Chapter 2

There was a time when being Mrs. Grant brought real happiness. We married right out of university, back when he wasn't some untouchable and successful.

On cold winter nights, we squeezed together in our tiny apartment, saving money by not turning on the heat. We'd split a single baked potato, passing a spoon back and forth as we dug in.

The rich, earthy warmth of it would fill the room, and I teased him that by morning, our blankets would smell like a steakhouse. William laughed, arms looped around my waist, and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Just bear with it a little longer. One day, I'll buy you a big house," he promised.

"How big?" I asked.

"Big enough that you can have that Samoyed you love, and it can run around inside all day. You won't even have to take it out for walks. How does that sound?" he said.

I called him a dreamer and swatted at him, but then I curled into his chest and dreamed right along with him. He actually did it. He bought me a hillside mansion worth a fortune.

We picked out every single piece of furniture together, his hand holding mine through each and every one. We got a Samoyed, too. Then one night, William came home and said it so casually, like it was nothing.

"Sweetheart, since we're trying for a baby now, maybe we should board the dog for a while."

The private investigator handed me a thick stack of documents. I looked down at them. The words "allergic to animal fur" jumped out. They burned into my vision.

I tossed the papers right at him. My voice came out cold and sharp. "Is this for me or because your precious Ms. Hart is allergic?"

William froze. His expression hardened. "Charlotte. You investigated my people?"

He yanked at his tie, frustration all over his face. "So what if I did? Ms. Hart works with me. She never mentioned her allergies. Not once. Her sinuses got so bad that she landed in the hospital, and I only found out then.

"She's trying to do her job. Can you please stop making everyone out to be something ugly?"

I didn't say a word. The second he called her "my people," all my anger turned to stunned silence. I couldn't understand.

When did William and I stop being us? And when did he draw his line, welcome Sophia into his world, and lock me out?

*****

Winterton City's winter nights were bone-chilling. I pulled my coat tighter. I was about to head for the subway station.

Behind me, a Maybach slowly rolled up along the curb. The window slid down, and William's voice came out, betraying no emotion. "Get in. It's freezing. Let me take you home."

Why would the always-busy Mr. Grant wait for me out here in the freezing cold? My first instinct was to refuse.

But he kept following me, unhurried as ever. The driver behind us grew impatient and honked his horn. I sighed and got in the car.

The Maybach was decorated everywhere with soft pink touches. It wasn't hard to guess whose taste that was. On the passenger seat, a rhinestone decal read "Mrs. Grant's Reserved Seat." It glittered under the streetlights, sharp and blinding.

I once wanted to put up something like that to stake my claim.

But William had shot me down with cold indifference, "Charlotte, I drive this car for business. If someone sees this, what would they think? You're not a kid anymore. Don't act so childish."

I laughed bitterly to myself. Even the most stoic person could be stirred by someone else. But it wasn't me.

William glanced at my thin coat. He turned up the heat. "Charlotte," he hesitated, "Have you been well?"

I kept my tone polite and told him the name of my neighborhood. Strangely, he stayed silent for quite a while. I turned to look at him, confused. His expression was complicated.

He gave me a once-over and sighed. "Charlotte, you don't have to put on a brave face with me."

That was when it dawned on me. He thought I was lying to save face. The neighborhood I'd named was one of the city's most expensive, prime real estate.