The car swerved, a nearly imperceptible motion.
Rhys stared at Clara through the rearview mirror, his eyes filled with shock.
"What did you say?" he asked, half convinced he'd imagined it.
Simon also widened his eyes, whipping around to look at Clara. "Married? Who and whom? Why don't I know about this?"
As a human gossip radar with connections in every industry, if something this big were true, his circles would have exploded by now.
"Yesterday at the hotel, someone showed up uninvited," Clara said calmly. "You were dead asleep in your room, so naturally, you didn't know."
Simon immediately flared up. "Margot came to find you?"
"She seemed to be doing quite well," Clara smiled faintly. "She told me Rhys has taken excellent care of her these past few years, that good news is on the horizon, and the wedding is coming up soon."
"You're kidding, right?" Simon looked disgusted. "Rhys, you really can't spot a fake, can you? You actually fall for that act?"
Rhys's grip on the steering wheel tightened.
Aside from Clara, he had never imagined a future with anyone else.
"No."
"No what?" Simon sneered. "No marriage, or no Margot?"
Rhys usually disdained explaining himself, especially to irrelevant people.
But seeing Clara's indifferent expression of genuine well-wishing, he felt that if he didn't clear this up, she might actually send a wedding gift.
"Neither."
"I haven't seen her."
A sea of red brake lights lit up on the highway ahead. The traffic had come to a standstill.
Rhys brought the car to a halt and turned around to explain. "I'm not marrying her. I don't know how she found you, and I don't know why she told you those things."
He looked at Clara, his voice lowering. "Clara, don't listen to her."
Clara watched him defend himself, but felt no ripple of emotion in her heart.
Four years ago, if Rhys had been this firm just once—if he had stood by her side against Margot just once—perhaps the ending would have been different.
But he hadn't chosen her. Not even once.

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