THE REVIEWS HAVE BEEN AWESOME! You all write so much and put a lot of opinions in them, and I love it. I read them each like four or five times. YOU GUYS ARE THE BESTEST!

Just a few things:

If something I write about brings back bad memories for you or previous experiences, I want to apologize. I don't mean to offend. I just want to keep the story interesting and dramatic.

The plots of this story are a bit wild, but I will be bringing everything together in the end. I can't really tell if that's five or ten chapters from now, but just bare with me and enjoy it.

Someone mentioned that the last chapter was like Fifty Shades of Jace. I liked that. Props to you!

And please welcome Magnus Bane to the story :) so go ahead and read you wonderful folks.

Clary played with the edge of her dress as she sat in the uncomfortable chair, feeling completely and utterly out of place around the much richer, more sophisticated, and prettier people in the room. It was intimidating.

But that's how it had been for the past few months. She was slowly getting used to it and didn't really mind it because Magnus did most of the talking for her. All she had to do was dress pretty, smile, and nod when they asked her a yes or no question. It was pretty simple because most of her work spoke for itself. She painted it that way for a reason.

But it was always hard when they asked who it was about.

The answer was complicated. Even Magnus didn't know because Clary refused to talk about it. He hinted on the golden key points in every piece Clary painted. And he wondered who the Lion Boy – as Magnus called him – was in the first painting he saw. But she couldn't tell him. It was hard enough thinking about it, much less talking about it.

A body plopped down next to her in the row of chairs, and Clary jumped. Normally, if Magnus wasn't around, she was invisible. These art openings were for the smart and beautiful, which made it hard for Clary to fit in.

She turned and found none other than Magnus though. No surprise there. He leaned back casually, draping his arm around the back of her chair. His sparkly suit almost blinded Clary and she had to turn away, a small smile pulling at her face.

"What's the smile for?" Magnus asked, clearly amused.

She shrugged and glanced around. "You. None of this would've been possible if you weren't so good at what you do."

"I'm a people person," He said. "I can get people anywhere to look at anything. But luckily, I had a great artist that the London people are falling in love with at the moment."

Clary's hair fell in her face when she looked down, and she had to brush it back with her hands. "You know that's not true. I've only got three pieces in this place. There are ten other artists that are being featured right now."

"The other artists are irrelevant," Magnus insisted. "Besides, most of the people here are only interested in me."

She gave him a look which he just smugly smiled at, wiggling his eyebrows like a child.

Magnus, for one, was Clary's only friend here in London. That was on purpose though. She didn't associate for a fear of people asking what her old life was like. And she wasn't good at making friends with her depressed mood all the time. Magnus just happened to have enough light to bring out a smile in her enough to make her pleasant. Plus, he didn't ask too many questions. His curiosity was there, but he never pushed too hard.

But he was conceited, something that reminded her of someone else in particular. Even three months later, that stupid, golden smirk still showed up in her life. It was driving her mad. But she couldn't be angry with Magnus for being who he was.

He was the only reason she'd made it this long.

"By the way," Magnus continued, pointing across the room. "I have good news."

She followed his finger and found a man standing in front of one of her paintings. "You're not bringing him home with you, are you? I can only hear so much of your sex life before I move out."

He chuckled and shook his head. "My apologies. I'll keep it quieter next time. But do you know who that man is?"

"Should I?"

"That man standing before your work is none other than my good friend, Rangor Fell. And might I add," He dropped his voice to a lower sound and leaned toward her, "He's rich."

Clary raised her eyebrows. "How rich?"

"Like richy rich-rich."

"That rich?" She turned back to him, confusion etched across her features. "So… what does that matter?"

"You'll see. I have to talk to him about a few things first. Don't go anywhere."

"How can I? You're my ride home."

Clary watched him go with a lonely gaze. Magnus had been a lot to her lately, making sure everything for her and safe while she was away from her friends, but it didn't always fill the void that she felt her in her heart.

"Clarissa Morgenstern?"

She broke out of her thoughts and looked up at the man standing before her. He looked to be about mid-twenties, he wasn't drop dead gorgeous but cute enough and looked a little awkward. He had simple features. His orange hair fell into his eyes barely covering the hazel. Where most people were in tuxedos, he was dressed in a waist coat and trousers with a bit of black… something splattered on the front of his pants.

He pointed to the seat next to her. "May I sit?" He had a deep British accent.

He wanted to sit by her? She nodded numbly and he took it, shrugging his way into it.

Finally, after a few moments of silence, Clary asked, "You knew my name?"

