Chapter 4
Before I left, I had arranged for a courier to deliver a box to the Meridian Club, where Julian was waiting.
Half an hour later, someone posted an unboxing video in the group chat.
Inside were the scarf, the stuffed animals, the keychains, and the handful of handwritten cards Julian had given me over the years.
At the very bottom was an itemized bill.
For three years, I had kept track of every penny Julian had ever spent on me: meals, trips, the utilities and groceries at his apartment. I had paid him a share every month for living there, and after subtracting everything I had already paid, the balance came to sixteen thousand four hundred dollars. I transferred the exact amount to his account.
In the video, someone held up the bill and laughed so hard he slapped his knee.
“What is this, an invoice for services rendered?”
“Only sixteen grand for three years? She must feel robbed.”
“No wonder she canceled the engagement and stormed off. She’s trying to get Julian to raise the price.”
Someone else picked up the old scarf.
“She’s mailing back a thirty-dollar scarf? Who is she trying to impress, acting all high and mighty?”
“That’s poor people for you. They’ve never had anything nice, so they treat junk like proof of true love.”
Sloane snatched the bill and skimmed it.
“She itemized every penny just to remind Julian she gave him three years of her life.”
“Just wait. Next, she’ll be asking to be paid for her wasted youth.”
Julian sat on the sofa, his face growing darker by the second.
He looked at the pile of things and suddenly asked, “What if she really just wants to break up?”
Sloane burst out laughing.
“Julian, did you actually fall for her act?”
“How much does she even make a month?”
“Once she leaves you, she’ll be paying rent, working nine to five, riding the subway, and dating some average Joe.”
“She’s used to the life you gave her. You really think she can go back?”
The others piled on.
“You’re too soft on your charity cases, Julian.”
“A woman like her won’t find another guy to take care of her. She’ll come crawling back.”
“She’s probably standing outside the door right now, waiting for you to say you forgive her.”
The video cut off.
I left every group chat we shared and canceled the phone number I’d had for seven years.
The boarding announcement sounded again.
As I joined the line, a text came in from Julian’s assistant.
[Ms. Bennett, Mr. Whitmore would like to know when you’re coming back.]
I didn’t reply.
The line inched forward.
Just as I was about to scan my boarding pass, Diane called.
“We’ve let our partners know you’re heading the Doha site. Whitmore Holdings is one of them.”
“Julian Whitmore is going to find out very soon that you signed a three-year contract.”
“Are you sure about this?”
I looked down the jet bridge toward the plane.
“I’m sure.”
“This time, I’m not looking back.”
I hung up and opened my messages with Julian.
For three years, I had been the one sending most of them. Asking when he’d be home. Reminding him to take his medication. Telling him where his clean shirts were.
In the last few dozen messages, he had only ever replied with two words.
Got it.
I sent my final messages.
[Julian, you were right. I really am a great actress.]
[I was sick of it a long time ago, but I still pretended to love you for three years.]
[Now the show’s over.]
[Next time you want to test me with a car crash, a drunken bender, or a disappearing act, there won’t be anyone rushing back to you.]
Julian called immediately.
I didn’t answer.
He kept calling. His name lit up the screen again and again.
A flight attendant reminded me to switch my phone to airplane mode.
The phone finally stopped ringing.
Meanwhile, through Ardent, Julian’s assistant had gotten hold of a copy of my overseas contract and brought it to the club.
There it was in black and white: a three-year contract.
Sloane reached for it, but Julian pinned it to the table first.
He stared at my signature, his face going pale.
This time, I wasn’t acting.
I was really gone.
