Chapter 3
659 Words
"Why dredge this up?" he snarled. "Why now?"
"I am home already. Have we not paid our dues? What more do you want?"
The door crashed behind him as he vanished. Barely ten minutes later, my phone buzzed with an unknown number.
A message appeared.
Unknown: Hey Iris, the sample books go in the study. Do not forget!
Like a moth to a flame, my fingers traced the identical blush-pink covers.
Five years' worth of publications had arrived like clockwork every two months, without fail.
Chloe's words were clandestine but feverish.
Every forbidden desire and every shameful confession lay bare for Leo between these pages:
Leo, my love, if we resist the flesh, the world cannot judge our hearts.
Last night's dream was too filthy for words. I woke drowning in tears. If I cannot have you forever, a child with your eyes would be enough.
Eight hundred ninety-nine for a dress? You are gold-digging trash. Watching you grind yourself to dust while she burns your money makes me sick.
Sugar daddy, mark her skincare and her mother's hospital bills as personal expenses. No splitting.
And in every margin, Leo's scribbles devoured every inch of white space:
Our names will not grace wedding invitations, but we are forever bound as editor and author on the title page. Is this not our version of happily ever after?
At thirty-five, I thought life was just surviving. Then you showed me what living felt like.
The strand of hair you left on my shirt stays pressed in my wallet. It is our secret promise, like a lock of hair in a locket.
Your book came in dead last in testing. As your sugar daddy, I am stealing Luna Blair's promo slot for you. For you, my sweetie, I will break every rule with a smile.
Fifty-fifty, always. The million-dollar down payment is yours—mine and Iris's debt to you.
Outside, the storm had passed. Sunlight gilded the streets.
But I was still drowning in that downpour, soaked to the marrow.
When Leo's call came, the sounds that answered needed no explanation.
"Leo, we cannot do this."
"She is the one who pushed me away. Chloe, save me. With her, I am suffocating."
A gasp, followed by a muffled groan, came through the line.
Then the line died. I laughed until my ribs ached.
Leo once swore on his fifteen-year editor's badge, preaching about cultured men guarding their reputations.
That sperm donation was just clinical, he had said. Nothing to confess.
The truth flayed that excuse alive.
The clock crawled. Numb, I waited. Then my lawyer's email finally pinged.
Lawyer: Fine. If he wants to avoid professional misconduct charges, he will walk away with nothing.
If we were keeping it strictly going Dutch, then I would take it all the way.
He could buy Chloe an apartment. Then I would get my mother the most peaceful private burial plot.
But when I tried to pay, the payment terminal kept flashing the word "declined."
The staff's face fell.
"Miss, you need to settle the preservation fees first," she said. "Otherwise, we will have to relocate your mother's remains tonight."
My hands shook as I emptied my wallet. A beep sounded, then another beep. Every card was rejected.
Leo answered my call drunk, his voice slurring.
"Cut the crap," he said. "Even jokes have limits."
The line went dead.
His colleague's social media showed their team laughing over a fondue dinner.
Blind with rage, I charged into the storm and shoved through the restaurant doors until I found them.
There they were at a steamy fondue place, their table roaring with laughter.
"Mr. Hayes must really adore our darling Chloe," a colleague said with a grin. "Word is he shelled out five hundred thousand dollars for her book campaign."
Chloe twirled her hair, looking faux scandalized. "Oh, come on. Do not embarrass me. Leo has a wife at home."
A fresh-faced intern leaned in.
- Writer
