Chapter 2
When I got home, I collapsed onto the couch without even changing my clothes.
I opened Grace's Instagram and scrolled back through her feed, post by post.
We had known each other for twelve years. Lab partners in middle school, roommates in high school, and placed in the same performing arts prep program.
She had been gorgeous since we were kids. Big eyes, deep dimples, and a sweet voice that made everyone adore her.
She used to say she was going to be an actress, stand in the spotlight, make an absolute fortune, and take me backpacking around the world.
Her early posts barely got a few dozen likes.
They were just snapshots of soggy cafeteria pizza, the little pothos plant on our dorm windowsill, and selfies of us getting busted by our homeroom teacher for sneaking spicy chips during study hall.
I read every single one.
I scrolled down to the summer of our junior year. The state track meet.
She posted a photo dump with the caption: [Champions today! PS: Finnick Sterling's breakdancing routine was insane!]
The third picture was a huge group shot of our class after winning the relay race.
Finnick stood right beside me. His arm rested casually on my shoulder, and he wore a wild, cocky grin.
But he wasn't looking at me.
His eyes were locked on Grace, who was pulling a goofy face at the edge of the frame.
His gaze was impossibly soft, a completely unconscious smile lingering on his lips.
I stared at that photo for a very long time.
I stared until my screen went dark, then tapped it awake to stare some more.
So that was it.
He had been looking at her from the very beginning.
I wasn't completely blind back then. I was just too terrified to admit it.
During our senior year, I ranked third in the state for my dance auditions, and my GPA never dropped below the top twenty.
Everyone said I was a lock, that I could take my pick between Juilliard or Tisch.
Then came the day of the SATs. Halfway through the essay section, I was suddenly so exhausted I couldn't keep my eyes open.
The math portion was even worse. I didn't even manage to read the last three word problems before I passed out cold on my desk.
When the scores came out, I had missed the admissions cutoff by exactly two points.
Yeah. Two points.
My counselor told me to take a gap year and retake the test, promising I would definitely get in next time.
My mom shut that down. She said there was no point in a girl getting so much schooling.
The mechanic's son down the street was looking for a wife, and he was offering thirty grand in cash to help pay off our mortgage.
Finnick showed up that exact same night.
He stood on our front porch, talking to my mom through the screen door. "Ma'am, Ruby is coming with me. Here is 35 thousand dollars.
"Consider it me paying off whatever you think she owes you."
My mom counted the cash three times, licking her thumb as she flipped through every single bill.
From start to finish, she never once looked at me.
I left with Finnick, escaping that suffocating little town.
That was the first time in my life I felt like fate had finally given me a break.
Five years passed.
He did street dance performances, booked commercial gigs, and sometimes took on shady side jobs.
I never dared to ask where the money came from. I was terrified the answer would always trace back to that 35 thousand dollars.
He treated me well. Really well.
Whenever we fought, no matter who was right or wrong, he was always the first to apologize.
If I craved something sweet in the middle of the night, he would ride his beat up motorcycle across the city just to buy me a slice of cheesecake from a late night diner.
He hated sweets, but he spent five whole years drinking caramel frappuccinos with me just because I loved them.
We never actually went to the courthouse to get married.
It wasn't that he didn't want to, but something always came up.
A massive storm, a random bar fight, expired IDs, a buddy getting into trouble. It had to be the ninety ninth excuse.
I never called him out on it. I didn't want to make him feel guilty or like he owed me something.
But it turned out the only person being shortchanged from the start was me.
I kept scrolling. I hit the post where Grace made her relationship public.
It was dated September fifteenth, four years ago.
She wrote: [He finally confessed his feelings. But he says he owes another girl a lot, and he has to clear that debt before he can properly stand by my side. Ruby, what am I supposed to do?]
How did I reply to her back then?
I had been shaking with anger as I typed.
I told her the guy was absolute trash, that if he wasn't over his ex he had no business messing with her, and that he didn't deserve her.
She just laughed softly through the phone, sounding a little stuffed up.
"Ruby, you are so naive," she said. "He told me he truly loves me. He took a ten hour flight just to come see me, and he was waiting at the arrivals gate with flowers the second he landed.
"He said the girl he liked before was just an illusion. He said he never knew what real love felt like until he met me."
I was speechless. I just felt horrible for her, hating that she was settling for such a compromising kind of love.
That day was September fifteenth.
It was also mine and Finnick's two year anniversary.
He broke our plans. He told me an emergency came up and he had to fly out of state, promising to make it up to me when he got back.
I said okay, just be safe.
When he returned, he brought me a bouquet of wilted roses.
He claimed they got crushed in the overhead bin on the flight.
Looking back now, that ten hour flight and those dying flowers were never meant for me.
I started searching for every article I could find on the youngest Vance heir.
His name was Finnick Vane.
The corporate world called him Mr. Vance, his fans called him Finnick, and Grace called him her Finn.
His Wikipedia page only had one line: Board Member and Executive Vice President of Vance Group.
There were no photos.
But from the blurry edges of Grace's Instagram pictures, I pieced together his features.
The sharp jawline, the distinct Adam's apple, the prominent knuckle on his ring finger.
They perfectly aligned with the silhouette of Finnick Sterling getting dressed with his back to me every morning.
They were a perfect match.
So that was the truth.
The billionaire heir to the Vance empire. The street dancing Finnick Sterling who claimed to be mine. They were the exact same person.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I swallowed hard against the metallic taste of blood pooling in the back of my throat.
I dug out the pack of cigarettes hidden deep in my nightstand.
Finnick absolutely hated it when women smoked.
I hated it too. But sometimes the pressure was just too much.
Actually, for the past five years, the pressure had never once let up. I just pretended it wasn't there.
The harsh smoke burned my lungs, making me cough until my eyes watered. I still hadn't figured out how to do this right.
After choking down a third cigarette, I grabbed my phone.
I dialed a number I had saved for years but never actually called.
"Mr. Channing," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Does your sister still need a bone marrow donor?"
There was a brief pause on the other end.
"Yes, she does," he said.
"Then could I add one more condition to our agreement?"
"Name it."
"Get me out of the country."
The line went dead silent for two seconds. Then came a very faint, amused chuckle.
"Deal," he said.