Chapter 8

A week later, Harper asked to meet.

The café downstairs from the flat.

She arrived in a white dress, like she'd dressed for the role of the wronged innocent.

"Why are you making this so big?" she said, stirring her coffee slowly. "Conrad's already struggling."

"Conrad is struggling because of what the two of you did."

"We did?" She smiled. "Stella, let's be honest. Conrad's been with you because you're the sensible type. Good to marry. You have a use. That's not nothing."

I said nothing.

She must have taken my silence for weakness. The smile softened into something more relaxed.

"As for love — when you're grown up, who looks at that? Conrad's always loved me. You knew that. The decent thing would be to step back, let things settle. He says he'll reimburse you — property prices have moved, you won't come out worse. And honestly, if you keep dragging this through court, it's you who ends up looking like you couldn't hold onto your own man."

I looked at her for a moment.

I found, almost against my will, something like admiration.

She was living in my flat, wearing my wedding dress, and she could still present herself as the person doing me a kindness.

I leaned back slowly.

"Harper, do you know why you feel comfortable saying all this to my face?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Because you think I'm still fighting over a man."

I turned my phone face-down on the table and stood up, unhurried.

"I'm not. I just want you to return what isn't yours."

She went slightly still.

I leaned in.

"And that speech you just gave — I've been recording it."

Harper shot to her feet. "You—"

I picked up my bag and smiled.

"Thank you so much."

She'd gone white. "Stella Fairfax, you're vicious."

"We're even, then."