Chapter 311: Spencer Hale's Words Cut Through Clara Whitmore's Heart Like a Dull Blade

"Your mother has been held back for far too long."

Spencer Hale's words cut through Clara Whitmore's heart like a dull blade.

Her fingers turned cold as she stared at her phone screen.

Spencer requested a direct meeting with Helen Whitmore.

"Mother is in the neighboring city," Clara explained softly. "And her contract with Phoebe Ward hasn't expired yet..."

She didn't want her mother to learn about this prematurely.

Creative work required undisturbed focus.

"Contract?" Spencer seized the keyword. "Send it to me."

Clara forwarded the digital copy.

"No rush." Spencer's voice remained steady. "Let me review the contract first. Your mother—I'm signing her!"

The declaration made Clara freeze.

Spencer only signed works, never authors.

Had she misheard?

Shaking her head, she dismissed the thought.

On the video call, Daniel Whitmore set down his teacup.

"Clara, what's wrong?"

"Nothing serious." She forced a smile. "Please don't tell Mom yet."

"Alright."

After hanging up, night had deepened.

Clara cleared the dishes and took out the trash.

The early summer breeze carried damp warmth as streetlights stretched her shadow long.

The recent stalking incident still haunted her.

She turned back home before walking far.

Water rushed in the shower.

Drying her hair, Clara settled at her desk and opened her thesis.

Her phone vibrated.

Connor Hayes: Busy?

She stared at the screen for seconds.

Clara: What is it?

Connor: Miss you.

The two words made her heart skip.

Before she could reply, another message appeared:

Can I call?

Clara inhaled deeply: Sure.

The call connected instantly.

"They caught the stalker," Connor's voice came through. "Solid evidence."

"How?"

"If I want someone found, they will be."

His tone bordered on arrogance.

But Clara knew he had the means.

"Don't go out alone at night." He paused. "I worry."

"Mm."

"That's it?" Connor sounded displeased. "Not even a thank you?"

Clara pressed her lips together: "...Thank you."

"How insincere."

"What do you want then?"

A low chuckle traveled through the phone: "Tell you tomorrow in person."

"I have experiments tomorrow—"

"Surely you have fifteen minutes for lunch?"

"So urgent?"

"Too short?" Amusement laced his voice. "Want half a day instead?"

"...Fifteen minutes is fine."

"See you then."

Ending the call, Clara turned off her desk lamp.

In the darkness, she exhaled softly.