Chapter 2

Quinn's POV

Spencer hesitates, eyes sliding away, and lets out a short, awkward laugh. "She's a supermodel. Different metabolism. Some people just don't put on weight no matter what they eat. Not like you. But hey, not that I mind."

Look at food and it shows. I laugh to myself.

I stare at Camille's smug face on the TV screen, then back at Spencer sitting right next to me with that hollow warmth still plastered across his face. Something feels more and more off, and I can't shake it.

Why is it every time I'm forced to eat, Camille shows up online the next day looking even thinner than before?

Why does Spencer look at her like she's everything, and look at me like I'm in the way?

I set my fork down. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

I stand up too fast. My arm catches the bowl on the way up and it goes over the edge, hitting the floor. Butter and cheese everywhere.

Spencer's face goes dark. He stares at the mess on the floor, jaw tight. By the time he looks up, I'm already walking away.

I close the bedroom door behind me and stand there in the quiet. My gut is telling me Spencer is hiding something, and whatever it is, it has everything to do with Camille.

I want to know exactly what he's up to.

Time passes. The TV goes quiet. Spencer still hasn't come to bed.

I ease the door open and slip out toward the living room. That's when I hear it — low voices drifting in from the balcony.

"Baby, you must be exhausted after tonight. I watched the whole thing live. You were unreal out there. The whole room was yours."

Spencer's voice is something I've never heard him use on me. Soft. Fawning. Warm in a way he can't even fake with me anymore.

I go completely still. I pull out my phone and hit record.

Camille's voice comes through the other end, all breathy and put-on. "Ugh, seriously, none of this would've happened without you, Spencer. But honestly… I had zero energy out there tonight. Is your wife even eating? I could feel the difference."

"Don't even talk about her." Spencer's voice drops into something ugly, no effort to hide it. "You know what that fat cow did tonight? Knocked the whole bowl of lobster right over."

"But don't worry. I already blended up the leftover fried chicken and the rest of the meat. I'm mixing it into her oatmeal tomorrow morning. She won't even notice."

I press my hand hard over my mouth.

Fat cow. That's what he calls me when I'm not in the room. The same man who wraps his arms around me every night and tells me he loves me.

"Oh, and Spencer — after the show, the organizers dragged us all out to this dinner. I couldn't help myself. I had some cake and half the roast. I'm so scared I'm going to gain. I have a fitting tomorrow for a major label."

"Scared of what?" Spencer lets out a low, satisfied laugh that makes my skin crawl. "Eat whatever you want. That's literally what she's there for. You don't have to worry about a single thing."

Camille makes a little sound, playful and spoiled. "Then you better keep pushing her, Spencer."

"The system has rules. She has to actually eat — whether she chooses to or not. It has to turn to fat first before the transfer kicks in. Every pound she puts on, you drop one pound of pure fat. Paris is next month. That dress has a twenty-two-inch waist. We need you down a few more pounds."

"The link is locked in. All you have to do is show up and be the star. I'll handle everything else."

A body transfer system. Every pound I gain, she loses one.

It hits me like a freight train.

It all makes sense now.

Why I keep gaining no matter what I do. Why Camille looks the way she does without trying. Why Spencer walked away from his career to manage her, and why he has spent every single day since then finding new ways to get more food into my body.

I was never the wife he was taking care of. I'm a living, breathing fat bank, and they've been making withdrawals this whole time.

"You're seriously the best, Spencer." Camille's voice goes sweet. "But what if she starts putting it together? What if she goes to get checked out?"

"Checked out for what? What's any doctor gonna find? They'll tell her she has a hormone imbalance and she's been overeating. That's it." He pauses. "And even if she figured the whole thing out, what's she gonna do? The link doesn't break unless the host dies. At the weight she's carrying, I looked it up — that puts her at serious risk for a heart attack, a stroke. One of these days she's just not going to wake up. And when that happens, the penthouse and the life insurance policy are both ours."

"Once she's gone, we don't have to hide anymore." Camille lets out a soft giggle. In the dark, it sounds like something rotten. "Marry me then, okay?"