That night, Sean returned home, broken, in silence. He went into the master bedroom.

Clara’s closet was still there. He opened it slowly. The dresses were still hanging neatly. Colors he had once ignored. A shirt whose scent had faded, but not completely vanished. Shoes that were no longer worn, but still waiting.

Sean sat on the floor. His back leaned against the open wardrobe. His hand reached for a white blouse. He pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply—like a drowning man trying to remember the air.

"Clara..." his voice cracked.

It wasn’t regret he felt. Rather, it was an explosive emotion fueled by his unfulfilled need.

He didn’t want Clara to be happy without him. He wanted Clara to be his again. That obsession grew silently. It took root. It gnawed away.

And now, Sean was looking for something to vent his frustration on.

In the days that followed, Sean’s voice grew sharper. His gaze grew emptier. Every move Moana made felt wrong to him.

Brewing coffee too late—wrong.

Being too quiet—wrong.

Trying to speak—even worse.

"You’re useless," he said one night, emotionless. "You can’t even replace Clara’s shadow."

Moana didn’t answer. She just stood frozen, swallowing the pain she’d swallowed too many times before.

Calls from her parents came almost every day.

"We need money."

"Mom has to pay this."

"Dad lost at gambling. We’re being chased by the bookies."

"You’re living comfortably, aren’t you?"

No one asked if she was okay.

Moana started having trouble sleeping. Her head felt heavy. Her chest often felt tight for no reason. She often cried silently in the bathroom, covering her mouth with a towel so no one would hear.

One afternoon, after Sean left without looking back, Moana sat on the sofa for a long time. Her hands trembled as she picked up her phone.

She searched for one word: psychologist.

******

A few days later, she sat in a small, warm room, filled with the soothing scent of tea.

"What brought you here?" the psychologist asked gently.

Moana opened her mouth—then closed it again. Her face looked tense.

"I feel... like my husband doesn’t see me," she said finally. "I feel neglected in my own home."

She talked about her parents. About money. About Sean. About Clara, who was always there even when she wasn’t.

"I’m his wife," Moana said softly. "But I feel like... trash tossed into a corner. Used when needed. Thrown away when I’m in the way."

The psychologist listened without interrupting.

"Do you feel safe at home?" she asked quietly.

Moana fell silent.

The question was simple—and precisely because of that, the answer was devastating.

She shook her head.

For the first time, Moana realized one thing she could no longer deny: She wasn’t just lonely. She was trapped in a marriage she had created with so much drama.

"What makes you feel unsafe living in your own home?" the psychologist asked Moana again.

"My husband still loves his ex-wife. I absolutely hate that fact!" Moana snorted.

"I’m sorry if this is too personal to discuss. But, as the wife of a wealthy businessman who has just ended his first marriage, you are indeed facing obstacles in this marriage that are quite draining." The psychologist paused.

Surely, many people were aware of the rumors spreading—the rumors about the scandal between Sean and Moana from before.

Moana fell silent. She swallowed hard for a moment. "I... I only love Sean. And I didn’t know things would get this complicated."

"Mrs. Moana, sometimes... love isn’t what we imagine it to be. Marrying a man who hasn’t resolved his past will inevitably lead to prolonged exhaustion. The impact will damage your mental health. You must be able to love yourself before loving your partner." The psychologist offered the advice with a friendly smile.

"Moreover, everyone already knows what happened in your relationship. This will create its own psychological pressure. Your mental state will surely be shattered. There are many people judging you. This is where your wisdom is put to the test," she concluded.

Moana remained silent for quite a while. She knew full well the truth conveyed by the psychologist. But her ego—as a woman already obsessed with Sean—simply couldn’t be cut away.

********

In recent days, Sean hasn’t been asking many questions. He doesn’t talk much. He just gives orders.

One call was made that night, his voice low and cold, without any emotion.

"I want to know everything about Clara," he said briefly. "Where she lives. Where she works. What time she leaves and when she comes home. Who she interacts with."

