Chapter 2

Back at the penthouse we'd shared for five years at Park Crescent, I started packing.

Turned out, not much of what was in the place was actually mine.

I stood in the empty living room and looked at the space where I'd spent five years of my life, and something strange and clean settled in my chest.

Five years. A full five years. When had I started living like a shadow, waiting to be ordered around?

I remembered when I first met Ethan. He was the brightest thing at Parsons, not because of talent, but because of that extravagant warmth he had. He used to charge into the library in a downpour and throw his jacket over the blueprints I was drafting, saying, "Don't let the ink bleed." Then he'd grin and tell me he didn't mind getting soaked. My designs mattered more. Back then I thought if a man knew how to protect someone else's work that carefully, he had to know how to care for the person behind it.

And he did, for a little while.

The year we graduated, we crammed into a basement studio together. He hustled investors by day while I pulled all-nighters over drafting paper. He'd sneak in at midnight with takeout and drop it by my desk, eyes bright, and say, "Once we make it, Emily, the first gallery I back is yours. I'll rent the whole venue. Every gallery-goer in the city, there to see you."

Back then, Ethan really did make my heart race.

Then the company took off. He got busier. The look in his eyes when he saw me went from burning to bored. Every time I asked about the gallery investment, he had a hundred reasons to stall. But any time he handed me a crumb, a hand on my hair, a quiet "thanks for the late nights," I'd talk myself into it. He's just swamped. He still has room for me. Just wait. Just wait.

I forgave the coldness over and over, because deep down I still believed the boy who stood in the rain protecting my drawings was in there somewhere. I couldn't bear to admit that boy was long gone. If I admitted it, then five whole years had been nothing at all.

Tonight, those words through the gap in the door finally ripped the lie open for me.

"All it takes is me pulling a long face. She pulls an all-nighter and gives me a whole new season for free."

Turns out he didn't misunderstand me. He understood me perfectly. He'd mapped every soft spot in me and used them like keys. Any time he needed one, he reached for it. And everything I'd read as love was just bait he kept throwing.

Good. Clear-eyed at last. And, oddly, it didn't hurt anymore.

The penthouse was all his taste. Black, white, gray, sterile.

I pushed my portfolio and a few changes of clothes into a suitcase.

I'd just zipped it when the door banged open.

Ethan stumbled in reeking of liquor. He saw the suitcase on the floor and his brow darkened.

"Emily. Is this some kind of new kick for you?"

He yanked his tie loose, impatience rolling off him.

"You humiliate me in front of my friends tonight, I haven't even started with you, and now you're playing this running-away-from-home routine?"

I grabbed the handle of the case. My face was calm.

A second ago, I'd half-expected to wobble. Years of conditioning. All he had to do was frown and I'd start auditing myself. What did I do wrong, what could I have done better. It was a habit. Maybe more like an illness.

But not tonight.

I thought about what he'd said on the yacht. She's worth two grand, one day's revenue. Then I thought about the boy in the rain, laughing and holding a jacket over my paper. The two faces lined up and locked together, and I understood. It wasn't that he'd changed. It was that I'd finally seen who he had been the whole time.

My heart went still. No pain. Just light.

"I'm not running away from home. I'm moving out."

"We're done, Ethan."

Ethan laughed like I'd said something obscene.

"Done? Emily, do you really have the guts?"

"You've been with me for five years. Everyone in this industry knows you're my girlfriend."

"You leave me, and you think any firm in this city is going to hire you?"

He came toward me and reached for my face. I slapped his hand aside.

"Don't touch me. It makes my skin crawl."

I didn't soften the hit.

"Everyone in the design world knows my work is what kept your company alive."

"Without me, that tacky little brand of yours would've folded years ago."

Ethan's face darkened.

"Emily, don't push your luck."

"So I put some money into Celeste first. You're really going to be this petty about it?"

"She's a girl, she just came back, she doesn't have anyone. If I don't help her, who will?"

I laughed out loud, actually incredulous.

"Doesn't have anyone? She has you. Walking ATM that you are."

"You're using the money I earned to keep your first love happy, and you want me to clap for the two of you?"

Ethan jabbed a finger at me. His hand was shaking with anger.

"You. You are unbelievable!"

"You think those designs of yours mean anything? Without me giving you a platform, you'd still be in a basement drawing for scraps!"

"Fine. Go. Let's see how long you last out there!"

"Three days and you'll be crawling back in tears!"

I pulled the suitcase to the door and looked back one last time.

"Ethan. I hope to God your company survives three days without new designs."

"And remember. Have that two million ready. My lawyer will be in touch tomorrow."

Slam.

I pulled the door shut and locked his cursing behind it.

Downstairs, I blocked his number. Every way he had of reaching me, I cut off.

In the cab, I dialed the direct line of the man who ran the biggest investment group in New York, Adrian Sterling.

"Mr. Sterling. That partnership agreement you pitched me? I'm signing."

"One condition. My identity stays confidential. I want to run a private studio under an alias, a designer who goes only by 'X.'"

A low, amused laugh came down the line.

"As you wish, Miss Hartley."

"Nine a.m., top-floor boardroom at Sterling Tower. Don't be late."

I hung up and watched the city slide by through the cab window, and let out a long breath.

The Emily who nodded her head and said yes to everything. She was done, starting tonight.