Chapter 3

I told the cab driver to drop me at the Oak Ridge Equestrian Club.

I walked straight to the service entrance.

"Temp agency," I told the bored security guard. "VIP box cleanup."

He glanced at my faded hoodie and worn jeans. I looked exactly like cheap labor.

"Service elevator's down the left hall," he grunted.

Second floor. Thick mahogany doors. Sound-absorbing carpet. I grabbed a stray cleaning cart and pushed it down the corridor.

Loud laughter spilled from Box 4.

I parked the cart by the hinge. I grabbed a rag and wiped the wall.

"The gag is getting old, man," a guy's voice drifted out. A glass clinked. "Are you ever going to dump the charity case? You've played grease-monkey for three years."

I stopped breathing.

"Relax, Greg," James drawled. No stress. No fatigue. Just pure, lazy entitlement. "I’m not done. It’s getting interesting."

"Interesting?" High-pitched. Nasal. Olivia. "James, she wears a pair of cheap and broke sneakers. She smells like diner grease. It’s embarrassing."

"It’s an obedience test, Liv." A lighter flicked. "Women in our circle look at my trust fund, not me. I needed to know I could break someone down to nothing, give them zero, and still have them completely loyal."

"So you starve her?" Greg laughed.

"Basically. I treat my dog better. I spend five grand a month on Max's raw diet, and she spent an hour last night arguing with a cashier over a fifty-cent coupon for canned beans. It's hilarious."

"Does she ever ask for anything?" Greg asked.

"Never. I trained that out of her year one. I tell her we have to split a dollar-menu burger. I make her scrub floors. And she takes it. She thinks we’re building a future. If she stays through this hell, she’s mine. She loves me. Not the Cavendish money."

Laughter erupted. I didn't cry. I just felt cold.

"She’s pathetic," Olivia giggled. "Remember when you sent her to my penthouse to walk my Doberman?"

"Yeah. She thought it was a side gig for our electric bill."

"I tossed her a single, crumpled dollar bill. Dropped it right on the floor. She picked it up, bowed, and said, 'Thank you, Miss Sterling.' I nearly died."

I remembered that day. It was raining. I walked her massive dog for two hours. My cheap shoes leaked. And I thanked her for that dollar because it meant I could buy a bus ticket home instead of walking.

"I should make her clean my pool next," Olivia snorted. "Give her a nickel."

"Well-trained," Greg chimed in.

James chuckled.

"So, what's the endgame here?" Olivia’s tone shifted, turning sweet and expectant. "Our families are pushing for the engagement announcement by Christmas. You can't keep playing house in that trailer forever. What are you going to do with your little waitress?"

"Relax, Liv," James drawled. "She’s just a pet. A cheap thrill to keep me entertained before we actually settle down and get married."

"You're not going to feel bad dumping her?" Olivia teased.

"For what? Giving her character development?" James sneered. "Once I'm bored of watching her scrub my floors, I'll write her a ten-thousand-dollar severance check and tell her to get lost. She'll probably cry and thank me for my generosity. A Cavendish doesn't marry the help."

Olivia’s high-pitched giggles filled the hallway.

I stood outside the door. I felt extremely cold. A deep, freezing numbness sinking straight into my bones.

Every double shift. Every skipped meal. Every time I shivered in the dead of winter so he could afford his "dream mechanic shop."

It was all just a joke. A sick, temporary reality show for him, right before he married his billionaire heiress.

I didn't cry. I didn't rage. I walked out of the club.

When I got back to the trailer, I pushed my suitcase back into the corner of the bedroom. I walked into the kitchen and popped open a tin of wet food for Max.

It was the last time I’d ever feed him.

The front door clicked open. James walked in.

His eyes immediately locked onto the suitcase in the corner. His body tensed, instantly on high alert.

"Why is the suitcase out?" he demanded. "Where are you going?"

"The seasons changed," I said flatly. "I'm packing away my summer clothes."

James let out a heavy breath. The tension melted from his shoulders. He walked over and hugged me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"You're always so understanding," he murmured. "Once we save up enough money, we'll move into a bigger house. I'll build you a walk-in closet, okay?"

I thought of the luxury Aspen villa he had just casually promised Olivia. I turned my head slightly.

"How long is 'later'?" I asked. "Can't you just buy it now?"

James’s face changed instantly. He shoved me away, taking a step back.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped, his voice rising. "Every time you open your mouth, it’s money, money, money! I thought you were different from other women. Turns out you’re just another gold digger? Do you measure love in dollars? I might not have money, but I gave you my whole heart. Is that not enough for you?"

He turned away in disgust to grab a change of clothes. He grabbed the handle of his toolbox and suddenly froze.

He slowly turned his head. "Did you touch my toolbox?"

"I was cleaning," I said lightly. "Organized it while I was at it."

James’s Adam's apple bobbed. He stared at me in dead silence for a few long seconds.

"Don't touch my stuff," he warned, his voice low.

I pulled the corner of my mouth into a slight smile.

"Okay," I said. "I won't."

In the future, I won't want you anymore, either.