Chapter 1

The rain hit the windshield hard.

It was a dark, miserable night on the Montauk Highway.

My stomach cramped, a familiar, sharp pain.

Marcus drove, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

His phone rang, loud and urgent.

Izzy' s name flashed on the screen.

Of course, it was Izzy.

"I have to take this," Marcus said. His voice was tight.

He answered. Izzy' s voice, high and panicked, filled the car.

"Marcus, oh god, my car broke down! I' m on some deserted road, it' s so dark, I' m scared!"

My husband' s face changed.

Worry. For her.

He pulled over sharply to the shoulder. Cars whizzed past, too close.

"Ellie, call an Uber. I have to go. Izzy needs me."

He didn' t look at me.

My cramps got worse. I felt sick.

"Marcus, I' m not feeling well. It' s... it' s really bad tonight."

He fumbled in the back seat, found a flimsy umbrella.

"Here. My parents' house isn' t far back. Or just wait for the Uber. I have to go."

He opened his door. Cold rain blasted in.

He was gone.

The red taillights of his car disappeared into the storm.

Leaving me. Alone. Terrified.

This was the ninth time.

The ninth goodbye.

Tears mixed with the rain on my face as I finally got out of the car, clutching the useless umbrella.

The wind tried to rip it from my hand.

Each cramp was a hot knife in my gut.

I remembered Izzy' s voice, smooth and cruel, a few months ago.

We were at some awful sorority reunion. Alpha Phi sisters, she' d called us.

She' d cornered me.

"Ellie, sweetie," Izzy had said, her eyes glittering. "Let' s make a little game out of it. A test. If Marcus leaves you for me, at nine critical moments, you have to admit he never loved you. You walk away. Divorce him. Leave him to me."

I was stupid.

I was desperate.

I thought, surely, Marcus would choose me. His wife.

So I' d nodded. A silent, stupid agreement to her sick game.

Now, her voice echoed in my head. "Nine times, Ellie. Nine."

She won.

Marcus never loved me.

It was time for the divorce.

My phone was almost dead, but I managed to call an Uber.

The ride back to our New York apartment was a blur of pain and cold realization.

Our marriage was a lie.

Izzy orchestrated it all, right from college.

She was the popular girl, the queen bee. Marcus was her loyal puppy, the rich quarterback always at her beck and call.

I was just Ellie Vance, the quiet art student she barely noticed in our shared electives at NYU.

Then Izzy decided she wanted a "rebellious phase" with some musician.

She dumped Marcus. He was heartbroken.

Izzy, in her twisted way, decided I was a safe, non-threatening person for Marcus to rebound with.

She pushed him towards me.

"Ellie' s sweet, Marcus. She' ll be good for you. Stable."

I found out later he hadn' t even wanted to ask me out. Izzy convinced him.

He proposed after Izzy ran off to Europe with her musician, leaving Marcus feeling utterly rejected.

I was his consolation prize.

And all this time, his heart, his obsession, it was always Izzy.

I was just convenient.

Why did I agree to Izzy' s cruel bet?

Hope. A tiny, foolish speck of it.

I wanted to believe that if faced with a clear choice, Marcus would finally see me.

Choose me.

The first time was our anniversary. Per Se. Mid-dinner, Izzy' s text. A "crisis." He left.

The second, my gallbladder attack. Emergency surgery. He was in the Hamptons with Izzy at a polo match. She faked a twisted ankle. He rushed to her. I signed my own consent forms.

The third, my grandmother' s memorial. She raised me. He stayed for ten minutes. An "unavoidable business emergency." It was a charity gala Izzy co-chaired.

Eight times. Each one a deeper cut.

Missing my career-defining design award. Forgetting my birthday to comfort Izzy over a lost earring. Siding with her in public arguments that left me humiliated.

Now, the ninth. Leaving me sick and alone on a dark highway.

My love for him, that stubborn, hopeful thing, was finally dead.

It had been drained, drop by drop, with every abandonment.

The tank was empty.

I had the divorce papers already.

My lawyer, a sharp woman I' d found after the fifth abandonment, had drawn them up months ago.

A moment of foresight. Or maybe just a premonition.

I got back to the apartment, shivering, soaked.

I laid the papers on the mahogany desk in his study.

My signature was already there. Bold and clear. Eleanor Vance.

I just needed his. Marcus Thorne.

The next morning, my phone buzzed. It was Izzy.

Her voice was syrupy sweet.

"Ellie, darling! Marcus and I were thinking. We want to do something lovely for you. A little surprise joint investment. For that little art gallery you' ve always dreamed of opening. To make you happy. Get you off Marcus' s back, you know?"

My stomach churned.

"Marcus is swamped today, but he' ll be at his office around noon to sign some papers for it. You should be there. It' s about your dream, after all."

I knew what she was doing.

This was her victory lap.

I said nothing.

She hung up.

I went.

I had to see it. The final act.

Marcus' s office at Thorne Legacy Properties was all glass and power.

He was there, looking tired but also... eager. Eager to please Izzy.

Izzy was radiant, triumphant.

She had a stack of documents.

"Just a few signatures, darling," Izzy cooed at Marcus, tapping the pile. "For Ellie' s gallery. And a few other little things."

My divorce papers were in that stack. I saw the edge of the familiar blue legal backing.

Marcus barely glanced at them.

Izzy pointed. "Sign here, and here."

He signed.

His name, Marcus Thorne, scrawled carelessly next to mine.

He was too busy smiling at Izzy, who promised him this would make me "so happy."

He didn' t even look at me.

Izzy slid the signed divorce papers out from the stack with a perfectly manicured finger.

She held them out to me.

A small, victorious smile played on her lips.

"There you go, Ellie. Your ninth goodbye. All wrapped up."

I took them. My hand was steady.

I felt... nothing. Just a vast, cold emptiness where my heart used to be.

"Thank you, Izzy," I said, my voice even. "You' ve made things very clear."

Marcus looked confused for a second.

"Clear? What' s clear? Is the gallery funded?"

Izzy just laughed, a light, tinkling sound that grated on my nerves.

"Don' t worry your handsome head about it, Marcus. Ellie understands."

I turned and walked out.

The signed papers were heavy in my bag.

The weight of my freedom.