Chapter 42

Clara's POV

I needed a solution to get me out of this, even if I had to go against Layla. The only thing I had was this job, and I would lose it if things continued to spiral out of control. For now, until I could figure out what I needed to do, the plan was to avoid Tristan. It was no longer safe for me to be seen with him anywhere in public, not with these speculations circling. The last thing I needed was to confirm it.

I returned to the venue to help out with any finishing touches.

It was nearly my lunch hour, and all the preparations for the event were ready for tonight.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I looked at my phone to see Layla's call. Experience tells me she would keep calling me if I didn't answer.

I excused myself from the venue, taking the call outside.

"Hello," I answered my phone in a whisper.

"Clara," Layla answered enthusiastically. "You have no idea what a weekend I just had. I was bedridden for the last two days. I suffered a terrible heart attack. " She said in distress.

"You had a heart attack?" I repeated. "How are you feeling now?" I asked.

"No, sweetheart," she laughed. "That's just what I told my son to get him to stay with me right next to my bed through the weekend." She answered. I sighed in relief. Why didn't I see this coming? Of course, Layla would do something like that. If she could help me fake a pregnancy, she could simulate a heart attack.

"Don't you think that was a bit too far?" I asked.

"It was the only thing I could do to try and keep Derek away from his phone. The last thing I needed was for Madison to call him and pick wedding venues." She answered.

That would explain why he didn't answer.

"You do realise that one day you might get a heart attack, and your son won't be on your deathbed to see you," I commented.

"I'll have an actual heart attack if he ends up marrying her. Either way, it's worth the risk." She answered. She let out a sigh. "Even while I was lying there pretending to be dying, he still wouldn't tell me why he was marrying her. I tried every trick, but it didn't work. I think that witch has something on him." She concluded.

I sighed again. All drained me of this. I had done enough scheming to last me a lifetime. I'm starting to think that maybe the truth won't be so bad after all.

"I have a plan, and I know how I'll get rid of Madison." She said.

She heard me groan in protest.

"All you have to do is show up at a restaurant and spoil yourself for an hour. You won't have to lift a finger," she explained.

I couldn't help but wonder what the trick was.

"I can't miss any more work hours," I protested.

"You won't have to, and it will all be during your lunch hour." She explained. "I've sent one of my guys to give you a dress, and my driver is coming to pick you up in a few minutes." She spoke.

"What are you planning?" I asked. I couldn't help but be curious.

"I appreciate everything you are doing to make this work. I just thought I might spoil you for a little bit." She answered. I could almost hear the smile in her voice.

We said our goodbyes as I returned my phone to my pocket. I was already in my lunch hour.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Excuse me, Ms.," a man greeted me. He handed me a shopping bag. "I was instructed to give this to you." He smiled.

I returned a smile as I accepted the bag from him. "A silver Mercedes is waiting for you outside when you are done." He added. He bowed politely before walking away.

I searched through the bag as I walked to the bathroom and found an off-shoulder satin dress with a flared hem. It was gorgeous. Along with the dress, there was a pair of black stilettos, just my size.

The shoes were to die for. Layla wasn't doing this to 'spoil' me, and she was planning something.

I locked myself inside a bathroom stool and began changing into the dress and the heels.

Having finished, I walked out of the bathroom stool to the mirror to see my reflection.

I decided to loosen my hair. Since I was already dolled up like this, I might as well go full out.

Today, I didn't need to remove myself from the staff. The dress I was wearing seemed to be camouflage enough. No one expected to see me in a dress like this one.

The car that the man had instructed me to use was right in front of the building. A man sprang out of the driver's seat when he saw me opening the door.

I smiled at the driver as I stepped into the back seat. This was way more luxury than I was used to in a day.

The drive to the restaurant wasn't that long, literally five minutes away. I could have walked there if I wanted to.

Before I had the chance to open my door, I was once again beaten by the driver. He nodded and smiled, gesturing for me to move forward.

I climbed out of the car hesitantly. The restaurant was no exception, with glass walls and fancy chandeliers decorating its ceiling.

I walked into the restaurant. My nose was met with a sweet aroma.

I examined the restaurant even further. Art pieces were lining the hall, lavishly decorated with wild tropical flowers in vases, and a slow, soft classical song was playing in the background.

Several guards welcomed me along the way before I arrived at the final door leading into the restaurant.

"Your name, ma'am?" One of the guards asked, stopping me from entering. This was probably one of those restaurants you could only get into with a reservation.

"Clara Owens," I answered.

He smiled before turning to look at his list.

"Oh yes," the guard whispered as he pointed at my name on the list.

"Come this way, ma'am," he gestured.

He walked me further into the hotel, directing me to a table in the far corner.

He pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit down. He left right after. The waiter would probably show up later for my order.

I took a moment to take in everything. The place was perfect. It was the kind of place I had wanted to go to but never could afford. I smiled, looking out the window at the people walking on the street.

"Ahem," A voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

I looked up.

My eyes were met with pale green ones.

A tall man towered over me. He looked at me, relaxed with both his hands in his pockets.

His skin was olive, almost too gorgeous to believe he was born with it. I wonder how much he paid for it. His sharp jawline and neatly cut golden blonde hair made him even more enticing. His lips curled, and he looked at me with a smile.

What was he doing here? Could he have winded up at the wrong table by accident?

"Clara, right?" He finally asked, snapping me yet again out of my thoughts.

I nodded vigorously.

"I'm Vincent Montenegro." He held out his hand with a smile.