Chapter 2

Ten seconds later, my phone lit up with Richard's caller ID.

The moment I pressed the phone to my ear, his furious voice roared through the receiver, heavy with that suffocating, toxic hunger for dominance. "What the hell is wrong with you, Charlotte?

"Your petty comment pissed off Vivian, and now she's in the hospital. Are you out of your mind? Get your ass to the hospital and apologize to her now!"

I leaned back on the bench at the sanitarium, staring up at the flickering light overhead. His shouting faded into white noise, as if my brain had simply muted him.

My fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt, trying to anchor myself to a past that was rapidly dissolving.

I remembered our first meeting on a warm spring afternoon in the high school library.

I had skipped piano practice to escape my tutor's lectures on how a proper Grant heiress ought to behave.

I grabbed a copy of "Das Kapital" and settled into a corner, spacing out.

Richard sat down beside me, barely making a sound. His uniform was faded, and he kept scribbling math equations on the back of an old worksheet.

Bored, I glanced at his messy handwriting in the margins: [Rich people think they own the world.]

He caught me staring and shot me a glance.

That was the first time I saw him.

He was lean, but there was a certain steeliness in how he carried himself.

I couldn't resist teasing him. "Got a chip on your shoulder about the rich?"

He paused before giving me a deadpan look. "I just can't stand privilege."

I raised an eyebrow and grinned. "So, do you know who I am?"

He nodded, his tone flat. "Charlotte Grant, daughter of a board member at Rockwood High School, straight-A student, piano whiz."

I was a little taken aback. It wasn't his knowledge that surprised me, but his complete lack of interest. He wasn't sucking up, nor was he keeping his distance. My background meant nothing to him.

Right then, I knew he was different. I was used to people kissing my feet, constantly hearing things like, "Oh, Miss Grant, you're so talented," or "Miss Grant, you're so elegant."

No one had ever spoken my name with such utter indifference. He didn't show respect, excitement, or any emotion whatsoever.

I stared at him and smiled. "You're something else."

He didn't respond. He got to his feet, slung a battered backpack over his shoulder, and walked off, throwing a parting shot over his shoulder. "Stay away from me. People like me... don't mix with families like yours."

*****

Instead of keeping my distance, I found myself watching him after that day.

I noticed him lingering in the far back corner of every classroom, never raising his hand to speak up. I watched him take odd jobs through lunch breaks to scrape together money for textbooks.

He used tattered bits of paper as bookmarks, scribbling equations messily across them in pencil.

While the rest of the school ignored his quiet presence, I found myself drawn to him.

I joined the student council because of him, constantly initiating conversations and going against everyone else for his sake.

Once, a couple of trust-fund kids started mocking his frayed uniform. Without a second thought, I marched over, grabbed one of their phones, and slammed it onto the floor, shattering it in front of the entire class.

"I hate when people look at my friend like he's trash," I snapped.

Richard stood behind me, speechless. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a warmth I had never heard before. "Charlotte."

I turned around and smiled at him. "You said we don't mix. Why not give it a try, Richard?"

He became the center of my world back then. I mistook his emotional distance for quiet devotion, and his coldness for strength of character.

Pity never crossed my mind. If anything, I felt incredibly lucky to have spotted a diamond in the rough.

Yet here he was today, wrapped in the prestige of the Foster name, standing beside Vivian with the same arrogant attitude he once despised.

My eyes burned, but not a single tear fell.

On the other end of the line, Richard's voice kept blaring. "Are you listening to me? Don't push your luck!"

I slowly hung up.

The flickering light overhead finally died, leaving me in darkness, as if burying the gullible girl I once was.

I closed my eyes, letting go of the memory of that naive girl who chased the windlike boy and the glow he carried.

*****

But the nightmare was far from over.

The moment I stepped out of a café, my phone buzzed with a call from the sanitarium. "Mrs. Foster, I'm sorry, but we can no longer accommodate your brother."

"What?" I blurted out.

"Mr. Foster... He cut off all funding. We can't maintain Andrew's specialized care plan under these conditions.

"We received orders stating his condition requires a state psychiatric facility, and a transport vehicle is already on its way to transfer him."

"You can't do that!" I nearly yelled.

The nurse lowered her voice, seemingly aware of the underhanded nature of the situation. "Mrs. Foster, our hands are tied."

I stood frozen in the blazing sun, feeling like I'd been struck by lightning.

They were throwing Andrew out.

And the one behind it all was the man I'd once believed I would spend my entire life with. For him, I'd set aside my pride and endured endless humiliation, all to stay his wife.

My hands clenched into tight fists, fingernails digging into my palms until the skin broke, letting blood trickle down my skin.

I had twenty-eight days left before the court finalized our divorce.