**Through Unseen Doors We Step Into Untold Worlds Beyond by Sage Hunter Lane**
The elevator doors glided shut with a soft, mechanical hum. Damon stood unfazed, his expression calm as he met Clark’s furious gaze head-on. There was an unsettling stillness in the air, his eyes betraying not a hint of fear. When he finally spoke, his voice was low yet cutting, a sharp blade aimed directly at Clark’s vulnerabilities.
“If I were in your shoes, I would be more concerned about your wife’s condition than about these petty matters.” The sarcasm dripped from Damon’s tone, each word laced with mockery.
Clark’s expression darkened further, a storm brewing in his eyes. “What do you mean by that?” he shot back, confusion mingling with anger.
“My meaning is crystal clear,” Damon replied, his words precise and deliberate. “Instead of issuing threats here, perhaps you should focus on how you’ll explain to Grandfather about your little escapades with your secretary, who seems to be your constant companion these days.”
The impact of Damon’s words was immediate; Clark’s face drained of color, the blood rushing from his cheeks. The truth of the matter was that his affair with Jordyn was not exactly a well-kept secret. But if Grandfather Richard were to find out, the fallout would be catastrophic.
“You…” Clark stammered, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to form a retort, but no words came.
As the elevator reached the ground floor, Damon stepped out, leaving Clark trapped within the confines of his own turmoil. Alone, Clark’s expression morphed into one of deep frustration.
Back in the sterile hospital room, Clark’s simmering rage was reignited as he caught sight of the flowers Damon had sent. They sat innocently on the table, yet they felt like a personal affront. The pink roses and white lilies, so meticulously arranged in the vase, seemed to mock him, their beauty a stark contrast to his inner turmoil.
In a sudden burst of anger, he sprang to his feet. Grabbing the bouquet, he stormed toward the door, the petals crumpling in his grip.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Valarie exclaimed, her voice rising as she rushed to intercept him.
Clark brushed past her, ignoring her entirely. He marched straight to the trash bin in the hallway, his resolve unshaken. With a swift motion, he discarded the bouquet, watching it tumble into the depths of the bin.
“Are you out of your mind?” Valarie exclaimed, her voice filled with disbelief as she chased after him. “That was a kind gesture from someone!”
“I’m her husband!” Clark turned to face Valarie, his eyes ablaze with fury. “I have every right to decide what belongs in my wife’s room and what doesn’t!”
“Husband?” Valarie scoffed, a cold laugh escaping her lips. “You still remember you’re a husband? Then why weren’t you by Nyla’s side when she was hurt? Why was I the one who rushed to the hospital first?”
Her words struck a nerve, igniting the already simmering anger within him. “I’m warning you, Valarie. Stay out of our marital issues from now on.”
“Stay out?” Valarie stood her ground defiantly. “I’m merely protecting my friend from further harm!”
Clark narrowed his eyes, a menacing glint flashing across his face. “The Weir family business is thriving, and I intend to keep it that way. But if you continue to meddle, I can’t guarantee that the Weir family will still have a place in this city.”
Valarie’s breath caught in her throat, the cold weight of his threat settling heavily in the air. She had never seen this side of Clark before—so ruthless, so devoid of warmth.
Just then, his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket, breaking the tension. He pulled it out, and upon seeing the name on the screen—Jordyn—his expression soured even further.
Valarie, ever observant, noticed the shift in his demeanor. “Clark Summer,” she said slowly, each word deliberate, “if you no longer love Nyla, please let her go for the sake of the eight years you’ve shared.”
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Clark standing alone, his phone vibrating violently in his grip, his knuckles turning white with tension.
A few moments later, he made his way to the stairwell, ensuring no one was around before he answered the call.
“Jordyn, what is it?” His voice was barely above a whisper, laced with irritation.
“Clark, we need to talk. It’s urgent,” Jordyn’s voice came through, tinged with an anxious edge.
“I can’t right now. I’m at the hospital,” he replied, frustration creeping into his tone.
“I understand you’re with Nyla, but this is crucial. It concerns your marriage,” she insisted, her seriousness palpable.
Clark froze, her words sending a chill down his spine. After a brief pause, he replied, his voice heavy. “I’ll find you later.”
Once he hung up, he returned to the hospital room. Nyla was propped up against the headboard, her complexion still a sickly shade of pale. Valarie sat nearby, offering her silent support.



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