The Stranger I Married-Chapter 63: Scandal

Clara’s heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as she stormed through the towering lobby of Richards Enterprises, her chin held high despite the tremor in her stomach. Every head turned. Every whisper burned against her skin.

There she is.

The witch from the gala.

Did you see the slap? I would’ve slapped her too if she were my kid.

Poor Ella. No wonder Nicholas Carter stepped in.

The murmurs were like knives, cutting her pride to ribbons. Clara kept walking, keeping her posture perfect, shoulders back, lips pressed in a pale, thin line. She refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her crack—not here, not in public, not now.

She had one goal. One priority.

Adrian.

She had worked too hard for this engagement. Too many sleepless nights pretending to laugh at his boring jokes. Too many fake smiles at charity dinners. Too many carefully calculated comments to make sure his insecurities made him need her. She built this relationship. It was supposed to be hers.

Ella was not going to ruin this too.

The sleek gold doors of the executive floor elevator opened with a soft chime. As she stepped out, the murmurs grew louder. Even the secretaries looked up from their desks, pausing mid-keystroke, glancing between each other as if unsure whether to pity her or sneer.

Clara’s cheeks flushed with rage and humiliation.

She approached Adrian’s assistant, a prim, polished brunette named Chelsea, who offered her a professional, yet strained smile.

"Ms. Marquez," Chelsea greeted carefully, standing slightly. "Mr. Richards isn’t available at the moment."

Clara narrowed her eyes. "I don’t care. I need to see him now."

Chelsea’s hand hovered protectively over her desk phone. "Mr. Richards gave strict instructions. No visitors. No calls. No exceptions."

Clara’s jaw clenched. "No exceptions for them, maybe. I’m his fiancée."

Chelsea’s professional smile barely wavered, but Clara caught the flicker of disdain in her eyes. "Especially for you, Ms. Marquez."

Whispers. Laughter behind hands. Someone on the phone across the room muttered something about "She’s embarrassing herself."

Clara could feel it rising inside her—the humiliation, the heat climbing up her neck, prickling under her flawless makeup. They were enjoying this. Watching her be turned away like some desperate stalker.

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No, she wouldn’t let them win.

Without another word, Clara pushed past the desk, ignoring Chelsea’s startled protest. "Ms. Marquez! You can’t—"

She pushed the heavy doors open.

Adrian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to her, staring out at the city skyline. Sharp suit. Perfectly styled hair. The very image of cold detachment.

"Adrian—"

"I told her not to let you in."

His voice was clipped, sharp. No warmth. No softness. Just ice.

Clara swallowed. Her heart hammered so hard it felt like it might break her ribs.

"I need to explain," she said softly, stepping further into the office, her heels sinking slightly into the plush carpet. "Everything’s gotten out of control, but I didn’t mean for—"

"You humiliated me," Adrian cut her off sharply, finally turning around to face her. His expression was unreadable, his sharp blue eyes glinting with fury barely contained under the surface. "Publicly."

Clara’s lip trembled despite herself. "I didn’t know Nicholas would be there, I—"

Adrian let out a short, humorless laugh. "It’s not just Nicholas, Clara. It’s everything. Your father’s slap, the back and forth, the disgrace —Jesus, you looked like a pack of wild dogs tearing each other apart in front of half the business world."

Clara’s throat closed. "You don’t understand—she’s been plotting this—"

Adrian stepped closer, his jaw rigid. "What I understand is that your family name is now synonymous with scandal. That your picture is on every headline under the words ’abusive’ and ’spoiled brat.’ That’s not the image I need right now."

Clara blinked. Not the image I need. Not we. Not us. Him.

"You’re going to let the media decide our relationship?" she bit out, fury rising to the surface. "We’re engaged, Adrian."

"That ring means nothing if it drags me down with you," he said coldly, his gaze sharp as glass. "You don’t bring value to me right now, Clara—you bring headlines. Bad ones."

Tears pricked at her eyes. "You said you loved me."

Adrian’s lip curled slightly, almost in pity. Almost. "I said a lot of things when I thought you were going to be good for my career."

Clara’s knees almost gave out. She grasped the edge of his desk to steady herself. "You used me."

Adrian’s expression didn’t soften. "And you used me. Let’s not pretend this was some fairytale romance, Clara. You wanted my last name, my wealth, my standing. I wanted what you brought to the table. But now—" he gestured toward the phone buzzing on his desk, notifications still rolling in from social media, the news, the chaos "—now, you bring me a scandal I can’t afford."

Clara’s mouth dropped open, the betrayal crashing over her like cold water. She thought she could take control of this. She thought she could smooth it over, spin it, fix it like she always had.

But the cold truth of it hit her in the gut: She was toxic now. Untouchable. Adrian didn’t want to be dragged down with her.

"You’re throwing me away," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Adrian shrugged. "I’m protecting myself."

For the first time in years, Clara felt utterly powerless. The realization was worse than any headline. This was supposed to be hers. The life. The position. Him.

And yet now, all she had was the echo of her own shallow victories, and the stares of strangers behind glass office doors.

Chelsea’s voice broke through the crack of humiliation in the doorway. "Security is on their way."

Clara’s stomach twisted violently.

"Adrian..." It was barely a whisper now. Begging. Desperate. Ugly.

But Adrian just straightened his cufflinks like she was nothing more than a speck of dust on his expensive jacket.

"I suggest you leave before this gets even more embarrassing."

Clara didn’t know how she moved. Her legs felt numb. Her throat burned with unshed tears and bitter rage. Slowly, she turned, the weight of a hundred watching eyes pressing on her back like a mountain.

As she pushed past the glass doors into the reception area, security guards were already heading toward her.

Clara didn’t need their help.

She held her chin up and walked out on her own.

But for the first time in her life, Clara Marquez had no plan.

And that terrified her more than anything.