Chapter 2

The next morning, a crew of workers descended on the apartment. Ryan had ordered the place cleared out. He was remodeling it, turning our home into a lavish entertainment space for Stella.

I stood in the doorway, watching them tear down the life we had built. They were about to rip out the small lemon tree in the corner, the one he' d planted for my birthday two years ago.

"Please," I said to the foreman. "Not the tree."

The man just shrugged and pointed his thumb towards the street, where Ryan was leaning against his new sports car, talking on the phone.

I walked over to him. "Ryan, the tree."

He didn't even lower his phone. "It's in the way, Gabby. Stella wants an open-concept bar there." He ended his call and looked at me, his eyes cold. "I've booked you a room at a motel. The car's waiting."

He gestured to a black sedan idling at the curb. I got in without another word. But the car didn't go to a motel. It drove for twenty minutes, pulling up to a secluded, high-end coffee shop. Stella Lawrence was sitting at an outdoor table, looking perfect and serene.

She smiled as I approached, a slow, cruel curve of her lips.

"So, you're the charity case," she said, her voice like honey laced with poison. "Look at you. So cheap. Ryan was right, you really are trash."

Something inside me, something I thought was broken, snapped back into place. "If I'm trash," I said, my voice steady, "what does that make the man who spent five years with me? Maybe you should ask him why he needed so much of my time if he was so inadequate on his own."

Her smile vanished. Her face twisted in rage.

"What did you say?"

Just then, Ryan' s car screeched to a halt beside us. Stella must have called him. He stormed over, his face a mask of fury.

"What are you doing here, Gabby? Are you harassing her?"

"She's insulting me, Ryan!" Stella cried, her eyes filling with tears.

He didn't even ask for my side. He looked at me, at the woman he'd shared his bed with just last night, and his hand flew up. The slap was sharp, the sound echoing in the quiet morning air. My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging.

In that moment, everything died. The last flicker of hope, the last memory of love. My hand went to my wrist, to the worn leather bracelet he'd made for me years ago. It was a memento from a time he swore he' d always protect me, after I took the fall for a mistake he made in a business pitch.

I ripped it off and threw it at his feet.

"We're done," I whispered.

His face contorted with a strange, self-pitying anger. "After everything I did for you, you throw it all away?"

I just stared at him, the absurdity of his words leaving me speechless.