Your Love Is But a Dream (Clara and Wren) novel Chapter 97

Watching as Clara walked out with a plate of pasta for someone else, Wren felt his heart sink into a pit of bitterness. She used to do these little things for him—bringing him coffee during his late nights, cooking meals when he worked himself to exhaustion. But now, her kindness was reserved for someone else.

So this was what it felt like, he thought, watching the person you loved pour their care into someone else. The ache clawed at his chest, and his jealousy bubbled so fiercely that it bordered on madness.

And then it hit him—how had she felt all those times he and Ivy had flaunted their relationship right in front of her, acting as though she didn't exist—as though her feelings didn't matter?

The realization tore at him. The pain he felt now was his own doing.

Clara returned not long after, not lingering with that man for more than a few minutes. But even those brief moments had dragged on for Wren, each second stretching like an eternity.

Wren forced himself to smile when she walked back in, trying desperately to mask the storm inside him.

“I made dinert,” he said, his tone almost cheerful as he reached for the bowl in front of him. He placed a piece of chicken onto her plate, his eyes searching hers.” You used to love my chipotle chicken. Try them. See if they still taste the same.”

cicapided up the piece of chicken and chewed slowly. It lasted overly sweet and had a strange, bitter aftertaste. It was not at all like what she remembered. The last time Wren had made this dish for her was years ago, long before Ivy came into the picture. Back then, it had been perfect

she wallowed the bite, forcing herself to smile. “It’s good. Just like before.”

Warm and tender, just like his

Wren’s face lit up, and for a moment, she saw a glimpse of the man who used to be her world. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll make it for you more often, I promise.” He added more food to her plate, watching her eat as though her approval was all he needed. But his expression faltered when he took a bite of the ribs himself. The Lastewasn’t right–wasn’t the same at all

The weight of it crushed him–the realization that nothing about them was the same anymore. His hands trembled as he set his fork down, the light in his eyes

After dinner, Clara showed him to the small room she used as a study. The space was sparse–just a narrow bed and a desk pushed against the wall. She had cleared the bed and brought in fresh bedding

“This will love to do for tought,” she said, her voice neutral. “Their sabus to town tomorrow morning. You can catch it and head to the airport from there. Make mote you have volg ticket ready