Chapter 2

VIVIAN’S POV

"Thank you," I said, straightening, my pulse still thudding somewhere near my throat.

He didn't let go right away. Up close he was even more unsettling. Dsuit, darker eyes, the kind of stillness that made you feel like the only unpredictable thing in the room.

"You're welcome." His voice was low, a little roughened at the edges, like he didn't use it more than he had to.

A man with an earpiece appeared at his shoulder. "Mr. Gray, the car's here. We need to make the next flight."

He gave me one last unreadable look, then turned toward a waiting Rolls-Royce. As he walked away I caught fragments of what the assistant was saying — something about a family, a search that had gone nowhere, an old doctor's name I didn't quite catch. Then the door shut and the words went with it.

I stood on the curb longer than I needed to, unsure why my chest was still tight in a way that had nothing to do with almost being hit by a car.

By the time I got home, Rosa was already at the door reaching for my bag. "Ma'am, where were you all day? Mr. Lowe called checking on you."

"I'm fine. I was out with a friend." I handed her my coat. "I'm taking a short trip soon — go ahead and take the time off too."

She blinked. "But he's not back until the weekend—"

"I've decided." Sharper than I meant it. Rosa had never once been unkind to me, not the way the ones before her had, and she didn't deserve the edge in my voice. But I didn't have room tonight for anyone else's opinion of my own life. "Pack your things. No need to make dinner."

She nodded slowly, her hurt not quite hidden, and I hated myself a little for it.

The bedroom was full of us. Photo albums. A crooked ceramic bowl from a pottery class in year two. The necklaces he liked to say told our whole story, one holiday at a time. I didn't cry over any of it, which surprised me more than the packing did.

I kept my grandfather's books. Worn at the edges were volumes of herbal formulas and the acupuncture charts he'd spent sixty years refining, sealed away the day I married because Nathaniel had no patience for what he called my "hobby." Everything else — the jewelry, the bags, the life he'd built around me like a cage dressed up as a gift — I photographed piece by piece to sell. I wouldn't be cheap about leaving. I wouldn't be sentimental about it either.

I had eighteen missed calls by the time I checked my phone.

Rosa said you're taking a trip. Since when do you go anywhere without me? Wait for me and we'll go together.

I almost laughed. The man juggling a pregnant mistress across town still found the bandwidth to worry about my travel plans.

I told him Lauren's boyfriend had cheated, that she'd ended up in the hospital, that I wanted to get her out of the city for a few days. He believed it instantly. Of course he did — cheating was clearly a subject he understood from experience.

My wife is loyal to her friends. Go, spend whatever you need. I don't work this hard just to watch you save money.

Ten minutes later, two hundred thousand landed in my account. I sat with that number a long moment. Every time he'd disappeared for more than a few days these past three years, money showed up like this. I used to call it generosity.

Now I knew it was guilt wearing a nicer coat.

I typed one more message before I could stop myself. Do you think all men eventually get tired of what they have? If you ever did — would you tell me, or let me find out myself?

Three minutes passed.

Vivi, I'm not like other men. I will never betray you. There's only ever been you.

My hands were shaking by the time I set the phone down. If I hadn't gone in for that appointment, I'd have believed every word of it for the rest of my life.

He wasn't getting off that easily. If we weren't legally married, fine — I'd still walk away with half of everything he thought he owned. He and Chloe could split whatever was left.

I barely slept. In the morning I ignored his messages and answered when Mr. Whitmore called instead. He'd run R&D at Lowe Pharmaceuticals since before I was born, and had known me since I was twelve, trailing my grandfather through his old clinic taking notes I only half understood.

"Mrs. Lowe, hate to bother you — we've hit a wall on a formulation. Would you take a look?"

Two hours later, fighting nausea the whole time, I found what his team had missed and sent it back with notes.

"You're a miracle," he said. "I keep telling Nathaniel this department runs better with you emailing favors than with half the staff we actually pay."

Nathaniel had made me director once — not because he believed I'd earned it, but because someone in the break room had mocked my background and firing them felt cleaner than admitting his wife might be good at something. He never asked what I did with the title. He didn't know half the compounds his own company sold had my fingerprints on them, quietly, through Whitmore, long after I'd stopped showing up in person.

"I'm coming back next week," I told him.

He hesitated. "Does Mr. Lowe know?"

"He will."

I wasn't doing it for his blessing. I needed to see the company from the inside before I decided exactly how much of it I planned to take with me.

That evening Nathaniel called again, all warmth. "Baby, are you eating enough? Getting rest?"

I gave him the bare minimum, watching the ceiling instead of the phone.

"Whitmore mentioned you're coming back to work. What brought that on?"

"The doctor thinks a change of scenery might help the odds." It wasn't even a full lie.

He laughed, easy and indulgent, the tone you'd use on a child who'd announced she wanted to be an astronaut. "If it makes you happy, go. I'll tell them to keep things light for you. Somewhere to be, not somewhere to work."

I didn't answer. There wasn't a version of that sentence that wouldn't start a fight, and I was saving all my fighting for later.

Then, faintly, from his end I heard a soft voice. "Nathan, help me with my hair?"

The line went dead before I could respond.

Somewhere in that hotel suite, Chloe was standing close enough to be heard, comfortable enough to interrupt, and he hadn't even bothered stepping into another room first.

He called back four minutes later, pitching his voice into something almost convincing. "Yatong's father's here for business, she stopped by to say hello, that's all it was. Don't make this into something."

"Why would I? She's practically a child. Even you wouldn't stoop that low."

He let out a short, guilty laugh. "You say the strangest things." Still with traces of laughter, he continued, quieter. "I'll have someone send you something nice this week. To make up for being away."

I hung up first, for once.