Chapter 3

"You need to calm down," Ethan said, his voice laced with that performative "nice guy" condescension he used when he thought I was being hysterical. "This is getting out of hand."

He reached for my laptop on the table. "Let me just put this away so you can think clearly."

My breath caught. I knew what came next.

"Don't touch my property, Ethan," I warned, my voice low and dangerous.

"Jocelyn, for God's sake, stop making a scene!" he hissed, grabbing the expensive machine. And just as I knew he would, his grip "slipped."

The laptop crashed to the floor. The sound of the screen shattering was like a gunshot in the silent cafe. It was a perfect, sickening crack. The corner of the chassis was bent, the screen a spiderweb of broken glass.

My entire work portfolio, my current projects, my connection to my job-all of it was on that device. He knew that.

Ethan stared at the broken laptop, his eyes wide with fake surprise. "Oh, shit. See what you made me do? If you hadn't been so aggressive, this wouldn't have happened!"

Sabrina, seeing her chance, wiped her fake tears and stepped forward, emboldened. "You... you did this!" she pointed at me, her voice trembling. "Your screaming, your accusations... you gave me a panic attack! I think I need to go to the hospital."

She clutched her chest dramatically. "You owe me for this. For the emotional distress. I want $500. For damages."

It was absurd. It was extortion. And it was exactly the kind of play that worked on a man like Ethan.

"She's right," Ethan said, nodding seriously. He turned to me, his face hard. "You heard her. You traumatized her. Pay her."

"I'm not giving her a cent," I said, looking straight at him. The last vestiges of the woman who loved this man were burning away, leaving something cold and hard in their place.

"Fine," Ethan snarled, his fragile ego wounded by my defiance. "If you won't be a decent human being, I'll do it for you."

He lunged for my purse on the chair. His fingers wrapped around the strap, trying to yank it from me.

That was the last mistake he would make today.

I didn't scream. I didn't fight back. I took a step away, raised my phone-still recording video now-and announced in a loud, clear voice that carried to every corner of the shop:

"I am being assaulted. My boyfriend just destroyed my property and is now trying to steal my purse. I am calling 911."

I dialed the numbers. The whole world seemed to hold its breath as I put the phone to my ear.