Shattered Truths

Chapter 8: Claire's Justification

Matt hadn't wanted to see her. After the conversation with Luke, the last thing he needed was more poison poured into wounds that hadn't even started healing. Yet by the following evening, he found himself walking toward the café they'd once claimed as "theirs."

He told himself it was strategic. If Luke wasn't telling him the full truth, maybe Claire would slip, maybe she'd reveal something Luke was so desperate to hide. But deep down, he knew there was another reason: part of him still craved answers only she could give, even if he hated himself for it.

The café was just as he remembered—warm lighting, soft jazz humming from speakers, the smell of roasted beans hanging thick in the air. But the charm was gone. Every detail, every corner, felt hollow, warped by betrayal.

And there she was. Claire sat by the window, her posture perfect, hair tucked neatly behind one ear. She looked more like she was attending a casual business meeting than sitting across from the man whose heart she'd broken. Calm. Composed. Untouched.

Matt slid into the chair opposite her, his chest heavy with the clash of rage and longing.

"Thanks for coming," Claire said smoothly, her voice as steady as her gaze. "I thought we needed a proper conversation. Closure."

Closure. The word was a knife.

Matt's jaw tightened. "I don't want rehearsed excuses. I want to understand. Why? Why go behind my back instead of just telling me?"

Claire sighed, her expression soft but laced with condescension. "Matt, I know you're hurt. But try, for once, to see this from my perspective. You were... a bit controlling. Over time, it felt suffocating."

The word landed like a slap. He'd heard it before—from her lips in the parking lot, from his own mind in darker hours, from Luke repeating it like gospel.

"Controlling?" Matt said sharply. "Claire, I gave you freedom. I trusted you. I didn't question the late nights, the sudden trips. I asked you if something was wrong—you brushed me off every single time. That's not controlling. That's me trying to understand."

Her lips curled into a half-smile. "You think trust means silence? No, Matt. You never restricted me, but you doubted me. You'd watch me too closely, pick apart small things, second-guess my choices. That's its own kind of prison."

Matt's hands curled into fists under the table. "Don't twist this. I doubted you because you were hiding things. Because you were lying."

Her expression didn't flinch. If anything, she looked bored. "Maybe I was lying because the truth was unbearable—for both of us."

"Unbearable?" His voice rose before he caught himself, lowering it again to a hiss. "What truth, Claire? That you were meeting Aaron behind my back? That you never actually let him go?"

Something flickered across her face at the name. Not guilt. Not remorse. Recognition.

She stirred her coffee, her voice even. "Aaron understood me in ways you couldn't. He didn't try to fix me. He just... let me be."

Matt's stomach twisted. "You could have told me you weren't happy. You could have ended it. Instead, you sneaked around like a coward."

For the first time, irritation broke through her composure. Her eyes flashed as she leaned closer. "Don't act like you're some saint. You wanted a picture-perfect version of me—one who needed you, one who fit neatly into your world. But I'm not that person. I never was."

Matt shook his head, rage and hurt swirling. "Then who are you, Claire? The woman who kissed her ex in parking lots? Or the one handing envelopes full of cash to strange men in dark houses?"

The words were out before he could stop them.

Her hand froze mid-stir.

Slowly, she set the spoon down, her mask slipping for the briefest second. A flicker of surprise. Then it was gone, replaced by a calm so deliberate it felt like theater.

"You really shouldn't snoop, Matt," she said softly.

His pulse hammered. "Don't deflect. I saw you. At the house. At the café. Envelopes. Cash. Who is he? What are you involved in?"

Claire tilted her head, her smile sharp and cold. "Even now, you can't help yourself. Always digging. Always needing to know everything."

"Because you never tell the truth."

Her gaze hardened. "The truth isn't yours to handle."

Matt leaned forward, his voice low, trembling with fury. "Try me."

The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating. Then Claire chuckled—light, dismissive, cruel.

"You don't want answers, Matt. You want to believe that if you pull apart enough threads, you'll find a neat picture underneath. But life doesn't work that way. Sometimes what you find only makes you wish you'd stayed ignorant."

His throat burned. "So you admit there's more. That it's not just Aaron."

Claire's eyes glittered with something he couldn't name. Pity, maybe. Or amusement. "Aaron was comfort. Familiar. But the rest? That's not something you need to concern yourself with."

Matt slammed his palm against the table, the sound making the couple at the next booth glance over. "Don't you dare decide for me. You don't get to betray me and dictate how much of the truth I get."

For the first time, Claire's composure wavered. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Then she leaned back, crossing her arms. "You won't stop, will you?"

"No," Matt said flatly. "Not until I know everything."

She exhaled slowly, like a teacher indulging a stubborn student. "Then here's your answer: I was unhappy. You were predictable. I wanted more. Aaron gave me that. The rest? Consider it none of your business."

It was deliberate—bait and wall. She dangled part of the truth while locking away the rest.

Matt's chest heaved. "You still can't be honest. Even now."

Claire's face softened into something almost tender, but her words cut sharper than ever. "I am being honest. Just not in the way you want. You'll never understand, Matt. Because you still think love is about giving everything. Sometimes, it's about taking what you need."

The words hit him like a blow.

He stood abruptly, tossing a few bills onto the table, unable to stomach another second. She watched him rise, her expression unreadable, as though she'd already written him out of her story.

At the door, her voice followed him, soft and almost mocking. "Goodbye, Matt."

He didn't turn back.

The cold night air bit at his skin, but he welcomed it. It was real. Unlike her. Unlike every word she'd dressed up as truth.

He replayed the conversation in his mind as he walked, each sentence unraveling like a puzzle. Claire hadn't denied the envelopes. She hadn't even feigned ignorance. She'd just told him to stop digging.

Which meant there was something to dig for.

Luke had deflected. Claire had warned him off. Aaron was entangled. And the older man was still out there, faceless but looming.

It wasn't closure he'd found tonight. It was confirmation.

Claire might be done with him. But he wasn't done with her. Not until he knew what game she was playing—and why she'd dragged him into it.

And for the first time since the betrayal, Matt felt something stronger than heartbreak.

Resolve.