Chapter 2

Maya left the restaurant, the humiliation clinging to her like a shroud.

She didn't touch the seafood.

She didn't say a word.

She simply stood up and walked out, Tori's saccharine "Oh, are you leaving so soon?" echoing behind her.

Back in the sterile penthouse, she dabbed antiseptic on the raw skin of her palm where her nails had dug in.

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror was a pale, haunted stranger.

Dust coated the old guitar case in the corner of the spare bedroom.

Alex, the Brooklyn Alex, had bought it for her from a street musician.

"For your songs," he'd said, his eyes shining. "The ones you hum when you think no one is listening."

She hadn't touched it since he'd remembered who he was.

Their shared music, like their love, was gathering dust.

She pulled out a suitcase from the back of the cavernous closet.

Clothes she barely wore. Gifts from Alex, expensive and impersonal.

She packed only her own things, the worn jeans, the faded t-shirts, her art supplies.

Each item was a reminder of a life that felt a lifetime ago.

A life where love was simple, and happiness was a shared cup of cheap coffee.

The penthouse door opened.

Alex strode in, his tie loosened, his expression thunderous.

"What do you think you're doing?"

His voice was harsh, cutting through the silence.

His scent, a mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely Alex, filled the air.

It used to comfort her. Now, it made her flinch.

He saw the suitcase, the pile of her belongings.

"Are you seriously making a scene over dinner?"

He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin.

"Tori was just being hospitable. Can't you just be sensible about this? She's important to me, to my family."

Important.

The word twisted in Maya's gut.

What was she, then? A temporary amusement? An inconvenient past?

Maya pulled her arm free.

She said nothing.

She continued folding a worn sketchbook, placing it carefully into the suitcase.

Her silence seemed to infuriate him more than any argument would have.

"Damn it, Maya, talk to me!"

She closed the suitcase, the click of the latches loud in the tense room.

Alex's face was flushed with anger.

"Fine! If you want to sulk, go ahead!"

He turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The penthouse seemed to tremble with the force of his anger.

Maya stood still for a long moment, her own hand trembling slightly.

The next morning, Tori was in the penthouse kitchen, wearing one of Alex's silk shirts.

She was making coffee, moving about as if she owned the place.

Alex sat at the island, reading a financial newspaper, looking completely at ease with Tori's presence.

He didn't even glance at Maya when she walked in.

Tori smiled brightly at Maya.

"Oh, good morning! Alex insisted I stay over. The traffic from my place can be dreadful in the mornings, you know."

Her tone was light, almost innocent.

"Don't overthink it, Maya."

Maya poured herself a glass of water.

"I wasn't."

Alex finally looked up, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"Mother is hosting a charity auction tonight. You'll come with me."

It wasn't a request.

Maya felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach.

Tori's eyes sparkled.

"Oh, that will be lovely! I adore your mother's auctions, Alex. She has such exquisite taste."

She slipped her arm through Alex's.

"We should get going soon if we want to preview the items."

She then turned to Maya, her smile fixed.

"You'll come too, won't you, Maya? It'll be fun."

Maya felt like a puppet, her strings pulled by forces she couldn't control.

The auction hall was a sea of glittering jewels and designer gowns.

Alex, with Tori on his arm, moved through the crowd with effortless grace.

He bid lavishly on a diamond necklace for Tori, then a pair of sapphire earrings.

Each purchase was accompanied by a possessive smile at Tori, a public display of their connection.

Maya trailed behind them, invisible.

Someone commented, loud enough for Maya to hear, "She's lovely, isn't she? Perfect for Alex."

Another voice, lower, whispered, "Who's the other one? The plain girl?"

Alex, presenting Tori with a newly acquired emerald bracelet, said, loud enough for Maya to overhear, "Emeralds suit you, darling. Unlike some... well, Maya doesn't really use these things, does she?"

His casual cruelty was like a slow poison.

Tori turned, the emeralds flashing on her wrist, and gave Maya a look of pure, unadulterated triumph.

Maya felt a cold despair settle in her heart.

She was a prop. A temporary fixture.

What was she even doing here?

Why was she letting them do this to her?

The money from Eleanor was in her account. Paris was waiting.

Then, she saw it.

The final auction item was brought onto the stage.

A vintage silver locket.

Her locket.

The one Alex had bought for her from the pawn shop in Brooklyn.

The one she had pawned, with a heavy heart, to cover his medical bills when he was first injured, before his memory returned, before he became this cold stranger.

Her breath hitched.

A desperate, foolish hope flickered within her.

"Starting bid, five hundred dollars," the auctioneer announced.

"One thousand," Maya called out, her voice surprisingly steady.

Heads turned. Alex looked at her, a flicker of surprise, then annoyance, in his eyes.

Tori raised her paddle. "Five thousand."

"Six thousand," Maya said, her gaze fixed on the locket.

"Ten thousand," Tori countered, a smirk playing on her lips.

Maya's savings, even with a portion of Eleanor's money she'd mentally allocated for emergencies, wouldn't stretch much further.

"Fifteen thousand." Her voice was tight.

The auctioneer looked between them. "Fifteen thousand going once..."

Alex raised his paddle.

"Fifty thousand."

His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. He didn't look at Maya.

The auctioneer beamed. "Fifty thousand to Mr. Sterling!"

Alex walked onto the stage, accepted the locket, and without a glance at Maya, turned and presented it to Tori.

"A little something for you, my dear."

Tori giggled, taking the locket.

"Oh, Alex, it's... quaint."

As she turned, her hand brushed against the velvet rope.

The locket slipped from her fingers.

It hit the polished marble floor.