Once Upon a Heartbreak

7 - Jonas

The restaurant is one of those places that's all about ambiance—low lighting, soft music, intimate tables tucked away in cozy corners. It's the kind of place where people come to linger, to enjoy each other's company over a long, leisurely meal. The perfect setting to make her squirm a little more.

Clara arrives right on time, looking as put-together as she did this morning, but I can see the tension in her eyes, the way she glances around the room as if she's expecting something to go wrong. I stand up to greet her, gesturing for her to sit across from me.

"Clara," I say, deciding to break the ice that neither of us dared to touch earlier. "It's been a long time."

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of emotions I can't quite place. "Yes, it has," she finally says, her voice a little more controlled than I expected. "I wasn't sure if we were going to acknowledge that."

"Well, it seemed a bit ridiculous to keep pretending," I reply, a slight smirk playing on my lips. "After all, we're not strangers."

"Not anymore," she counters, her tone sharp, and I can see the flicker of anger in her eyes. She's not going to make this easy, but then again, neither am I.

We order, and I make a point of choosing dishes that showcase our products, offering her recommendations as if this is just another business dinner. But the tension between us is palpable, and I can see how uncomfortable she is, the way she's trying so hard to keep things professional while the setting makes that almost impossible.

"So," I say, once the waiter leaves, leaning back in my chair. "How's life in Paris treating you? Must be quite different from Himberg."

She takes a sip of water, her eyes narrowing slightly as she gauges my intentions. "It is. But I've managed. Built a pretty successful career, actually. Though I'm sure you've done your research."

"I like to stay informed," I reply smoothly, catching the flash of irritation in her eyes. Good. She's still on edge, and I'm curious to see how far I can push her.

"You've always been thorough," she says, the words carrying a bite. "I remember that about you."

I smile, but it's tight. She's biting back every word, and it's starting to annoy me. "You seem angry, Clara," I say, keeping my tone even. "Shouldn't I be the one who's upset? After all, you're the one who left."

Her eyes flash with something—pain, anger, maybe both. "I had my reasons, Jonas. Not that you'd understand."

"Try me," I challenge, leaning in slightly. "Because from where I'm sitting, you ran away without giving me a chance to explain anything. And now you're acting like I'm the one who wronged you."

She stiffens, her hands clenching around her napkin. "You don't get to play the victim here. Not after what you did."

I narrow my eyes, my patience wearing thin. "What I did? You never even asked what happened. You just assumed—"

"And what was I supposed to think?" she snaps, her voice rising slightly before she catches herself. "I saw what I saw, Jonas."

Her words hang in the air between us, heavy with unresolved tension. For a moment, I'm tempted to push harder, to finally drag the truth out into the open. But I can see the fire in her eyes, the defiance, and it makes me even angrier. If anyone should be angry, it's me. She's the one who left, not me.

I lean in, lowering my voice as if we're sharing a secret. "You know, Clara, I always wondered what happened after you left. How you managed to build such a successful career in such a short time. It's impressive."

She blinks, clearly taken aback by the change in tone, but I can see the anger simmering beneath the surface. She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, my phone buzzes on the table. I glance at the screen—an incoming call from one of our key investors. Timing couldn't be better.

"I'm sorry, I have to take this," I say, standing up and stepping away from the table. I walk to a quieter corner of the restaurant, making sure I'm out of earshot but still within view. I take the call, keeping it brief, but long enough to leave her waiting, stewing in her own discomfort.

When I return to the table, I see the confusion and frustration in her eyes. She's trying to mask it, to play it cool, but I can tell she's on edge. I give her an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I'll have to cut our evening short. Something urgent has come up."

She nods, a little too quickly, clearly relieved to have an excuse to leave. "Of course, I understand."

I signal for the check, watching as she gathers her things, trying to maintain her composure. I can tell tonight has thrown her off balance, and I can't deny the satisfaction it gives me. But as much as I've enjoyed making her squirm, there's a part of me that wonders if I'm just prolonging the inevitable.

As we step outside into the cool evening air, I turn to her. "Thank you for joining me tonight, Clara. We'll continue our discussions tomorrow."

She nods, her eyes not quite meeting mine. "Goodnight, Jonas."

I watch her walk away, the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement fading into the night. As I head back to my car, I can't help but feel a strange mix of satisfaction and something else—something that feels uncomfortably like regret.

But I push it aside. Tomorrow is another day, and there's still plenty of time to see how far I can take this.