Chapter 3 First Signs of Conflict

# Chapter 3: First Signs of Conflict

Spring had arrived in the city, bringing with it longer days that made my transitions between Clara and Vera more challenging. The earlier sunsets of winter had provided natural cover for my nocturnal persona, but now I found myself inventing more elaborate excuses to escape my daytime obligations.

"Another girls' night?" Evan asked as we walked through the park on a pleasant Wednesday evening. His tone was light, but I detected a hint of something else beneath the surface.

"Alicia's going through a rough patch," I explained, the lie coming easily after months of practice. "Her divorce is getting messy, and she needs support."

Evan squeezed my hand. "You're a good friend. That's one of the things I love about you—how much you care for others."

His words pierced my heart with unexpected force. If he only knew how carelessly I was treating him, how I disappeared into another life the moment his back was turned.

"I try," I said softly, unable to meet his eyes.

We settled on a bench overlooking a small pond. Children were feeding ducks, their laughter carrying on the breeze. It was a scene of such ordinary happiness that I felt a sudden, sharp longing to be the person Evan thought I was—just Clara, uncomplicated and true.

"I found a place I think you'll love," Evan said, pulling out his phone to show me photos of an apartment. "Two bedrooms, great natural light, walking distance to the hospital."

I scrolled through the images of a bright, open space with large windows and modern finishes. It was exactly the kind of home Clara would choose—practical but beautiful, a place where we could build a life together.

"It's perfect," I said, and I meant it. In that moment, I could see our future there—morning coffee on the balcony, dinner parties with friends, perhaps eventually a nursery in the second bedroom.

Evan's face lit up. "I scheduled a viewing for Saturday afternoon. The realtor says there's already interest, so we should move quickly if we like it."

Saturday afternoon. I mentally reviewed my calendar. "What time?"

"Two o'clock. Does that work?"

I nodded, relief washing over me. Vera had plans with Zane that night, but the afternoon would be safe. "That works perfectly."

As we continued our walk, discussing furniture arrangements and paint colors, I felt a strange sense of peace. Perhaps this was the answer—fully embracing life as Clara, letting Vera fade away like a dream upon waking. It would be simpler, cleaner, kinder to everyone involved.

But later that night, as I transformed into Vera, those thoughts seemed distant and foolish. How could I possibly give up the freedom, the passion, the raw authenticity I felt with Zane? Clara's life was safe, but Vera's was alive in a way that made my pulse race and my spirit soar.

I met Zane at a new underground music venue, the kind of place only locals knew about. The band was experimental, their sound a fusion of electronic and classical that vibrated through the concrete floor and up into my bones.

"What do you think?" Zane shouted over the music, his arm possessively around my waist.

"I love it!" I replied truthfully. The chaotic beauty of the sound mirrored the duality of my own existence—seemingly discordant elements creating something strangely harmonious.

Zane smiled, that crooked grin that still made my heart flip even after months together. "I knew you would. You've got the soul of an artist trapped in that gorgeous body."

If only he knew how accurate his assessment was. Clara was all structure and discipline, but Vera—Vera was pure creative expression.

We danced until sweat plastered my hair to my forehead and my feet ached in my high heels. Zane moved with natural rhythm, his body in perfect sync with mine as if we'd been dancing together all our lives. When the band took a break, he pulled me toward the bar.

"Two whiskeys," he ordered, then turned to me with intensity in his eyes. "I've been thinking."

"Dangerous," I teased, accepting the drink he handed me.

He laughed, but his expression remained serious. "I've got an opportunity—a custom bike show in Miami next month. Top builders from around the country."

"Zane, that's amazing!" I said, genuinely happy for him. His talent deserved recognition.

"I want you to come with me," he continued. "Ten days in South Beach. You, me, motorcycles, and mojitos."

Ten days. The longest we'd ever spent together would be a weekend. Ten days would mean taking vacation time from the hospital, ten days of being unavailable to Evan, ten days of being only Vera.

"I..." I hesitated, mind racing through the logistics.

Zane's expression darkened slightly. "Don't tell me you can't get the time off. You're always talking about how overworked you are at that marketing firm. They owe you a break."

The marketing firm—the fictional workplace I'd created for Vera. Another lie in the complex web I'd woven.

"It's not that simple," I said carefully. "We have a big campaign launching around then."

"It never is simple with you, is it?" Zane stepped back slightly, studying my face. "Sometimes I feel like I only get parts of you, Vera. Like there's a whole other side you keep hidden."

If only he knew how literally true that was.

"That's not fair," I protested, heart racing with more than just the exertion of dancing. "I'm here with you now, aren't I?"

"Now. Always now. Never tomorrow, never next week, never anything I can count on." His voice had an edge I'd never heard before. "What are you afraid of?"

Before I could formulate a response, a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

"Clara?"

My blood turned to ice. I turned slowly to find James, a nurse from my unit at the hospital, standing a few feet away, confusion evident on his face.

"Clara? What are you doing here? And... why are you dressed like that?"

