Chapter 2

The moment I boarded the plane, Max called me. The phone rang for a while, and just as a flight attendant was reminding me to turn off my phone, a text came through: “I’ll say this once—if you’re done with your tantrum, come back.”

I stared at the short message, and memories from four years ago surfaced. It was the first time I’d thrown a tantrum at him, shortly after I’d learned about Genevieve. I’d downed a lot of wine and stumbled back to him in a half-drunken haze, confronting him in his study, draped in a nightgown, asking if his work or I was more important.

He’d been furious, taking off his glasses to glare at me. “Cassidy,” he’d said icily, “I’m working. Get out.”

Ignoring him, I’d refused to leave until he’d thrown me, coat and all, out of his place. Standing in the deserted estate neighborhood, shivering in the cold, I’d felt a pang of regret but stayed stubbornly silent. Before long, Max showed up, his expression unreadable as he looked down at me, asking, “Had enough?”

I’d stubbornly bitten my frozen lips, just as a sneeze escaped, making him smirk, his eyes softening slightly. He’d crouched down to offer a hand, but I’d refused it, still too proud to accept his help.

His voice had turned harsh, “I’ll say it once—if you’re done, come back.” True to his word, he’d walked off without looking back.

I’d shouted after him, “Give me my bag!”

“Cassidy, I bought that bag for you. If you don’t plan to come back, you won’t be taking it.”

That moment was a wake-up call. The designer bags, the LV, the Hermès—everything was from him. And from that moment on, I knew what I was to him. I’d spent five quiet years by his side after that. But now, sitting on the plane, I deleted his message without another glance.

After two hours in the air, I landed at Savannah’s airport. And in a stroke of bad luck, my bag went missing almost as soon as I’d arrived. At the Savannah City Police Station, the local cops were practically eyeing my designer outfit, silently asking who else would someone want to rob?

Unable to speak the successfully, penniless, without any identification, I had no way to prove who I was. An officer handed me a phone and told me to call someone who could help.

My parents had died in an accident when I was young, and my grandmother had raised me until she passed away before she could enjoy her retirement. Max had come into my life soon after she’d gone—a burst of light in my shadowed world. Out of options, I called Max, dialing again and again, the unanswered ringing only reminding me that his light was no longer a part of my life.

By late afternoon, a kind young man approached and offered to help. His name was Derek Chandler, a fellow American who happened to be at the station. Seeing me alone and distressed, he helped me communicate with the police.

Once I left the station, I changed my phone number and cut all ties with Max. But sometimes, I’d still come across news of him. Photos of Max and Genevieve shopping, him smiling down at her, looking the way I’d once dreamed he’d look at me. Their elegant appearances at ribbon-cutting events, announcements of their upcoming “wedding of the century.”

I remained in Savannah, where Derek and I became good friends. With his help, I found work at Global Exports Inc., a company involved in a partnership that allowed me to rebuild my career. After being Max’s “canary” for five years, I’d lost all sense of independence, but slowly, with Derek’s support, I found my way again.

We kept each other company, two lonely souls leaning on one another. Yet no one had warned us that bringing together two people’s solitude didn’t make things warmer. Standing on a balcony one evening, looking over the Savannah skyline, I asked him, “Why do you stay here?”

He looked back, sadness in his eyes. It was the night of the 4th of July Fireworks Festival, and the flickering lights cast shadows across his face as he told me about his past. He’d come to Savannah to keep a promise to his late fiancée, who’d always wanted to see this festival.

“They say, if you make a wish to the fireworks, it’ll come true,” he told me. I knew he was thinking of her as he said it. She hadn’t made it; she’d died in his arms. Closing my eyes, I closed my hands and made a silent wish to forget Max.

Time passed, and work kept me busy. But sometimes, I still had to deal with harassment from a lecherous boss who would use work as an excuse to touch me or make suggestive jokes. Derek put a stop to it, coming to the office one day and pretending to be my boyfriend. From then on, the boss left me alone, and I was free of other unwanted attention.

After nearly two years in Savannah, I received an assignment to return to New York for a project. Packing up, I flew back with some of my international colleagues. As soon as we landed, a driver from the company met us at JFK, guiding us to The St. Laurent Hotel. Standing in the doorway, I felt memories flood over me, stirring emotions I’d long buried.

But when I saw that the receptionist had changed, I felt my shoulders relax, tightening my grip on my suitcase as I heard, “Hello, Mr. Sterling. Hello, Ms. Harrison…”