Chapter 7 - A Night of Truth
Autumn turned crisp. That evening, Julian asked Clara to join him for dinner—not in the cavernous, intimidating ballroom, but in the small breakfast nook overlooking the gardens.
For the first time, Clara wore a simple, elegant dark blue sweater instead of her uniform. The sight of her relaxed, her hair falling naturally around her shoulders, made Julian pause at the doorway.
"You look beautiful," he said simply.
Clara blushed, looking at the candle flickering between them. "I still don't know how to act, Julian. A week ago, I was collecting your laundry. Now you serve me soup."
Julian laughed softly, pouring her sparkling apple cider. "Titles and stations are accidents of birth, Clara. Character is what we build. That night at the lake... when I had that severe reaction to the medication... you didn't see Julian Vance, CEO. You saw a sick, frightened man, and you held my hand until the fever broke."
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Clara met his gaze, her hazel eyes glistening with honesty. "I saw someone who was terribly lonely in a house full of people."
Julian touched her fingers on the tablecloth. "I was. Until you stayed."
