Chapter 2

When I got home, Nicholas's Bentley was already parked out front.

The car window was cracked.

From inside, a man's voice — low, breathless, satisfied. "Say it."

"Nicholas..."

"Who's your favorite person?"

"Nicholas..."

"Good girl. I'd give you anything."

I stood on the pavement in the full summer heat and felt nothing but cold.

An hour later, Nicholas walked in with a small, delicate woman on his arm.

The moment she saw me sitting in the living room, her eyes filled. She pressed herself back against Nicholas, lower lip quivering. "Why is she here? You said this was our home."

She turned to him, voice fracturing. "You were lying to me. You haven't let go of her at all."

"I have my self-respect. I won't be anyone's second choice. I'm leaving right now."

Nicholas moved to hold her back, wrapping both arms around her, keeping her in place. "Stop imagining things. We're legally married, you're my wife, this is our home. She's here to collect her things."

He looked over at me. No apology. No explanation.

"Peyton. The country house has more space, quieter. Go stay there for a while."

My mind went blank for a moment.

Before the anger could reach me, my chest caved in on itself in plain, physical pain.

Three years ago, when we moved into this house, Nicholas had held me with red eyes.

"This is our home, Peyton. You, me, and the family we'll build."

Now the man who had promised me that home was clearing me out of it.

"Peyton. My wife isn't happy. I won't say it again."

He was still smiling. But underneath it was something hard and certain.

My throat closed.

After a long silence, I heard my own voice go flat. "Fine."

As I stood to go, Nicholas crossed the room and took my wrist. His voice softened by a degree. "There's an event this afternoon. Come with us."

I started to say no. He spoke first.

"Bianca hasn't been to one of these before. Help her with the dress. Make her look the part."

I stopped.

The absurdity of it made me want to laugh.

But I thought about how little time I had left for any of this.

I didn't argue.

Before the gala, Bianca announced she had nothing suitable to wear. She went to my wardrobe and selected, with practiced precision, the most extravagant thing in it — a one-of-a-kind gown Nicholas had given me for my birthday, worth a small fortune, with its matching jewelry.

She took Nicholas's arm.

I walked behind them and held up the hem of my own dress.

The whispers followed me through the entire event.

"That's something, isn't it — his wife carrying the hem for his new one."

"She's not his wife anymore, hasn't anyone told you? That little thing on his arm has the certificate. This one got used for ten years and has nothing to show for it."

"What kind of idiot walks into a room like that? She might as well have 'disposable' tattooed on her forehead."

I left the ballroom and found the nearest bathroom.

And through the wall, I heard someone ask Nicholas: "So you actually married that girl? What about Peyton?"

His laugh was light. Easy. "Peyton's world only has room for me. Ten years, and I've got her completely conditioned. When I'm done with this one, she'll still be standing right where I left her."

I stood over the sink and ran cold water on my wrists until I could breathe again.

Then I bit down on the side of my hand.

Watched the tears fall into the basin, making no sound.

Nicholas. You've miscalculated.

This piece of cloth you've written off — I'm done waiting.

I turned to walk out of the bathroom.

And walked directly into a slap.

I pressed my hand to my cheek and turned.

Bianca rolled her wrist. The softness was gone from her face entirely.

"You heard everything. Nicholas and I are legally married. So why are you still following him around?" Her voice was a thin, precise blade. "You like being used? Go find someone in the gutter — that's where you belong. A woman who let herself be played for ten years and got nothing for it fits right in with the trash."

The room was ringing.

I looked at her without blinking, anger so complete it had gone past heat and come out the other side as something cold.

She didn't give me a chance to speak.

Her expression transformed. She grabbed the front of her own gown and wrenched it open, then threw herself backward.

"Nicholas!"

He was there in seconds, gathering her up, steadying her against his chest.

She sobbed into him. "I'm the one who broke you up. It's all my fault. I'm the villain. I'm a terrible person." She slapped herself across the face. Hard. Twice.

Nicholas caught her hands, his expression fracturing.

"Who told you that?"

Bianca bit her lip, clutching her own dress. "Don't ask. Please."