The person on the other end was silent for a moment. "Clara is your ex-wife, sir. Wouldn’t it be an invasion of privacy to keep tabs on her?" 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"She’s still my concern," Sean replied. "And I don’t like losing track of things."

The phone was hung up.

Sean stood in front of the bedroom window, staring at the darkness of the garden below. The house was quiet, too quiet for a house that should be filled with the life of a new marriage. From upstairs, he could hear Moana’s footsteps below, slow, hesitant steps, as if each of Moana’s footsteps could trigger Sean’s anger.

But Sean didn’t care about that. In his mind, there was only one face. Clara.

---

The report arrived sooner than Sean had expected. Sean’s trusted associates deserved praise for their ability to gather information.

Clara lived outside the city. A simple apartment, with tight security. A quiet neighborhood. She worked at a company whose name immediately made Sean’s jaw clench.

"Leo’s company."

Sean read the report slowly, detail by detail. Photos from a distance. Clara was walking out of the office building. Clara was waiting for a taxi. Clara was talking to someone in the lobby—her face was calm, even... light.

No scars.

No destruction.

No signs of a woman who had just come out of a marriage she had destroyed herself.

No signs of sadness.

Sean slammed the folder shut.

"She recovered too quickly," he muttered.

And that’s when something shifted inside him. He didn’t want to see happiness without him. He couldn’t accept the fact that Clara could be fine without him.

---

Sean came to the city without an identity. A rental car. Curfew. He didn’t approach. He observed from afar, like a hunter enjoying the process before closing in.

He saw Clara leave her apartment every morning with determined steps. No hesitation on her face. Clara never looked back.

Sean watched Clara work. Professional. Focused. No vacant stare. No body bent over from trauma.

Sean sat in his car, his fingers tapping the steering wheel.

"You should still be mine," he whispered.

The obsession had now changed form.

It was no longer a desire to be together again.

Rather, it was a need to be present in Clara’s life, even if only from the shadows.

---

Several days passed. Leo sensed the strangeness first.

At first, it was just intuition. Something that couldn’t be explained, but was too strong to ignore.

"Why do I feel like someone is watching Clara’s movements?" He spoke to himself as he observed the area around the office.

A strange car that had been seen several times around the office building. A man’s face that he thought he had seen before—then disappeared.

A security report that felt... too clean.

Leo stared at the CCTV screen longer than usual.

"Tighten security around Clara," he said to his team. "I want her route home randomized. No repeating patterns."

"Is there a specific threat, sir?" asked one of the staff.

Leo was silent.

"There are people who haven’t finished with the past," he finally replied. "And people like that... are quite dangerous."

That night, Leo drove Clara home later than usual. He waited until she entered her apartment, making sure the door was securely closed.

As he turned away, Leo sensed something—a gaze from afar.

He turned quickly.

There was no one there.

But Leo knew one thing for sure:

Sean wouldn’t stop at just a loss on paper.

And as long as Clara was still breathing freely, danger would stalk her silently, patiently, and very deliberately.

Leo took his phone and sent a message to Sean. Of course, he had the man’s number.

"Don’t act like a coward!"

Leo deliberately scolded him openly, so that Sean would be provoked.

The message was read less than a minute after it was sent.

"Leo, you bastard! He knew I was nearby!" Sean laughed.

He was sitting in his car, the engine off, the city lights reflecting off the windshield. His phone vibrated softly in his hand—Leo’s name appeared on the screen.

Sean stared at it for a long time.

Then he smiled.

Not a happy smile. Not an angry one either.

It was the smile of someone who felt caught red-handed, but actually enjoyed the fact.

"Coward?" he muttered softly.

He replied briefly.

"I’m not hiding. I’m just waiting."

He put the phone back in his pocket. Sean started the engine, then drove away without looking back at Clara’s apartment building that night.

It seemed that Sean was going to devise another plan.