Chapter 2

David' s face was a blank mask for a moment, then it softened into a look of practiced concern. He dropped the grocery bags, and the sound of something glass shattering inside one of them echoed in the quiet studio.

"Sarah, baby, what is this? What are you doing in here?" he asked, his voice dripping with a gentleness that now made my skin crawl.

He knelt in front of me, trying to take my hands. I snatched them away, pulling them close to my chest.

"Don't touch me," I said. My voice was low and hoarse.

He ignored me, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. His touch felt like a spider crawling on my skin. I flinched away violently.

"Honey, you're scaring me. Let me explain," he murmured, his eyes full of a fake sincerity I had once found so comforting. "This isn't what it looks like."

I almost laughed. "Not what it looks like? There are hundreds of pictures of her, David. Love letters. You've been obsessed with her for seven years."

He sighed, a long, mournful sound. "Emily is... a friend. An old friend. I was worried about her. She's been through a lot."

I stared at him, at the ease with which he lied. He thought I was still the naive girl he had so easily manipulated.

"I' m moving to New York," I said, the words cutting through his performance. "I'm getting married."

For the first time, a genuine emotion flickered across his face. Shock. It was quickly replaced by a dismissive smirk, a look of condescending amusement.

"What are you talking about? Married? Don' t be ridiculous, Sarah. You're just upset. We can talk through this."

He tried to pull me into a hug, his familiar move whenever I was upset about something. He would hold me, whisper sweet things in my ear, and tell me everything was going to be okay. He thought he could soothe me, manage me, like he always did.

But I wasn't the same person who had walked into this studio.

I pushed him away, scrambling to my feet. "No. There' s nothing to talk through. It' s over, David."

"You're not serious," he said, his tone shifting. The soft concern was gone, replaced by an edge of annoyance. "You're having a little drama because you found some old paintings. It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" I asked, my voice rising. "You used me. You used my pain over Jake to get close to me, all so you could clear the way for Emily to get back with him. You documented it! In these letters!"

I kicked one of the letters towards him. He didn't even glance at it.

"You're being hysterical," he said calmly. "Where have you been all day, anyway? I was worried. I called you."

"Don't change the subject," I shot back. "Where have you been, David? You told me you had a meeting in the city all afternoon."

His eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't like being questioned.

"I did have a meeting," he said smoothly.

"Really? Because the collector I bought your anniversary gift from said you gave him the keys to this studio this morning. He said you were here."

A flicker of panic in his eyes. He was caught.

Before he could formulate another lie, a soft, hesitant voice came from the outer studio door.

"David? Are you in here?"

My heart stopped. I knew that voice.

Emily Carter stood in the doorway, looking fragile and beautiful, her eyes wide with manufactured innocence. She was holding her phone, her expression a perfect portrait of concern.

"I was worried," she said, her gaze fixed entirely on David. "You stopped answering my texts."

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