Chapter 97

Watching as Clara walked out with a plate of pasta for someone else, Wren felt his heart sink into a pit of bitterness. She used to do these little things for him—bringing him coffee during his late nights, cooking meals when he worked himself to exhaustion. But now, her kindness was reserved for someone else. So this was what it felt like, he thought, watching the person you loved pour their care into someone else. The ache clawed at his chest, and his jealousy bubbled so fiercely that it bordered on madness. And then it hit him—how had she felt all those times he and Ivy had flaunted their relationship right in front of her, acting as though she didn't exist—as though her feelings didn't matter? The realization tore at him. The pain he felt now was his own doing. Clara returned not long after, not lingering with that man for more than a few minutes. But even those brief moments had dragged on for Wren, each second stretching like an eternity. Wren forced himself to smi