Chapter 4

Days turned into a week. No calls. No texts from Chloe, except for a curt reply to his initial terse messages: "Leave me alone, Ethan."

He'd sent things like, "Had enough of your little vacation yet?" and "The apartment's a mess without you to clean it."

He came home each night to the silent, empty apartment. It was starting to get to him, though he wouldn't admit it.

The place was messy, his takeout containers piling up.

He noticed the small orchid Chloe had been tending on the windowsill. Its purple flowers were drooping, the leaves dull. She' d loved that stupid plant.

He remembered when they met. He was a junior banker, hungry, rough around the edges, working insane hours. Chloe was an art student, all bright colors and soft smiles. She' d seen something in him, something he didn' t even see in himself.

Her parents, the Petersons, hadn' t liked him from the start. Mr. Peterson, a retired history professor, all tweed jackets and quiet disapproval. Mrs. Peterson, a librarian, with a gentle demeanor but sharp eyes that saw right through Ethan' s carefully constructed facade. They thought he was too cold, too ambitious, too focused on money. They' d tolerated him for Chloe' s sake, but the disapproval was always there, a silent judgment.

He' d dismissed it as old-fashioned nonsense. He was giving Chloe a life they never could. Security. Status.

He picked up his phone, typed another text: "Are you going to let that plant die too?"

He hit send before he could second-guess the cruelty in it.

His own unease was a foreign feeling, one he quickly suppressed with anger. She was manipulating him. That had to be it.