Chapter 5 - The Confrontation
The rain in Oregon was relentless, a torrential downpour that matched the storm brewing in Julian’s chest. He pulled the rented black SUV up to the curb outside Elias's gallery. Through the rain-streaked window, he saw her.
Clara was standing behind a modest wooden counter, wrapping a framed photograph in brown paper for a customer. She looked so beautifully ordinary.
Julian killed the engine, stepped out into the freezing rain without a jacket, and pushed open the door to the gallery. A small bell chimed.
Clara looked up. The customer took his wrapped frame and hurried out the door, sensing the sudden, suffocating drop in atmospheric pressure.
The color completely drained from Clara’s face. She gripped the edge of the wooden counter, her knuckles turning white.
"Julian."
"You didn't leave a forwarding address," he said. His voice was meant to sound commanding, but it cracked on the final syllable.
"That was the point," she replied, her voice trembling but resolute. "How did you find me?"
"I own a data analytics empire, Clara. You can't just vanish." Julian stepped closer, his expensive shoes leaving wet tracks on the worn hardwood floor. "Come home. Whatever this is—a midlife crisis, a breakdown—we can fix it. I brought the papers. We can tear them up."
Clara looked at him, truly looked at him. He was wearing a four-thousand-dollar suit, shivering in the cold, looking at her as if she were a rogue line of code he just needed to debug.
"I am home, Julian," she said softly.
May you like
"This?" He gestured angrily at the leaky roof and the dusty frames. "You belong in San Francisco. You belong with me."
"I belonged with the boy who built servers in a garage," Clara said, tears finally spilling over her lashes. "I don't know the billionaire who showed up in my gallery today. And I don't want to know him."
