Chapter 3

Caleb didn't even give me a second to process his absurd demand for my master bedroom.

He reached out, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me toward the dining table.

"Look, I know you've had a brutally long day," he said, his tone softening into that practiced, boyish charm he always used when he wanted his way.

He pushed a steaming plate of black truffle pasta toward me. "I went out of my way to get this from that Italian place you love. "

I stared down at the dark, earthy ribbons of pasta.

Actually, I didn't love truffle pasta. “He” did.

After “he” died in that avalanche, I ordered it obsessively. Caleb thought it was my favorite dish.

Before I could even pick up a silver fork, Lila leaned across the expensive mahogany table.

Her chopsticks hovered over my plate, dropping a thick, greasy piece of pan-seared foie gras right on top of my pasta.

"You must be exhausted, Professor Voss. Eat some rich meat," she smiled, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

Then, she gasped loudly, covering her mouth in exaggerated horror. "Oh my god! I am so, so sorry! I totally forgot your father just passed away from a cholesterol-induced heart attack. I'm so clumsy and stupid!"

The air in the dining room instantly froze into ice.

My father’s ashes weren't even cold yet, and this bitch girl was weaponizing his death right to my face.

"I'm always so clumsy—please don't get mad at me." Lila said.

Caleb rubbed her head, looking affectionate and comforting.

“It's alright. I'm right here.”

Then he glanced up at me, his tone shifting to something cool.

"She's just young, Diana. Cut her some slack."

He pulled his chair closer to Lila, completely turning his back to me.

He dragged a plate of garlic shrimp toward himself and, with practiced ease, began peeling them.

He meticulously removed the shells, placing the pink meat directly into Lila's bowl.

"Anyway," Caleb continued, wiping his hands on a linen napkin. "Lila’s lease in Queens is up next week. The landlord is kicking her out, and she can't afford a new deposit."

"And?" I asked, my voice devoid of any warmth.

"That Brooklyn studio you own. The one with the massive glass skylight," he said, entirely casual, as if asking for a glass of water. "It's just sitting there collecting dust. Give the keys to Lila. She can live there for a while until she figures things out."

A sharp, deafening ringing started in my ears.

The Brooklyn studio.

“He” and I bought that loft together four years ago. He designed every single inch of it. He installed that massive skylight with his own hands so we could paint under the stars.

It was supposed to be our bridal home. No one, not even the cleaning staff, had stepped inside for three years.

"You want me to give my private studio to her?" I asked, every syllable laced with absolute venom.

"It's just an empty room. Stop being so stingy," Caleb frowned, clearly annoyed by my resistance. "You have dozens of properties. She just needs a place to sleep."

A bitter, hollow laugh escaped my throat. I couldn't hold it back anymore. "Tell me, Caleb. Do I have to financially support your little fling, too?"

Lila instantly burst into loud, theatrical tears. She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the hardwood floor.

"Professor Voss! How could you say that? Caleb and I are just childhood friends! We are pure! If you hate me so much, I'll just leave!"

She took a dramatic step toward the door, heavily limping on her supposedly "injured" ankle.

Caleb sprang up, grabbing her arm and pulling her firmly into his chest.

He glared at me, his eyes practically spitting fire. "Apologize to her. Right now."

"Pure?" I sneered. "Is that why she left her black lace bra over the gearshift of my Porsche this morning? Or was the cheap underwear on the passenger seat just a friendly childhood souvenir?"

Lila’s face instantly drained of all color.

She stammered, her fingers digging frantically into Caleb's shirt. "I... I helped Caleb clean his campus studio yesterday! I was sweating, so I changed my clothes in the car! We grew up together, we share things all the time. Why do you always think of me in such a despicable way?"

"Enough!" Caleb roared. "If you're going to keep being this toxic, insane, and jealous, then we're leaving. I'll pack my things, and we'll move out right now."

He lifted his chin, staring down at me, waiting for my reaction.

This was his ultimate weapon. His trump card.

For three long years, whenever he threw a tantrum, whenever he crossed a line and threatened to leave, I panicked.

I would apologize, buy him expensive gallery space, and beg him to stay. He was entirely addicted to my submission. He thrived on my desperation.

He stood there, fully expecting me to shatter, cry, and beg him not to pack his bags.

Buzz.

My phone vibrated violently against the marble table, shattering the tense silence.

I glanced down. The screen lit up with an unknown Swiss phone number.

There was only one line of text.

[Nana, wait for me.]

My heart started racing. The blood violently rushed out of my head, leaving me dizzy and breathless.

Nana.

No one in this world called me that. Only “him”!!!

My hands started to shake uncontrollably. I snatched the phone off the table, staring at those four words.

"Who is that?" Caleb demanded, noticing my sudden pale face and trembling hands. He reached out aggressively and snatched the phone directly from my grip.

He swiped the screen, but the FaceID locked him out instantly.

"Who the hell is texting you at midnight?" Caleb threw the phone back onto the table, his patience completely gone. "Did you hear what I just said, Diana? I said I'm moving out with Lila! Are you deaf?"

I didn't hear him. I picked up my phone, clutching it to my chest like a lifeline.

"Let's all cool down," I said.

Without another word, I turned my back on him and walked straight toward the front door.