Chapter 48: Grant's Voice Turned Icy

Grant's voice turned icy as his knuckles whitened around Clara's wrist. "Who was that man who just dropped you off? What were you two doing upstairs for so long?"

Clara's smile froze. A sharp pain shot through her wrist as she tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened.

"Let go!"

"Answer me first."

She winced. "None of your business."

"Is it so wrong for an ex to care about his former girlfriend's private life?"

A hollow laugh escaped her lips, her eyes glinting with frost. "So you do remember you're my ex." She tilted her chin up. "Then what right do you have to interrogate me?"

Grant's Adam's apple bobbed. "...I was just passing by."

Before he could finish, angry muttering erupted from the alley entrance. An elderly man in a tank top waved a palm-leaf fan. "Who the hell parked their sports car blocking the alley? Think this is your private garage? Kids these days..."

Clara's gaze landed on the familiar silver sports car. A bitter smirk curled her lips.

She wrenched her hand free and tossed her trash bag into the bin. "Even if I dated ten men at once, it wouldn't be your concern." Her hair swung decisively as she turned. "Do I need to teach you how to spell 'breakup'?"

"Your new flames or old flames don't matter to me, and my love life is none of your business." She paused. "Let's pretend we never met."

"However you found this place, don't come again." Her voice softened to a whisper. "Don't let your current girlfriend misunderstand."

"If you've chosen to go public with your relationship, then take responsibility till the end."

Clara thought of that girl—Paige Lawson. Barely twenty. She shouldn't repeat Clara's mistakes.

Everyone pays for their choices. Grant chose someone new. She chose to walk away.

Grant stood rooted to the spot.

Clara strode into the apartment building without a backward glance.

Watching her slender figure disappear, his chest constricted as if squeezed by an invisible hand. Something vital was slipping through his fingers—when he opened his palm, only empty air remained.

"...Is it really over this time?"

"Yes."

"You said that last time too..."

Past arguments flickered through his mind like a zoetrope. But this was different. Her terrifying calm suggested she truly meant to carve "Grant Holloway" from her life completely.

His hand twitched midair before freezing.

What right did the one who let go first have to beg her to stay?

Leaning against her front door, Clara listened as the sports car's engine roar faded into the distance.

This long-overdue farewell had finally reached its end.

* * *

Grant remained statue-still until the elderly man threatened to call a tow truck, forcing him to leave with a stormy expression.

"So it's your car? Young man, are you deaf? I've been shouting for half an hour—"

The silver sports car tore through the night, screeching to a halt twenty minutes later before a villa.

Mrs. Palmer dropped her soup ladle in alarm as Grant stormed past the living room, his heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs.

The elderly housekeeper shook her head at the slammed bedroom door—what tantrum was the young master throwing now?