn't funny.
"She suddenly changed. The crying stopped. She stood up straight. Stared at me like…"
He hesitates.
"Like what?" I ask.
"Like she was planning something."
Chills crawl down my spine.
That evening, Clarissa posts a picture of her and Edward from years ago.
At a charity event.
Before their parents' plan became official.
Her caption burns:
Some connections never die.
Some people are meant to be.
No matter who tries to stand in the way…
Thousands of comments appear instantly.
Supportive. Sympathetic. Pitying.
And blaming me.
Edward scrolls through them, jaw tight.
"She thinks this is a competition," he mutters.
"It is," I reply. "But not in the way she thinks."
He gives me a curious look.
"That girl is fighting for ownership," I say.
"I'm fighting for love."
He smiles and pulls me onto his lap.
"And love always wins," he murmurs against my neck.
I want to believe that.
I really do.
But Clarissa…
Clarissa wasn't playing fair.
The next morning, someone knocks on my door.
Edward is in the shower.
I open it.
And there she stands.
Clarissa.
Dressed in black this time.
Dark eyeliner.
Dark lipstick.
Dark energy.
Like she'd transformed overnight.
Her eyes drag over me slowly judgmentally.
"So this is where he runs to," she says.
My spine stiffens. "Why are you here?"
She steps inside without permission.
As if she owns my home.
My life.
My man.
"I'm here," she says, closing the door behind her,
"to tell you exactly how this ends."
I fold my arms, unimpressed. "By all means."
She stops in front of me, too close.
"He will get bored of you."
"He will wake up one day and want someone younger."
"Someone more appropriate."
"Someone with a future that matches his."
"Someone… like me."
I laugh.
Right in her face.
That throws her off.
"Edward chose me," I say simply.
"He loves me. He already turned you down in front of your families. You think showing up here is going to change that?"
Her jaw clenches.
"You don't understand," she whispers.
"He was supposed to be my husband."
"And yet," I reply calmly,
"he's in my shower."
Her face turns red rage, humiliation, obsession.
"This isn't over," she hisses.
"I always get what I want."
She turns and leaves.
Her perfume lingers behind her.
Expensive.
Strong.
And desperate.
Edward steps out from the hallway, hair wet, towel around his waist.
"Who was that?" he asks.
I look him dead in the eye.
"Clarissa."
He freezes.
I walk toward him.
"She's not just upset anymore," I whisper.
"She's obsessed."