"Everyone here does," he answered. "You are quite the character here tonight. London loves you if you ask me."

"Do they?"

"My wife does at least," he continued. "I'd say I'm a fan, but just because the pieces you've created probably means more to me than most people. They mean a lot to my whole family."

She gave him a sideways glance. "How so?"

"They're deeper than most artists." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You keep the deeper meanings hidden in the lines of your paintings but don't stop it from blocking out your ability to capture the beauty that you want to display. It's quite remarkable. I can see why Magnus has such an interest in you."

"Magnus is doing it as a favor for one of my teachers. It's nothing more or less."

"Magnus always wants the next best thing," the man continued. "I've known him for a few years and can testify that pretty assumingly. I'm an inventory, you see, so he's always asking me if I've come up with any new ideas and when he can get a hold of any of them. That's just who he is." He glanced towards her and smiled genuinely. "According to him, you're the next best thing."

She frowned, refusing to believe him. Someone like her was too ordinary to be anything that he was suggesting.

"But I must go," he said with a slap to his knees as he stood. "I'm glad I got to sneak away long enough to speak to you."

"But–"

"I'm afraid I must be going," he said quickly. He reached down and grabbed her right hand, kissing her knuckles lightly. "I'll see you soon, Clarissa."

With that he turned and headed back into the crowd until she saw him disappear with a group of people at the exit, closing the door behind them.

"I know a lot of people," Magnus said as he took another sip of his drink. "I need more information. Tall and ginger doesn't exactly help me pinpoint who this person was."

Clary sighed with annoyance and pressed her face into her hands. She was leaning on the counter in the kitchen of Magnus's apartment, the one he let her stay in for the few months. She was surprised how accustomed she got to the place. He was quite the host, and the friend.

Slowly, she lifted her head. "He was awkward."

Magnus gave her a look.

"What?"

"That could be describing Ronald Weasley for all I know. I need a little more."

"I'm sorry, but I can't think of anything else. He said he knew you for a while. He knew who I was. He was just normal and kind and simple."

"For God's sake," Magnus breathed. "That's about half the guys in London, Clary. All you have to do is say he was charming to really screw me over here."

"Aren't you supposed to keep an eye on me?" Clary asked. "Make sure I don't talk to the wrong people and know who talks to me?"

His yellow-green eyes danced with amusement. "You'd go mad if I did that. I have ways of knowing almost everything, but you said this man talked to you when I was with Rangor. He timed it well and I was distracted."

She blew out a final breath before pushing off of the counter. Without a word, she grabbed her glass of water and headed towards her room, closing the door behind her a little louder than she meant to.

Her mind danced and raced, something it did every night. But this time, it wasn't just the golden lion that haunted her thoughts. This man… something about him was familiar. She didn't know what, but there was something. It wasn't like she knew him. It was more like he knew her. And that freaked her out more.

Clary collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling for thirty minutes before Magnus tapped on her door. She sighed and called him in, not moving her gaze from the decorated ceiling.

"Rangor liked the painting."

"Which one?"

Magnus stepped inside and moved to the desk chair, taking his place on it. "Which do you think?"

She sighed. She knew exactly which one. It was the same one that Madame Dorothea fell in love with. It was the one that caught Magnus's gaze. It was the one that everyone seemed to adore.

It was the one that destroyed her the most.

"Are you ever going to tell me what that painting is about? Why it means so much to you? Why it hurts you so much?"

Clary sighed and pushed herself up on her elbows. Her sleep t-shirt – something that Magnus despised – rose up a little with the movement. "It's complicated."

"I know complicated. You can fix whatever your issue is."

"No I can't."

"Yes you can."

She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. "It's been months, Magnus. I can't."

"Who was that guy? What was he like?"

Clary slowly lifted her head to find him leaning forward in his chair. Magnus's hair was fallen after his shower that night since the party, covering his forehead. There were no sparkles or bedazzlement. He almost looked normal with his slightly Asian heritage.

"He was… perfect for the longest time. And then I found out who he was."

Magnus laughed slightly. "They're always perfect before you realize how messed up everyone is. Been there. Done that. Multiple times. It's a messy world for relationships that we live in."

"Magnus, can I ask you something?"

He shrugged. "Depends."

"On what?"

"What's the question?"

She rolled her eyes and sat up, pressing her back to the wall. She pulled her legs to her chest and took a deep breath. "What is the limit that you would forgive someone about something?"

"That's complicated," he said. "There is a fine line between what should be forgiven and what shouldn't."

"What would you say is unforgivable?"

She braced herself for the answer as Magnus thought about it. There were many possible answers that could lean her one way or another in the predicament.

