Chapter 2

Mia walked into the private dining room on Daniel’s arm, sending me a sweet smile.

"Maddy, could you help me cover my drinks tonight?"

It was the company’s anniversary dinner with key clients.

I was seated at the far end of the long table, squeezed next to the interns.

My place card read, “Maddy, Executive Assistant to the CEO.”

Mia sat right at Daniel's right hand, the place of honor.

"Daniel, your fiancé is absolute perfection," a client cheered, raising a toast.

Daniel just smiled, casually slipping an arm around Mia’s shoulders.

Nobody corrected the client.

Three rounds in, Mia leaned back in her leather chair and glanced down the table at me. She tipped her chin up slightly.

"Maddy, go take care of Mr. Clark's table," she said. "Daniel’s stomach is sensitive. He shouldn't be drinking."

She knew his stomach was sensitive.

She also knew mine was far worse.

Eight years ago, the first time I entertained clients for him, I threw up blood in the bathroom.

Daniel had gone out of his mind.

He dragged me out of that venue, held me on a cold hospital bench, and swore he’d never let me touch a drop of alcohol again.

Now, the woman sending me into the fray was the one he brought home.

"Of course," I said smoothly.

I stood up and walked over to Mr. Clark's table with a full glass of fifty-three-percent liquor.

The first shot went down.

My stomach twisted like a wrung-out wet rag.

The second shot went down.

A metallic warmth bubbled up in the back of my throat. I swallowed it back down.

Mr. Clark slapped the table with a loud laugh. "Now that’s what I call team spirit, Maddy! One more!"

As I raised the third glass to my lips, I caught Daniel looking my way.

He frowned, his mouth opening as if to speak.

But right at that moment, Mia leaned over and whispered something in his ear.

His eyes shifted away. He looked back down and gently plated a piece of cod for her.

It was steamed.

No spice, no oil, perfectly bland.

Mia had a delicate digestive system, so she only ate plain food.

He remembered every single one of her dietary restrictions.

Yet after eight years, he forgot I couldn't drink.

Or maybe he remembered, and just didn't care anymore.

I knocked back the third shot.

The agony in my core turned into a dull, terrifying numbness.

Setting the empty glass down, I clinked the rim against Mr. Clark's glass with a tight smile.

"Excuse me for a moment."

---

The second the lock clicked on the restroom stall door, I doubled over.

It wasn't liquor coming up. It was dark, deep red blood, mixed with shredded bits of stomach lining.

This was what late-stage cancer looked like. The tumors were tearing through my blood vessels.

I slid down the cold tile wall and crouched there until the dizziness cleared.

I wiped my lips and fingers clean with a tissue, then pulled out my lipstick.

My face in the mirror was ghost-white, but a heavy coat of crimson hid the worst of it.

When I stepped out, the private room door opened.

Daniel was leaning against the frame, his tie loosened.

Mia was standing right behind him, waiting.

"Maddy," he said, eyeing me.

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a box of medicine and a black card.

He shoved them into my hand.

"Good work tonight. Take this card and buy yourself something nice to recover."

I looked down at the box. It was still in a cheap plastic bag from a local corner pharmacy.

Eight years ago, he walked three miles through a rainstorm to fetch a custom herbal remedy for my stomach.

Now, he didn't even bother to check what medication I was actually taking.

Antacids would only neutralize acid, they couldn't cure a terminal tumor.

"Thank you," I said softly, taking both the card and the box.

Mia stepped forward, her high heels clicking on the marble floor.

She wrapped her arms around herself. "Daniel, it's so windy out here. I'm freezing."

He immediately slipped off his designer suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

As they passed me, Daniel paused for a fraction of a second.

He was probably remembering the ground rules he gave me.

Once he verified I was standing at a respectable distance, he took Mia’s hand and walked out into the night.

I stood alone in the quiet hallway, turning the black card over in my fingers.

A hundred-thousand-dollar limit.

I guess that was what my life was worth to him.

Back in my tiny guest room, I tossed the box of antacids straight into the trash.