Chapter 8

I stood in silence for a long time, his angry words echoing in the vast, empty space of the living room.

Finally, I spoke. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice quiet. "I assumed... I thought you would be happy."

My apology was like gasoline on a fire.

"Happy?" he yelled, his voice cracking. "You think I'd be happy being manipulated like a pawn in your sick game? You think so little of me, Jaliyah? That I'm just a thing you can pass around when you get bored of it?"

He stared at me, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a rage that was terrifying in its intensity. "You are the most selfish, self-absorbed person I have ever met."

He turned and stormed out of the penthouse, slamming the door so hard that a painting on the wall rattled.

I stood there, unmoving, as the silence descended again. I looked at the door he had disappeared through and understood. He wasn't just angry that I had set him up with Frances. He was angry because he believed I saw him as nothing more than property, an object to be disposed of at my whim.

And in a way, he was right. Our relationship had started with a price tag. I had bought him. How could he ever see it as anything else? How could he ever believe I truly loved him?

I knew then, with a bone-deep certainty, that there was no hope for us. There never had been.

It was time to erase the evidence.

My plan was scheduled for three days from now. Three more days, and it would all be over.

I started in his room. I gathered everything I had ever given him-the expensive clothes, the custom-made shoes, the first-edition books. I packed them into boxes and arranged for them to be donated.

Then I moved to my own things. I went through my closets, my drawers, my jewelry boxes. Anything that held a memory of him, I put into a large pile in the center of the living room. Photographs of us at galas, him looking stiff and me smiling too brightly. A dried rose he'd given me once, a perfunctory gesture for Valentine's Day.

Last, I retrieved a small, lacquered box from my safe. Inside were the letters. Dozens of them. Letters I had written to him over the years, filled with all the words I was too afraid to say out loud. I had never given them to him. I was too much of a coward.

I carried the box to the large, modern fireplace. I lit a match and dropped it in. One by one, I tossed the letters into the flames.

I watched my heartfelt confessions, my declarations of love, my hopes for a future that would never be, turn to black ash.

As the last letter burned, a memory surfaced. Before the contract, before the money, I had tried to win him over the old-fashioned way. I had pursued him on campus, a silly, infatuated girl. I had written him a heartfelt letter then, too. He had returned it to me, unread, telling me he wasn't interested.

It was only when I discovered his sister was sick, when I saw him breaking under the weight of the medical bills, that I had come up with the desperate, foolish idea of buying his affection. I thought I was helping him, saving him. I thought it was the only way to have him.

I was so wrong. You can't buy love. You can only buy a cage.

The fire was dying down. I tossed the last letter into the embers and watched it curl and vanish.

Suddenly, the front door opened.

Caleb was back. He stopped dead in the entryway, his eyes fixed on the fireplace. He saw the last corner of a familiar cream-colored envelope, the kind I always used, disappear into the flames.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

I looked up at him, my face illuminated by the flickering firelight. I felt strangely calm, empty. "Just getting rid of some useless things."

A muscle twitched in his jaw. He looked around the room, at the piles of my belongings, the empty spaces on the shelves. A look of dawning horror crossed his face. Then it was replaced by a familiar, bitter sneer.

"Finally got what you wanted, have you?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Ready to move on to your next toy?"

His words didn't hurt anymore. I was numb.

"Yes," I said, my voice flat. "It will all be over soon."

He stared at me, a deep confusion in his eyes. He didn't understand. He couldn't. He turned and went to his room without another word.

I stayed by the fire until it was nothing but cold ashes. I looked at the empty box in my hands.

Goodbye, Caleb, I thought. This time, for real. Be happy.