Finally, he said, "Lying."

And that was not the direction she wanted it to go.

"About certain situations," he continued. "People lie to protect those they love, and that can be forgiven for certain reasons. But those who lie for their own benefit are those that have a special place in hell if you ask me."

She bit her lip and nodded. It could've been swayed both way. Jace could've been lying to protect her when he didn't tell her was a father, but what was he protecting?

And if that wasn't the reason, if he did do it for his own benefit, that much was obvious. He wanted to sleep with her. He was like every other bastard out there. All he wanted was sex and didn't care who he had to hurt to get it.

"Thanks, Magnus," she said with a tired voice. "I appreciate it."

He smiled and stood. "Anything else?"

She shook her head.

"Well, I have something I wanted to ask you."

Her eyes filled with questions. "Like what?"

"The Manchester United soccer match is tomorrow afternoon. I got some VIP tickets, and I know you watched a lot of soccer back home. I was wondering if you wanted to go." He paused. "It might get your mind off of some things and help you relax."

The idea was actually appealing. He'd taken her to a few matches over the winter seasons, friendly matches here and there with small tournaments, and she found that she enjoyed it. No surprise there.

She nodded and smiled. "I'd love to."

"I'll pick out your outfit tomorrow morning," he said as he walked towards the door. "Goodnight, Clary."

"Goodnight," she called after him, watching as the door shut and sliding down to her bed for some much needed sleep.

The field looked so small from where Clary sat. She felt like she was looking down at a kingdom. Everyone looked like ants below her, running about to find their seats and get food and drinks. There were thousands of Man United fans in red, sporting jerseys and t-shirts to support their team.

Clary envied them.

While they were comfortable, she tugged at the hem of her dress with disgust. She hated the dress that Magnus put her in, even if the designs were gorgeous. Most of the time she felt like she couldn't pull it off, no matter how much he insisted, and that's where the uncomfortable feelings came from. It wasn't that the actually material itched or felt strange. Being beautiful is what felt strange.

There was laughing and smiling all around her as she looked out over the window. Everyone in the VIP section was dressed up for the game: suits and ties and dresses and heels. She was majorly outclassed by the twenty to thirty people.

"Fancy seeing you here."

She jumped at the voice and turned to see him again. Mr. Random. He stood with his hands in his pockets and stared out at the field, a small smile playing at his lips. He was dressed similar to the last time she saw him, but he had a hint of black stains on his shirt this time. What the hell was that stuff?

Clary touched her skin over her heart, feeling it race under her fingers. "You scared me."

"My apologies," he said. "You look beautiful, by the way. Magnus got a hold of you?"

She nodded and turned back to the field, staring at the players. She was too far to actually make anything out. All she saw was blobs of red and white warming up on opposite sides. "You better believe it."

"He does tend to go a bit overboard," the man said. "He keeps trying to get me to change my attire, but I'm twenty-six and set in my ways."

"I should've known."

Clary and Mr. Mystery both turned to find Magnus standing behind him. Instead of a regular suit, he was in all sorts of colors and blends. His hair stood up with who knew how much gel and was a shade of red, no doubt for the Man United Team.

The man next to Clary chuckled and held his hands up. "I've been caught."

"Caught?" Clary asked.

"Henry Branwell," Magnus said. "That's who you met at the party." He addressed Clary. "He's quiet and curious and doesn't like to be known. That's why you were so lost when he talked to you."

She frowned and looked up at the man. "Is that your name?"

"I'm inclined to say yes."

"Well at least that is sorted out," she said.

Henry stepped past Clary and slapped Magnus's shoulder gently. "Let's go get a drink." He turned to Clary. "I'll explain everything later after the game. I'm sure Charlotte will want us all to do something later on."

And then they were gone. Clary watched them head to the small bar in the big room, talking with their hands. Magnus looked angry but relieved, happy but sad. He was mixed with more emotions than Clary could keep up with.

So instead of worrying about it, she turned back to the field. She watched quietly as the teams left the field and headed towards the locker room. The big screens along the stadium started to play commercials, going from one to another, before suddenly the teams appeared again. They were lined up in the tunnels and walked out in uniform lines.

"And now… ladies and gentlemen, prepare for the lineups from Manchester United and–"

"I wanna stand in the front!" said a young girl's voice with a slight British accent. "I don't want to watch through a TV."

"But, honey, our seats are over there."

"I'll stand with her. She looks nice."

"Emily–"

Clary turned just as a girl, the one who'd been talking, ran up and jumped next to her. She pulled up a chair with her and stood on it, leaning against the glass with a big smile on her face.

