Chapter 2

Marcus looked from me to Izzy, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

"What' s going on with the gallery investment then?" he asked.

Izzy waved a dismissive hand.

"Later, Marcus. It' s almost time for my flight to Aspen, remember? You promised to see me off."

His attention snapped back to her. Instantly.

"Right, of course. Aspen."

He glanced at me, a quick, almost indifferent look.

"You okay, Ellie? You look pale."

I just nodded.

Words felt useless.

He didn' t wait for an answer. He was already guiding Izzy towards the elevator, his hand on her arm.

The doors closed, leaving me alone in his opulent office.

The silence was a relief.

I walked out, the signed divorce papers a solid weight in my purse.

That evening, Marcus came home late.

He found me in the living room, staring out at the city lights.

He came up behind me, put his hands on my shoulders.

A familiar gesture. It used to make me feel safe.

Now, it felt like a cage.

"Sorry I was late," he said, his voice soft. Trying to be gentle. "Izzy' s flight was delayed."

Of course it was.

"Are you still upset about last night?" he asked.

Upset? That I was abandoned on a dark highway, sick and in pain, for his ex-girlfriend?

"Why would I be upset, Marcus?" I asked, my voice flat.

He sighed, a sound of practiced patience.

"Look, Izzy was genuinely scared. Her car really did break down. What was I supposed to do?"

"What indeed," I said, turning to face him.

I saw the faint scent of Izzy' s perfume on his shirt. Chanel No. 5. Her signature.

"This is the last time, Marcus," I said.

He frowned. "Last time for what? Me helping Izzy? She' s my oldest friend, Ellie. You know that."

"No," I said. "The last time for us."

I pulled the signed divorce papers from my purse and handed them to him.

He stared at them, then at me.

Disbelief. Then anger.

"What the hell is this? You can' t be serious."

He always made excuses for Izzy.

She was fragile. She was alone. She' d had a tough life, despite her family' s millions.

My pain, my needs, they were always secondary.

Or invisible.

He used to bring me coffee in the morning. Black, two sugars.

The next morning, he didn' t.

He slept in the guest room.

I packed a small bag.

Just essentials.

I looked around our bedroom. His side of the closet was neat, organized.

But on his nightstand, next to his watch and wallet, was a small, framed photo.

It wasn' t of me. It was of him and Izzy, years ago, laughing, heads close together.

When had that appeared?

I' d never noticed it before. Or maybe I hadn' t wanted to.

"Izzy must have left it when she was helping me redecorate last month," he' d said once when I found one of her scarves draped over a chair.

He didn' t even try to hide it.

I picked up my favorite cashmere sweater, the one he said made my eyes look greener.

I folded it, then unfolded it.

I put it back in the drawer.

It felt tainted.

Everything in this apartment felt tainted by his choices, by Izzy' s presence.

I walked through the rooms.

My design projects were pinned to a board in the small study I used. Blueprints for a new boutique hotel downtown. A mood board for a penthouse renovation.

My work. The one thing that was truly mine.

I took down the Thorne Legacy Properties projects. The ones connected to his family. The ones where I always felt like an afterthought.

My independent clients, their files felt clean.

I was supposed to go to a charity gala that night. The Children' s Literacy Fund.

Marcus was a sponsor. Thorne Legacy Properties.

I knew Izzy would be there. Front and center.

I wasn' t going.

But then I thought, why not?

One last look at the world I was leaving.

The ballroom was glittering. Chandeliers, champagne, designer gowns.

Izzy was holding court near the silent auction tables.

She was talking animatedly to a group of women, her voice carrying.

"...and Marcus was just a hero. He drove all the way out to Montauk in that dreadful storm to rescue me. My car was completely dead. He even made sure my driver got it towed the next day."

One of the women, a society columnist I vaguely knew, gushed, "He' s so devoted to you, Izzy! Always has been."

Izzy smiled, a picture of modest gratitude.

She saw me then. Her smile widened, but it didn' t reach her eyes.

She excused herself and glided over to me.

"Ellie! You came! I' m so glad. Marcus was worried you were still upset."