Chapter 10 - The Ghost of the PastThe crisp evening air of spring carried the faint scent of blooming jasmine as I walked through the grand glass doors of the gala, my hand resting lightly on the arm of Marcus Thorne, a brilliant tech entrepreneur and our newest strategic partner. Marcus was everything Julian had never been: sharp, emotionally mature, fiercely supportive, and successful in his own right.
"You look breathtaking tonight, Clara," Marcus murmured, leaning down slightly so his voice only reached my ears. "Though I suspect you know that already."
I smiled, a genuine, effortless smile. "Confidence looks good on everyone, Marcus, especially when they’ve earned every single inch of it."
As we moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations from senior executives and industry peers, a sudden commotion near the outer security gates cut through the ambient chatter.
I paused, turning my head slightly toward the entrance.
Two private security guards were currently blocking a ragged, desperate figure trying to force his way past the velvet ropes. Even under the dim amber glow of the walkway lights, the silhouette was unmistakably wretched. It was Julian.
He had lost weight—too much weight. His once-tailored designer suits were now baggy, thrift-store approximations that hung off his skeletal frame like a costume on a scarecrow. His hair was graying rapidly at the temples, unwashed and unstyled, and his eyes darted around with the paranoid franticness of a cornered animal.
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"Let me in! I know the owner! I used to live here! Clara! Clara, please, just let me talk to you for two minutes!" Julian shrieked, thrashing against the guards as they easily subdued him.
The sophisticated crowd froze. Conversations died out instantly. Dozens of pairs of judgmental eyes turned toward the gate, watching the pathetic spectacle unfold with cold detachment.
