Chapter 2

The next morning, Kevin stood in the foyer adjusting his silk tie.

"Natalie, I've got an important pitch meeting with a client today. Does this navy suit look sharp?"

He checked his reflection in the full-length mirror and glanced back at me, raising an eyebrow.

"It looks great," I said, setting a bowl of plain oatmeal onto the dining table.

Kevin walked over, took a spoonful, and swallowed it, his forehead instantly furrowing.

"Plain oatmeal again? Not even a boiled egg on the side? Being frugal is one thing, but you need protein in the morning."

"We're out of eggs," I replied flatly.

Kevin set the spoon down with a sigh, gently pinching my cheek.

"You're just too cheap sometimes, honey. How much could a carton of eggs possibly cost? Then again, that's what makes you a good homemaker."

He slid a pink courier slip out of his briefcase and placed it in front of me.

"Chloe's coming by later. She left the lace veil for her couture gown at the bridal salon, so I had them rush-deliver it to the parcel locker downstairs. Swing by and grab it for her, will you?"

I glanced down at the tracking slip.

The declared value was clearly printed in bold text: Twelve thousand dollars.

"Her wedding veil was delivered to our building?"

"She lives in a studio with no doorman. Packages get stolen off her porch all the time," Kevin answered smoothly, straightening his cufflinks as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Besides, she's dropping by my office later to discuss a business partnership, so she can just grab it on the way. Don't read into it, Natalie. She and I are ancient history. We're strictly friends and business associates now."

"And the sixty-six-thousand-dollar receipt from the luxury studio—is that a business partnership, too?" I looked him dead in the eye.

Kevin froze.

A fleeting flicker of panic crossed his gaze, but it dissolved instantly back into his practiced, indulgent smile.

"You went through my briefcase?"

He wasn't angry. Instead, he stepped closer, leaning down to meet my eyes.

"Are you jealous, Nat?"

There was a hint of smug amusement in his expression, as if he found my suspicion flattering.

"That receipt is a misunderstanding. Chloe hit a cash flow problem with her boutique and asked me for a temporary bridge loan. She's a single woman trying to make it on her own, and she desperately wanted gorgeous photos to remember her youth. What was I supposed to do, leave her hanging? She signed a promissory note. She's paying me back at the end of the year."

"Then what about my two dollars and fifty cents?" I asked.

Kevin let out an incredulous laugh, tapping the tip of my nose with his index finger.

"Look at you, circling right back around. How are those two things even comparable? Lending money to her is an external financial transaction. What we do is manage our household budget."

"Outsiders are outsiders, so that's business. You're my family, which is why we split domestic costs down the middle. How can you not see the difference between business and intimacy?"

His logic was always airtight, perfectly packaged and weaponized.

If I hadn't already gone completely numb, I might have fallen for his mask of devotion all over again.

"I understand," I whispered, lowering my gaze to stir the cooling oatmeal.

"Good girl."

Kevin patted my shoulder, grabbed his leather briefcase, and turned toward the door.

"Stay on top of that wire transfer from your parents. If that hundred grand isn't cleared by ten this morning, I'm canceling the floral arrangements for the head table. Anyway, I'm off to work."

The front door clicked shut.

The pink parcel slip sat silently beside the ceramic bowl.

I didn't go downstairs to the lockers.

Instead, I pulled my battered rolling suitcase out from beneath the bed.

Over four years, the footprint I had left in this home was embarrassingly small.

A few faded, worn sweaters, some certification study guides, and a thick stack of past-due hospital bills buried deep inside my nightstand.

Four years ago, loan sharks had run my parents off a winding mountain highway in a blinding snowstorm while hunting down Kevin's debts.

By the time I reached the emergency room, the red lights were off.

Kevin had knelt on the linoleum floor of our cheap rental, sobbing hysterically into his hands.

He swore that if he ever betrayed me, he deserved to rot in hell.

Eventually, he launched his startup. His revenue climbed, his lifestyle grew lavish, and his image grew refined.

Yet with me, every single cent was weighed, counted, and clawed back.

He constantly lectured me: "Natalie, we have to prepare for rainy days. Outside cash flow can vanish overnight."

My phone buzzed. It was a message on SnapChat from Chloe.

It was a selfie of her posing in a strapless silk gown against the backdrop of the most exclusive bridal atelier in the city.

Her caption read: Kevin really has the best taste. This silhouette hugs my curves like magic.

I didn't bother to reply. I simply deleted the thread.

When I zipped my suitcase shut, the silence in the apartment was deafening.