Chapter 3

My new apartment was small, two rooms in a part of Houston that wasn't trying to impress anyone.

It was clean, anonymous, and blessedly quiet.

A world away from the manicured lawns and hushed opulence of the Monroe estate.

For three days, I just existed. Unpacked a few boxes, stared out the window, let the raw anger and betrayal wash through me.

There was a strange sort of peace in the quiet, in the simplicity.

No expectations, no performances.

The guesthouse felt like a gilded cage now. Here, I could breathe.

My old life, the one I thought I was building with Savi, was over.

The finality of it was both terrifying and liberating.

I started making calls, reaching out to contacts from my Austin days, exploring options.

My software, the one Monroe Oil & Gas now relied on, was my intellectual property, licensed to them.

A fact Mr. Monroe often conveniently overlooked.

On the fourth night, my phone rang.

Savi.

I almost didn't answer.

"Ethan? Thank God." Her voice was strained, high-pitched with panic.

No apology, no remorse. Just pure, unadulterated Savi-centric crisis.

"You have to come to the stakeholder gala. Tonight."

The annual Monroe Oil & Gas stakeholder gala. A massive affair, black-tie, all the Houston bigwigs.

The night PetroCorp International executives were supposed to be there for the final signing of the joint venture.

A deal entirely dependent on my software, and more importantly, my continued involvement in its application for new drilling sites.

"Savi, I don't work for Monroe Oil & Gas anymore. And I'm certainly not your fiancé."

"Don't be an idiot, Ethan!" she snapped, the panic making her sharp. "This isn't about us right now! This is about the company! About Dad! The PetroCorp deal is tonight! They need to see you! They need to know you're still... involved."

"Involved how, Savi? As the guy you lied to and secretly married your assistant instead of?"

"Stop it!" she shrieked. "Caleb is very ill! You have to understand! Just come tonight. Please, Ethan. For the good of the company. For Dad. He's counting on this."

The sheer audacity.

She wanted me to play a part, to pretend, to salvage her family's business deal after what she'd done.

"No, Savi."

"Ethan, don't do this to me! Don't do this to my family!"

Her voice was cracking, but it wasn't genuine sorrow. It was the sound of a spoiled child about to have a tantrum because her favorite toy was being taken away.

"The deal is contingent on me, Savi. You know that. And I'm out."

I could hear her sharp intake of breath before she hung up.

Or tried to. I ended the call first.

A grim satisfaction settled in. She was starting to understand.