Chapter 3

My first instinct was to look around, a paranoid reflex she had trained into me over the years. Was she having me followed?

My phone buzzed again. My mother saw you go into their building.

Of course. Diane. I should have known.

I had expected her to ask where I was, what I was doing. The immediate jump to betrayal was telling.

I typed a quick reply, not bothering to put much thought into it. Meeting a friend.

Her response was instant. Oh. Okay.

She believed me. Just like that. The arrogance was breathtaking. She couldn' t conceive of a world where I would actually leave her.

Just be careful, Brock. You' re still my boyfriend. Don' t do anything to embarrass me.

I let out a short, bitter laugh. My boyfriend. A title she only seemed to remember when it suited her. Her possessiveness, her casual disregard for the truth-it was all so familiar. She was so used to my devotion that she thought a simple lie could smooth over anything.

A week later, InnovateX hosted a launch event for a new product line. As part of my transition, I was still attending major functions. Standing near the entrance, my eyes were drawn to a concept car on display, a sleek, silver beast with aggressive lines.

I recognized it instantly. On the side, almost hidden, was a small, stylized logo of a crashing wave. My design. I had sketched it for her years ago, on a napkin in a cheap diner. It was a symbol of our shared dream-powerful, unstoppable, breaking against the shore.

I stopped, my feet rooted to the spot. The car was a ghost from a past I was trying to escape.

"You like it?" Kendal' s voice was suddenly beside me. She had appeared out of the crowd, her eyes shining.

"I' ll buy it for you," she said, her voice full of grand generosity. "A late anniversary present."

She mentioned our anniversary, the one we were supposed to have, as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't spent that night with someone else.

"We can customize it," she continued, oblivious to the turmoil inside me. "Maybe change the color. I' m not sure I like the silver."

She had forgotten. She didn' t remember the napkin, the diner, the meaning behind the wave. It was just another expensive toy to her now.

"No, thank you," I said, my voice hollow.

She waved over the lead designer, a handsome man with a charming smile. I watched her eyes light up as he approached. He was exactly her type-confident, successful, with a hint of danger.

I knew that look. It was the same look she' d given a dozen other men over the years.

She was immediately engrossed in a conversation with him, asking about the engine specifications, the aerodynamic design. She was faking an interest in the details, but I knew what she was really interested in.

I lowered my eyes, the pain a familiar, dull throb in my chest. I remembered when I was eighteen, and she looked at me with that same adoration. Her love had felt so real then, so all-encompassing. Now, at twenty-eight, it was just a performance, a hollow echo of what we once had.

I remembered the first time I found a text on her phone from another man. She had sworn it was a misunderstanding, that I was the only one for her. I had believed her. I had gone to a bar, gotten drunk, and convinced myself that what we had was worth fighting for. My friends had called her a "user," a "narcissist." I had defended her, telling them they didn' t understand our love. I had been a fool.

"Brock?" Kendal' s voice was sharp, impatient. She had turned back to me, her moment with the designer apparently over. "Are you even listening to me?"

I looked at her, and for the first time, I didn' t see the girl I fell in love with. I saw a stranger, her eyes filled with an irritation she didn' t bother to hide. My years of devotion, my unwavering loyalty-it all seemed so ridiculous now.

"Yes, Ms. Spears," I said, my voice cold and professional. The shift in title made her flinch.

"I' m going home now," she said, her tone clipped. She tossed her coat and purse at me. "Don' t wait up."

I caught them, a reflex born of years of service. I watched her turn away, her attention already shifting back to the designer. They fell into step, laughing, and walked away together.

I didn' t go home. I went to the office to pack the last of my personal files. Then I drove to my new, empty apartment.

The next morning, there was a critical board meeting. Kendal wasn' t there.

I called her cell. It rang several times before she picked up.

"Hello?" Her voice was thick with sleep, husky.

"Kendal, the meeting starts in thirty minutes."

Before she could reply, I heard another voice in the background. A man' s voice.

"Babe, who is it?" It was Jaime Hodge, the designer from the night before. His voice was intimate, possessive.

The world went silent.