Chapter 2

I drove back to the penthouse we once called our home. The silence was deafening. I spent the rest of the night packing my things. Every object held a memory, a ghost of a promise. I methodically placed my life into cardboard boxes, sealing away a decade of my past.

Kendal didn' t come home. She didn' t call. She didn' t text.

In the past, I would have been sick with worry, calling her friends, checking the hospitals. Tonight, I felt nothing. A vast, empty calm had settled over me. Her whereabouts were no longer my concern.

I found the anniversary gift I' d bought for her-a custom-made guitar pick, engraved with the date we first met. I held it for a moment, then dropped it into the trash can without a second thought.

Exhausted, I fell onto the couch and slept.

The next morning, I was jolted awake by a furious pounding on the door. I stumbled to open it, my head foggy with sleep.

Diane Boyer, Kendal' s mother, stood there, her face a mask of rage.

"Where is Kendal?" she shrieked, pushing past me into the apartment. "Don' t you know what day it is? You were supposed to be with her! Some boyfriend you are."

She yanked the blanket off me, her eyes scanning my simple t-shirt and sweatpants with disdain. "Look at you. You' re a mess. My daughter deserves better."

"Where is she?" Diane demanded again, her voice sharp.

"I don' t know," I said, my voice raw with anger. "And you have no right to be in my home. Get out."

"I' ll leave when I' m ready," she sneered. "Go get dressed. You look pathetic."

I knew her game. She loved to humiliate me. I walked to the bathroom and closed the door, the sound echoing in the empty apartment.

When I came out, dressed in jeans and a clean shirt, Kendal was there. She stood beside her mother, looking tired but beautiful, a faint trace of someone else' s cologne clinging to her clothes.

"Mom, stop it," Kendal said, her voice weary.

Diane immediately changed her tune, her voice becoming whiny. "Kendal, honey, you have to talk to Brock. My nephew needs to get into that private school, and Brock's father is the only one who can make it happen."

She turned to me, her eyes greedy. "Brock, you have to help us. We're family."

I looked at her, at her expensive clothes and perfectly manicured nails. For years, she had treated me like dirt, but she never hesitated to use my family connections when it suited her.

My father, Colonel Rios, was a man of immense power and influence. He was also a man I hadn't spoken to in years.

Kendal was about to speak, to ask me to make the call. I' d done it for her a dozen times before.

But this time, I spoke first. "No."

My voice was quiet but firm. "I' m just a poor musician, remember? Not good enough for your family. I can' t help you."

Diane' s face turned red. "How dare you! After everything we' ve done for you!"

I just stared at her, my silence more powerful than any argument.

Kendal stepped in, pulling her mother toward the door. "Mom, that' s enough. I' ll handle it."

After Diane left, slamming the door behind her, Kendal turned to me. She tried to take my hand, her expression soft and apologetic.

"I' m sorry about her, Brock. You know how she is."

I pulled my hand away, my eyes catching a faint red mark on her neck, just below her ear. A love bite. My stomach churned.

"Where were you last night?" she asked, her voice a little too casual.

"Does it matter?" I said, turning away from her.

"People change, Kendal."

She laughed, a confident, knowing sound. "Not you, Brock. You' ll never change."

I pushed her hand away again, more forcefully this time. "I' ve taken a leave of absence. Find another assistant to run your errands."

I walked past her, grabbing my keys from the counter.

"Where are you going?" she called after me, a hint of irritation in her voice.

I didn' t answer. I just walked out the door, leaving her standing alone in the monument to our failed relationship. She probably thought I was just throwing a tantrum, that I' d be back by dinner. She was wrong.

An hour later, I was sitting in a sleek, modern office across town, shaking hands with the CEO of a rival venture capital firm.

"The offer is generous," I said, looking at the contract.

"We know your value, Mr. Johnson," the CEO, a sharp man named Peterson, replied. "Kendal Spears may have built the brand, but you built the empire. We want that for us."

I signed the agreement without hesitation. A new job. A new life.

As I was leaving, Peterson' s assistant, a friendly young woman, walked with me to the elevator.

"Kendal is going to lose her mind when she finds out," she said with a grin.

"I don' t care," I said, and for the first time, I realized it was true.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Kendal.

Where are you? Peterson' s assistant just posted a picture with you. Are you betraying me, Brock?

Another buzz.

After everything I' ve done for you? How could you?

The accusations were so predictable, so perfectly Kendal. I didn' t bother to reply.