Panic rose in my throat. James knew Clara—professional, reserved Dr. Bennett—not Vera with her revealing dress and smudged eyeliner, pressed against a tattooed man in a dimly lit club.

"James," I managed, my voice strangled. "I... this is..."

"Who's Clara?" Zane asked, looking between us with growing suspicion.

"She is," James answered before I could stop him, pointing at me. "Dr. Clara Bennett. We work together at St. Mary's."

The confusion on Zane's face morphed into something harder, more dangerous. "What the hell is he talking about, Vera?"

The ground seemed to shift beneath my feet. Two worlds colliding in the worst possible way.

"I can explain," I said weakly, though I had no idea how I possibly could.

James, sensing the tension, backed away awkwardly. "I should go. Sorry to interrupt... whatever this is."

As he disappeared into the crowd, Zane gripped my arm. "Start talking. Now."

"It's complicated," I began, frantically searching for a way out of this nightmare.

"Uncomplicate it," he demanded. "Who's Clara? And why did he call you Dr. Bennett?"

I took a deep breath. "I am Clara. Clara is... it's my first name. I use my middle name, Vera, in... in certain situations."

"Certain situations," Zane repeated flatly. "And the doctor part?"

"I am a doctor. I work at St. Mary's Hospital."

His eyes widened. "A doctor? You told me you worked in marketing!"

"I know, I—"

"What else have you lied about?" His voice was rising now, drawing curious glances from nearby patrons. "Is anything about you real?"

The irony of his question wasn't lost on me. Which version of me was real? Clara the responsible doctor or Vera the free spirit? I honestly didn't know anymore.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I never meant to hurt you."

"But you did mean to lie to me," he shot back. "For months, apparently."

He was right, of course. Every moment with him had been built on deception, however genuine my feelings might have been.

"I should go," I said, gathering my purse. "We can talk about this when you're calmer."

"When I'm calmer?" Zane's laugh was bitter. "Sure, run away. That's what you do best, isn't it? Disappear into whatever other life you're living when you're not with me."

His words hit too close to home. I turned and pushed through the crowd, desperate for fresh air, for space to think. Outside, the night air was cool against my flushed skin. I leaned against the brick wall, trying to steady my breathing.

My phone—Clara's phone—vibrated in my purse. A text from Evan: *Hope your friend is feeling better. Miss you. Can't wait to see that apartment together.*

Tears pricked my eyes. Everything was unraveling. James would undoubtedly mention seeing me to other hospital staff. How long before word got back to Evan?

I was still standing there, paralyzed with indecision, when the club door swung open and Zane emerged. He spotted me immediately, his expression a mix of anger and hurt.

"I wasn't finished," he said, closing the distance between us in a few strides.

"Zane, please—"

"No, you don't get to 'Zane, please' me right now." His voice was controlled but intense. "I deserve the truth. All of it."

Before I could respond, a familiar figure across the street caught my attention. Evan was walking along the opposite sidewalk, head down, apparently heading home from a late meeting at his office, which I suddenly remembered was only a few blocks away.

Time seemed to slow as I watched him, oblivious to my presence, continuing on his path that would take him directly past us. In seconds, he would look up, would see me—Vera—with Zane.

"We need to go," I said urgently, grabbing Zane's arm. "Now."

"What? No, we're talking about this—"

"Please," I begged, pulling him toward the alley beside the club. "I can't be seen here."

Something in my desperation must have gotten through to him, because he allowed me to lead him away just as Evan looked up, scanning the street as he waited for a light to change.

In the shadow of the alley, I held my breath, watching as Evan crossed the street and continued on his way, never noticing me pressed against the wall with another man.

"Who was that?" Zane asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "Why are you hiding?"

The moment had come. I could no longer maintain the precarious balance of my double life.

"That was Evan," I admitted, my voice small. "My... my boyfriend."

Zane stepped back as if I'd struck him. "Your what?"

"My boyfriend," I repeated, unable to meet his eyes. "We've been together for almost two years."

The silence that followed was deafening. When I finally looked up, the pain in Zane's eyes was unbearable.

"So I'm what? Your dirty little secret? Your walk on the wild side when you're bored with your real life?"

"No! It's not like that—"

"Then what is it like, Clara? Or Vera? Or whoever the hell you actually are?" His voice broke on the last word, and it shattered something inside me.

"I don't know," I whispered truthfully. "I don't know who I am anymore."

Zane shook his head slowly. "Well, when you figure it out, let me know. Until then, stay away from me."

He turned and walked away, shoulders rigid with anger. I wanted to run after him, to explain that both relationships were real to me, that I cared for him deeply, but the words died in my throat. What could I possibly say to make this right?

As I watched him disappear around the corner, I realized with devastating clarity that my carefully constructed double life was beginning to collapse around me. It was only a matter of time before Evan discovered the truth as well.

The thought filled me with dread and, strangely, a hint of relief. Perhaps it was time for both Clara and Vera to face the consequences of the choices I had made.