The artist in Clary took over as she looked over her. She was dressed simply in a blue, flower, knee length dress with sandals. Her hair – blonde and blonder in some places – curled around her shoulders and danced to just below her shoulder blades. She looked to be about three, maybe a little younger. But she was beautiful and happy and Clary felt a light energy coming off of her.

"I'm so sorry," a woman said as she came to stand on the other side of the girl – Emily. She was about the same height as Clary which was shocking, with brown hair and easy eyes. She was around her mid-twenties as well. Everyone around here seemed to be like that. She was regarding Clary with apology. "She's stubborn and wants what she wants."

"And I want to stay here," she begged, pressing her forehead to the glass.

"But–"

"She can stay," Clary said before she even realized it. "She seems pretty invested in the idea."

"She's a handful," the woman warned.

Clary smiled and looked down at the girl. "I don't mind." In all actuality, Clary was just happy to be around something that didn't make her feel inferior. She'd rather be with this three year old than with the woman and men around her that terrified.

"Don't do anything reckless. I'll be over with boys if you need me," the woman said as she bent to kiss the girl on the head, and then she walked off and left the two alone.

"I'm Emily," she said quickly, staring ahead with her hands now on the glass as well. "What's your name?"

"Clary," she said, leaning against the window and glancing out towards the screens. The names of the players were being called out over the speakers in the stadium, echoing.

"Pretty name," Emily said with a smile and turned to look at her. "You're very pretty too. Daddy always says that I'm one of the two most beautiful people he's ever seen. You're one of mine. That makes us both pretty."

Who can argue with that logic? "I–"

"Shh!" she said quickly, shoving her face forward. "Daddy's name is about to be called."

Clary shrugged and turned towards the screen, watching as the player's faces whizzed by.

"And now," the announcer yelled loudly, "the younger player on the team and starting center mid, born and raised in California, Jace Wayland!"

Clary froze and her voice caught in her throat. Jace's beautiful, golden face popped up on screen as he looked out over the crowd. It all made since at that moment. The blue of the L.A. Galaxy showed in the crowd randomly, and every fan there seemed to scream for Jace. A few Man U fans even seemed to clap for him. He waved and smiled, winking towards the camera with familiar arrogance before backing up again and taking his spot in line.

"Go Daddy!" Emily yelled, bringing Clary back to the VIP room. "That's my dad!" she was yelling to no one in particular.

And that was when Clary was too overwhelmed. Her gaze jumped between Jace on the field, his 'daughter' standing next to her, and Magnus back at the bar. He was frozen in place, staring at her as realization dawned on him. William was walking towards her like he knew to begin with, like he realized it from the start.

That's all it took for Clary's eyes to close and she fell back, hoping and praying someone caught her.

"She's going to be fine. It was just a little bit of a shock for her."

"You could've told her. I wouldn't have brought her if I'd known. I know you keep secrets, Henry, but this is beyond you. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that his daughter wanted to watch him play. What would you have done, Magnus? This is the chance to fix this mess. I hate this confrontation crap and I want it over with. I can't focus on my work when he's acting like this around Emily. She may be his biological daughter, but she's mine at the moment and I'm worried about her."

"If they wanted it fixed, they would've done it themselves."

"You and I both know that it's not that easy when it comes to people you love."

"Is she going to be okay?" a small voice asked as Clary opened her eyes painfully.

She was now lying in the VIP room. Her back pressed into the carpet and the first thing she saw was gold. At first she thought that she was hallucinating. She thought it was him, but then she realized it was her.

Emily hovered over her. Her brows were pinched together as she looked down at Clary. Her golden eyes showed everything that Clary would've expected from a three year old. They were confused, strained, and concerned. The gears were turning in her head as she tried to figure out why Clary acted like she had.

Clary didn't really blame her.

"Sweetheart," Henry reached forward and gently pulled Emily back. "She needs space."

Emily let him pull her into his side, her eyes staying glued to Clary as she struggled up to her elbows. "Uncle Henry, is she going to be okay?"

"Why don't you ask her?"

"Clary?"

With much reluctance, Clary met the girl's gaze. It made plenty of sense. She resembled Jace more and more as Clary looked her over. The eyes were identical, from the colors of the iris to the stubbornness, arrogance, and pride behind them. Her skin was golden as well, like it was sun kissed from California. The stances were even the same.

Clary finally sat all the way up, feeling Magnus press his hand to her back to steady her. "Sorry about that."

"Why did you faint?" Emily asked bluntly.

