Clara’s heels clicked against the marble floor like a ticking bomb, each step a drumbeat in my chest. She stopped a foot away, Her eyes blazing, wide and manic, the kind of wild I had only ever seen in nightmares.

“You thought you could humiliate me?” she spat, voice sharp, jagged, frenzied. “A social misfit! A low-life like you!. You,who wouldn't know the first thing about a gala, take him from me? Impossible!. For a few thousand dollars… a contract… my life’s ruin? Do you know what people will say? What this will do to him? To me? Can’t you see—he needs me! Not you!”

Her voice cracked. Then she lunged toward her laptop, fingers stabbing at keys. The flash drive in her hand. She froze, eyes flicking to the empty folder, then back to me, disbelief washing across her face like a physical blow.

“No… no… this can’t be… you can’t do this to me!” she screamed, voice raw, ragged, teetering on hysteria. Her hands shot to her hair , yanking hard, strands snapping between her fingers. “Do you know what this will do to you? To me? How dare you—how dare you—” Her angry eyes locking with Antonio.

I remained seated, chest tight, pulse thrumming like a trapped bird, yet my hands rested lightly on the desk. Beside me, Antonio didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Just the weight of him—calm, controlled, brutal—pressed into me through the brush of his hand on my lower back, thumb rubbing silently. His presence was a wall, grounding me in the storm.

Clara’s words splintered into ragged gasps, muttering now, “You—bitch!!!!… you don’t belong with him… you can’t… he needs me…” Her voice rose again, a wild crescendo, and she tugged at her hair until strands fell loose, scattering across the floor.

I could feel the tremor in her body, the desperate quake in her hands. And pity washed over me, sharp and undeniable. She was so consumed by her obsession, so frantic, so blindingly convinced that she had power over Antonio… she couldn’t see that she had already lost. That the flash drive, her lifeline, had been erased before she could even lift it.

“I refuse to accept this!” Her scream shredded the air, raw and hysterical.

I leaned back slightly, careful not to let my composure slip. My fingers flexed against the smooth wood of the desk. I let the silence stretch, letting her chaos burn itself out. Her eyes darted frantically between me and the blank screen. Every sharp inhale, every panicked exhale, told me she was unraveling in a way that made my stomach flip—but also my chest swell with the subtle thrill of triumph.

Antonio’s thumb brushed my waist again, a quiet heartbeat of reassurance. He didn’t speak, didn’t move toward Clara, but the calm in him was a physical force. Nothing in Clara’s raving affected him. He was still, controlled, and I felt the strength in that stillness—a silent promise that he had my back, and that no amount of Clara’s madness could reach me.

She pulled at her hair again, muttering, screaming, frantic, her eyes wide and wild.

I exhaled slowly, letting a flicker of pity and sorrow edge through me. Poor Clara. Mad, desperate, consumed by fear and pride, tearing herself apart with each frantic motion. She didn’t know it would turn out like this,she is The Clara. She didn’t know her fury was meaningless.

The metallic scent of her perfume, mixed with the faint tang of polish on the desk, hit my senses sharply. The scrape of her nails across the laptop keys, the snap of hair in her fists, the tremor in her voice—it all pressed in on me, heavy and chaotic. And yet, I remained seated, tense but unbroken, my mind calm and precise, parsing the storm of her madness.

Antonio’s eyes never left hers. Calm. Controlled. Brutal. He was still, letting her unravel entirely on her own, letting her chaos crash against the invisible wall of our advantage. I leaned slightly into him, grounding myself, feeling the unspoken rhythm of his reassurance.She clawed at the laptop, yanking at it, the screen flickering uselessly, her panic reflecting the empty space where her evidence should have been.

I let a small sigh escape me, barely audible, a mixture of pity and disbelief. She was a hurricane, spinning herself into ruin, and I could only watch. I could almost see the thought flicker across her mind—that she could take control, that she could undo this. But it was too late.

Antonio’s hand pressed briefly on my back again, grounding me like an anchor in the chaos. And I understood, fully: we had already won. Her frenzy, her obsession, her frantic clinging to the illusion of power—it was all for nothing.

Clara stood, hands trembling, hair falling across her face, eyes wild and uncomprehending. She wanted to destroy me, ruin me, humiliate me, and yet, in that moment, she was powerless. We were untouchable. Calm. Controlled. Silent.

And as her screams finally faltered, replaced by panting and manic muttering, I allowed the faintest curve of pity to brush my lips. Poor, frantic Clara. So mad, so obsessed, so blinded by the idea that Antonio needed her. She didn’t see that he had already chosen… and that I had the upper hand.

The storm of her madness had no effect. The flash drive, her proof, her desperate attempt at leverage—all gone. And as I sat, tense but unshaken,because I knew Antonio was only just starting to make her pay…