Chapter 5

Frances stared at me, her mouth slightly agape. Disbelief warred with suspicion in her wide eyes. She knew how I felt about Caleb. My obsessive, all-consuming love for him was the stuff of legend in our small, toxic circle.

"What kind of trick is this?" she finally asked, her voice laced with distrust.

"No trick," I said, shaking my head. "I'm being completely serious. I'm tired. I'm leaving. You can have him."

I could see the gears turning in her head. She didn't believe me, not for a second. She thought it was some elaborate trap, another one of the "evil villainess's" schemes.

I didn't care if she believed me. My actions would speak for themselves.

The next day, I cornered Caleb before he left for the university. I held out two tickets. "I got us tickets to the new exhibit at the Met."

He looked at the tickets, then at me, his expression cold. "I'm busy."

"Caleb," I said, my voice firm, cutting him off before he could refuse. "Our contract is for five years. It stipulates that you will accompany me to social and personal events as requested. This is a request."

It was the first time in a long time I had explicitly invoked the terms of our deal. He hated it. I could see the flash of humiliation and anger in his eyes. He snatched the tickets from my hand, his jaw tight.

"Fine," he bit out, before turning on his heel and leaving.

As soon as he was gone, I pulled out my phone and called Frances.

The phone barely rang once before she picked up.

"I'm sending a ticket to your apartment via courier," I said, getting straight to the point. "It's for the Met exhibit. The other ticket is already with Caleb. Wear something nice. This is your chance to 'run into him'. Make it count."

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. "You're... you're really doing this?"

"I am," I said. "But this is a two-way street, Frances. My help in exchange for you leaving me alone. No more 'accidents,' no more lies. Do we have a deal?"

"Why?" she asked, her voice still laced with suspicion. "Why are you doing this?"

I paused. Why? Because I wanted to live. Because I wanted to escape a gruesome, pre-written death. Because I wanted to be free.

But I didn't say any of that.

"Just stay out of my way," I said, and hung up.

I spent the rest of the day in a daze, watching the clock. Night fell. The city outside my window glittered with a million lights.

My phone buzzed. It was a message from Frances.

It was a photo.

Caleb and Frances were standing in front of a Van Gogh, bathed in the soft gallery lighting. He was smiling. A real, genuine smile that reached his eyes. His gaze was fixed on her, and it was filled with a gentle, protective adoration I had only ever dreamed of receiving.

I had never, not once in three years, seen him look at me that way.

I swiped to the next photo. They were at a small cafe afterward. He was peeling a shrimp and placing it on her plate.

My breath caught in my throat. I always peeled shrimp for him. He loved seafood, but hated the mess. I had done it for him countless times. He had never once done it for me.

The old excuse echoed in my mind. I don't like getting my hands dirty.

Apparently, principles, like promises, were easily broken for the one you truly loved.

My fingers felt numb as I continued to scroll. Photo after photo of them laughing, talking, looking at each other. They looked like a real couple. A happy couple.

My phone buzzed again. A new message from Frances.

He's amazing. Thank you.

I stared at the screen for a long time, the silence of the penthouse pressing in on me. The pain was a dull, heavy ache in my chest. But underneath it, something else was growing.

Resolve.

I typed back a reply, my fingers steady.

You look good together.