"Umm," Clary hesitated. "I–"

"Charlotte," Henry called, and Clary looked up as the brown haired woman from earlier walked over. "Can you take Emily back to her spot by the window and make sure she doesn't cause any more harm?"

"What did I do?" Emily asked with genuine confusion. "I didn't mean whatever I did."

"It was nothing," Charlotte said, bending and picking the blond girl up, placing her on her hip. "Clary just had a moment. It happens to everyone." She said it with a hint of something else, but Clary didn't bother on it.

The trio on the floor was quiet as the pair walked back to the window to watch the game, to watch the players, to watch Jace.

Jace. The boy that stole her heart. Not the boy, the man. She was so stupid to fall for him, to continue to love him and care for him, but she couldn't stop. Even if he had already forgotten her, she knew that it would never be like that for her.

"You're contemplating your life and I don't like it," Magnus said. Clary flicked her gaze to his with annoyance. "All that does is put you in a sad, depressed mood."

"I should've told you," Henry interrupted. "But it isn't that simple."

"It was just a surprise." Clary sighed. "Help me up."

They did, each grabbing one of her hands and pulling her to her feet. She brushed off her dress as Magnus fixed her hair almost unconsciously.

"How do you know Jace?" she asked Henry when Magnus excused himself. Maybe he knew that this talk had to be between the two of them and only the two of them. She liked and hated the idea.

Henry shoved his hands in his pockets. "We're relatives. Distant relatives on Emily's mother's side."

"Oh."

"Yup," he said with a simple tone. "It isn't really my place to talk about Jace's family. I know what he did and how he knows you and everything, so… yeah." Henry rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I just want it right."

Clary nodded and looked over at the window. Emily had her nose pressed up against the glass, smiling and pointing. "How did you end up with Emily?"

"It's a long story," he said. "And it's not mine to tell. If you want to know, you're going to have to ask Jace."

"I can't do that."

"I know why you think you can't, but I promise you that you can."

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself. "Jace and I haven't seen each other for months. Last time we did, it was wonderful and tragic and heartbreaking and I don't want to go through any of that again."

"He misses you."

That caught her off guard. "What are you talking about?"

Henry sighed and ran a hand through his ginger hair, a gesture that Jace did often as well. "There are only so many people that can put a smile on his face. Emily is the obvious one. Yes, he is her father. No, he doesn't live with her and provide for her, but he doesn't have the resources for that yet. We keep her and take care of her right now but she is the brighter part of his world. Whenever he's with her, it's nothing but smiles on his face. That's something that no one else can create."

She took a deep breath and focused on his words, taking in every detail.

"But then he called me freaking out one day," he continued. "He said that there was a girl, someone that he was getting deep feelings for. It scared him for more than one reason. I'm sure he told you about his father?"

Clary nodded. "He said that's one of the reasons that it took us so long to get together."

"Yes, it was one of the reasons. Michael is not a kind soul. But Emily is. And the idea of spending so much time with you made Jace feel like he was neglecting Emily. Even if he didn't and still talked to her as much as possible, he felt bad for loving you."

That did it. She felt the squeezing in her chest and the pain from it. It wasn't physical pain, although it sure did feel that way. If only it was easier. It should be easier.

"What about Emily's mother?" Clary wondered suddenly. "Couldn't Emily live with her?"

Henry paled slightly and looked down at his shoes. "It's difficult for me to say."

"How come?"

He gazed at her with his piercing blue eyes. "You really need to talk to him about that. Not me. I'm not… it's not my place."

And although she didn't want to, she had a feeling he was more than right.

"Clary!"

She turned to find Emily's eyes on her, a pleading and determined glint in them. She'd seen that look before.

The little girl was waving her over. "Come watch the game with me." Charlotte gave the shorter bundle of joy a look. Emily just rolled her young eyes. "Please come watch the game with me?" she added with a lot of sarcasm for her age.

"You might want to go," Henry said. "She's stubborn, determined, and she always gets what she wants."

Clary nodded and bit back the bad feeling in her stomach. "Just like her father."

So now you know who Emily is. Let me know what you think about her! She's like a happy bundle of dramatic joy if you ask me.

And here's a snippet of the next chapter for you:

Jace slowly stepped towards her once, twice, and then stopped himself like he thought better of it. "I don't know what to do," he admitted, looking at the ground.

She wanted to do the same, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from him. "She's gorgeous."

He smiled and nodded, turning to look at Emily momentarily. "She is."

"Why didn't you ever tell me about her?"

What do you think? Let me know in a DM or a review! And stay tuned for more!