Chapter 2

I tightened my grip on the phone.

"Did you get my permission before letting Josie move in?" I shot back.

The line went quiet for a few seconds before Stefan scoffed. "So this whole stunt was just your way of going after Josie."

He spoke slowly, drawing out every word. "Queenie, I can't believe you're being so spiteful. You went to all this trouble just to make life hard for a young woman."

Spiteful?

Because I hadn't died at their hands?

Because I'd taken back what was rightfully mine?

Apparently, that was all it took to make me the spiteful one.

I didn't bother wasting another word on him and hung up.

Down in the garage, I stopped in front of my parking spot and found it empty.

I opened the tracking app on my phone.

The BMW I'd just bought for 720,000 dollars was in the next city over—right in Josie's hometown.

Without hesitation, I activated the vehicle's anti-theft lockout and called the cops.

They moved faster than I expected.

When the car was brought back to the station, a young man stepped out of the driver's seat—Josie's younger brother, Zane Gordon.

He glared at me with hatred. "My brother-in-law gave me this car! Who the hell do you think you are, calling the cops on me?"

Before long, hurried footsteps echoed through the police station entrance.

A figure dressed in white rushed inside and threw herself at Zane.

Josie's eyes were red-rimmed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Zane's never even set foot inside a police station in his life, and now he's being treated like a thief…"

She choked up, unable to finish, her whole body trembling like a leaf.

Stefan marched in right behind her and immediately grabbed my wrist.

"Apologize," he spat.

I tried to wrench my wrist free from his grip. "This is my car. You gave it to him without my permission—"

"We bought that car for our wedding!" he snapped, cutting me off. "I have every right to give it to whoever I want!"

We'd picked up the car a month ago. He chose the model and the color. I footed the bill.

The day we went to get the license plates, he took Josie out for a spin, leaving me to sit alone at the DMV for three hours.

My chest heaved. "I paid for it in full—"

Before I could finish, a sharp crack split the air.

My head snapped to the side.

I froze.

I'd known Stefan for ten years and dated him for five. Before Josie came along, even raising his voice at me would leave him so wracked with guilt that he couldn't sleep.

But now, for the sake of another woman, he'd slapped me in front of a room full of people.

Stefan's fingers trembled.

He instinctively took a half-step toward me, but Josie immediately let out a choked sob.

He stopped, his expression hardening all over again.

"Queenie, all you talk about these days is money. You've become so materialistic. I'm disappointed in you."

He sounded like the wronged party. "Consider that slap a lesson. From now on, don't nickel-and-dime me in front of other people."

I gently touched my stinging cheek and said calmly, "There is no 'from now on' for us."

I didn't cry, nor did I make a scene.

I just followed police protocol—signing every page of the paperwork and dropping the charges.

As I walked out of the interview room, a hand clamped around my wrist again.

Stefan's tone softened. "I made a reservation. You have low blood sugar, and you shouldn't be skipping meals."

I stopped in my tracks.

His tone grew even gentler. "Just apologize to Josie at dinner, buy the house back, and let Zane have the car. Be good, and we'll go right back to the way we were."

Coldness crept through my fingertips, inch by inch.

I shoved his hand away.

"Stefan, we can't go back to the way we were."

He frowned, but I just offered him a faint smile.

"I'm getting married."