The Stranger I Married Chapter 62: The Villian

Morning sunlight poured through the heavy velvet curtains of the Marquez estate, but it did nothing to lift the suffocating tension in the room.

Clara sat curled up on the living room chaise, scrolling viciously through her phone, teeth clenched so tightly her jaw ached. Vanessa stood across from her, pacing, her freshly manicured nails tapping against her phone screen with increasing agitation.

The dia backlash had hit like a tidal wave—one neither of them had been prepared for.

"Abused daughter slapped by estranged billionaire father at charity gala."

"Clara Marquez and Vanessa Marquez remain silent after shocking gala incident—social dia turns on them."

"Justice for Ella" trending worldwide.

"Idiots," Vanessa hissed under her breath, pressing her phone to her ear again, calling their PR manager for the third ti in twenty minutes. Voicemail again.

"We need control of this now—why is no one picking up?"

Clara ignored her mother’s frantic pacing. She was staring at the video again, her fingers trembling. Not at the part where her father was pushed to the ground, or even where Nicholas Carter manhandled him like a rag doll.

No, her eyes were locked on Ella—standing there in that green dress, disheveled but proud, trembling but unbroken.

And then, sothing clicked in Clara’s brain. Her stomach twisted violently.

That necklace.

The one she’d been lusting after at the boutique weeks ago—only to be turned away when the staff revealed it was reserved for "VIP"—soone far more prestigious than her fiancé, her family, or herself.

That day burned in her mory like acid, especially the sharp humiliation of being mistaken for so cheap hanger-on while the staff fawned over soone else.

No. No, it couldn’t be—

Her breath caught as she zood in on the clip again. There, glittering around Ella’s neck, unmistakable even in the low light of the footage.

Clara’s blood ran cold. Her throat closed up, rage swirling inside her like a living thing.

"It was her," she whispered harshly.

Vanessa stopped pacing. "What are you talking about?"

Clara shot up to her feet, phone shaking violently in her grasp. "The boutique. Rember? The one where I was embarrassed by those employees—where they wouldn’t sell the necklace I wanted."

"Yes," Vanessa snapped, annoyed. "What about it?"

"It was her," Clara breathed, nearly trembling now. "It was Ella. She was the one in the dressing room! She humiliated on purpose!"

Vanessa’s lips parted in shock, then horror as realization sank in. "She’s been around us all this ti."

"Plotting," Clara spat bitterly. "Watching. Laughing behind our backs."

Vanessa’s hands tightened into fists at her sides. "This wasn’t so random accident. She ca to that gala for us."

"And for Nicholas," Clara added, her stomach churning with jealousy and humiliation. The mory of his arm wrapped tightly around Ella’s waist made her throat close. She could still hear the protective edge in his voice: "Don’t you ever touch her again."

On cue, Vanessa’s phone buzzed loudly, vibrating violently on the marble coffee table. Caller ID: Alan Bradford, their lawyer.

Vanessa snatched it up with shaking hands. "Alan! Finally. Tell you’ve got sothing."

"Bad news, Vanessa," ca the grim reply. "We can’t spin this. Too much footage. Too many witnesses. Your husband’s statent at the scene only made things worse."

"I don’t give a damn about my husband right now!" she snapped, pacing again. " and Clara—we need to fix this."

Alan hesitated. "There’s more... Social sentint has shifted, Vanessa. People are calling for investigations into your family’s financials. So are saying you isolated Ella deliberately after her mother died."

Clara’s eyes widened with rage. "They’re making look like the villain?!"

Alan sighed. "Clara, sweetheart, the internet thinks you are the villain. And right now, everyone’s falling in love with this whole ’Ella the wronged heiress’ narrative. Especially with Nicholas Carter standing beside her. People are eating it up."

Vanessa’s nails dug into the leather armrest of the chair, fury burning bright in her eyes. "No. I won’t let that little bitch destroy everything I built. She’s just a—"

"A victim," Alan cut her off coldly. "Right now, that’s how the world sees her. And with Carter in the picture, you don’t have the kind of power to fight this in the press."

"Then what do we do?" Clara hissed through gritted teeth, pacing now too.

"For now?" Alan’s voice was sharp. "You lay low. Stay off social dia. No interviews. Anything you say will make this worse. Trust ."

"I won’t let her win," Clara snarled, running a hand through her hair. Her heart was thudding violently, her breath shallow. "I won’t. After everything that’s been taken from ..."

Vanessa’s eyes were sharp as glass, her mind already calculating. "She played this well. We underestimated her."

"We underestimated her," Vanessa repeated, her voice low and dangerous. "But that ends now."

Clara’s mouth curled into a twisted smile, venom dripping from her voice. "She might’ve won this round, but she doesn’t know who she’s dealing with."

Vanessa’s phone buzzed again—this ti it was her socialite friend Miranda, texting in rapid succession:

Everyone’s talking about Ella.

You and Clara look like witches on social dia rn.

You better get ahead of this before they dig up other stuff about the vacations we have been going to.

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "It’s war, then."

Clara was shaking with suppressed rage, not just from the humiliation of being exposed to the world as petty and cruel, but from sothing deeper—jealousy.

Nicholas holding Ella. The way he protected her like she was precious. Worth sothing. Special.

No one had ever looked at Clara that way. Not her father. Not any of her shallow friends. Not even the wealthy n who orbited around her for status and sex.

But Ella?

She had Nicholas Carter kneeling beside her like a knight, like a man who would burn the world for her.

It made Clara’s skin crawl with sothing hot and feral and hungry.

She didn’t just want to take Ella down. She wanted to ruin her.

Nicholas. Her reputation. Her career. Her everything.

No one got to humiliate Clara Marquez like that and walk away.

Not without paying the price.