Chapter 3

When Arvin returned to the villa, he went straight upstairs to his room. It was time to pack.

He opened the large walk-in closet and stared. On one side, Jorja's section was overflowing with designer dresses, shoes, and handbags, a riot of color and texture. On his side, there were a handful of simple shirts, a few pairs of pants, and two suits. It was the closet of a guest, not a husband.

He ran his hand over the fabric of a cashmere sweater. Goldie had given it to him last Christmas. He realized with a jolt that nearly every decent piece of clothing he owned had been a gift from Goldie, or his friends from the orphanage, Franklin and Joella.

In five years, Jorja had never once bought him so much as a pair of socks.

A sad smile touched his lips. He didn't have much to pack.

The next day, a moving truck pulled up to the villa. Arvin directed the movers as they carefully loaded boxes. But these weren't his clothes. They were the gifts. All the extravagant, thoughtful presents he had bought for Jorja over the years. The limited-edition art books, the rare vintage records, the custom-designed jewelry.

He remembered the frantic, hopeful excitement of buying each one, imagining her smile. A smile that never came. He'd found them all relegated to a storage room in the basement, untouched, some still in their original wrapping, covered in a thin layer of dust and neglect.

He had sold every last one of them. The money was now a satisfyingly large number in his bank account. His severance package.

As the truck pulled away, carrying the last ghosts of his one-sided love, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He turned to walk back inside when a horn blared behind him.

A cherry-red sports car screeched to a halt at the curb. The driver's side door swung open and a woman with bright pink hair and a sneer stepped out. Kallie Justice, Jorja's younger sister.

"Well, well," Kallie drawled, looking from the departing truck to Arvin. "Selling off the family jewels, are we? Getting desperate now that your sugar mama is about to kick you to the curb?"

Arvin ignored her and started walking toward the house. He didn't have the energy for Kallie's venom today.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" she shrieked, her voice grating. She hurried after him, grabbing his arm.

Arvin stopped. He looked down at her hand on his sleeve, then met her furious gaze with a look of pure, unadulterated boredom. For five years, he had endured her taunts, her insults, her constant attempts to undermine him. He had always responded with quiet patience, with a polite smile, because that was part of the contract. Be a good husband, a good son-in-law.

But the contract was over.

"Let go of me, Kallie," he said, his voice flat and cold.

Kallie was taken aback. She was used to his meekness. The sudden change in his demeanor angered her even more. "Who do you think you are? You're just a leech my sister picked up!"

Arvin pulled his arm free, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He was so close to freedom. He didn't need this.

Kallie's expression suddenly shifted to a smug, malicious grin. "Oh, I get it. You're upset. You must have heard, haven't you? Cale is back. My sister's one true love. Your time is up, pauper. You're about to be replaced."

As if on cue, the passenger door of the sports car opened. A man stepped out, dressed in a crisp linen suit that looked immune to wrinkles. He was handsome, with the easy, confident charm of someone who had never known a day of hardship.

It was the first time Arvin had seen Cale Oneill in person. He looked just like his photos. Arvin noted with a detached sense of irony that five years of a failed marriage hadn't left a single mark on him. He could see the appeal.

"Kallie, who is this?" Cale asked, his eyes flicking over Arvin with casual dismissal.

Kallie latched onto Cale's arm, her voice turning syrupy sweet. "Cale, darling, don't you worry about him. He's just... the help." She then turned back to Arvin, her voice sharp again. "What are you standing around for? Cale's bags are in the trunk. Go get them."

Arvin didn't even glance at her. He turned and walked into the house, leaving her fuming on the driveway.

"Ugh! That loser!" she stomped her foot. The driver eventually got out and handled the luggage.

A few minutes later, Jorja's car pulled into the driveway. She rushed out, her eyes scanning the scene anxiously. When her gaze landed on Cale, a visible wave of relief washed over her. She completely ignored Arvin, who was standing in the foyer.

"Arvin," she said, her voice a command, not a request. "Cale will be staying with us for a while. Get the guest room ready."

Arvin remained silent.

Cale, ever the performer, put on a show of reluctance. "Jorja, I don't want to impose. It might be... awkward." He glanced meaningfully at Arvin.

"Don't be silly, Cale," Jorja said immediately, rushing to his side. "It's no problem at all. Arvin won't mind. Right, Arvin?"

Finally, all three of them were looking at him, expecting him to be the compliant, invisible husband he had always been.

Arvin broke the silence, a slow, easy smile spreading across his face. It was a smile they had never seen before-cool, detached, and utterly devoid of warmth.

"Of course I don't mind," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "Welcome, Cale. Make yourself at home."

Because soon, he thought, it will be all yours.