Chapter 4 - The Crack in the Armor
With only two weeks remaining until October twelfth, the tension in New York City was palpable.
Tristan, desperate to protect his family’s failing financial empire, decided to take matters into his own hands. He tracked down Clara’s whereabouts and intercepted her outside the Carlyle Hotel as she was stepping out for a fitting with her dressmakers.
"Clara!" Tristan called out, pushing past two security guards before being roughly shoved back by a tall royal bodyguard in an unbuttoned suit.
Clara stopped on the granite steps. She adjusted her sunglasses and gestured for the bodyguard to stand down. She looked down at Tristan, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the slight stain on his designer lapel. The proud, arrogant man who had torn her heart out three years ago now looked pathetic and frayed.
"You have two minutes, Tristan," Clara said, her voice completely devoid of emotion.
"Clara... please," Tristan pleaded, stepping closer. "What are you doing? Is this whole prince thing a joke? Are you doing this to punish me?"
Clara let out a short, soft laugh that sounded like dry ice. "Punish you? Tristan, I didn't think about you at all for three years. I was rebuilding my life while you were busy playing king of an empty castle."
"He's using you, Clara!" Tristan shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "You don't belong in that world! Royal families don't marry girls like you. He's going to dump you just like... just like..."
"Just like you did?" Clara finished his sentence, stepping down until she was eye-to-eye with him. "Sebastian didn't hide me in the dark. He didn't let his mother degrade me. He didn't turn my love into a public spectacle for clout. He gave me a ring with no cameras present, and he offered me a life built on real trust."
Tristan reached for her hand, but Clara pulled back sharply.
"If you come near me again, Tristan, my fiancé won't just freeze your father's assets—he will buy your family’s firm and liquidate it before your wedding march even begins."
She turned and walked back inside the hotel without looking back once.
Tristan stood frozen on the sidewalk as photographers across the street snapped pictures of his desperate confrontation. By evening, the photos were plastered online under the title: “Plaza Groom Begs for Mercy?”
Inside the Rutherford household, Vanessa watched the news report with burning rage. She realized that Tristan was still utterly obsessed with Clara—not out of love, but out of bruised vanity.
Vanessa called her father, the shipping magnate Harrison Rutherford. "Dad," she hissed into the phone. "I want Clara Higgins completely ruined. I don't care what it costs. Call the gallery owners, call the press, pull every string you have. I want her humiliated so badly she leaves New York forever!"
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"Vanessa," her father replied gravely. "Be careful. I just got off a call with the Federal Reserve. The Claremont foundation holds equity in our shipping ports. If you poke this bear, you might pull down our entire fleet."
Vanessa slammed the phone down. "I don't care," she snarled to herself. "She will never win."
