Chapter 2
Julian stared at the phone in my hand.
The ballroom lights spilled through the doorway behind him, cutting his face into light and shadow.
When he went silent, he was more intimidating than when he shouted.
I'd always known Julian was controlling.
He didn't like me going out alone. He didn't like me talking to old colleagues. He hated it when I mentioned the years I'd spent directing films.
He always said people wanted to use me.
I used to believe he was protecting me.
That night, I finally understood.
He wasn't afraid someone else would hurt me.
He was afraid I might regain the ability to leave him.
He held out his hand.
"Give me the phone."
For one dangerous second, I forgot how to breathe.
Julian stepped closer.
"I said, give me the phone."
His voice was calm.
That made it worse.
Julian never raised his voice when he believed everything was under control.
He only got loud when control started slipping away.
I locked the screen and let out a soft laugh.
"You walked out in the middle of your own speech to interrogate me over a phone?"
"The phone, Serena."
I slipped it into my clutch.
"It belongs to the event coordinator. She asked me to review a fundraising video."
His eyes narrowed.
"Since when does an event coordinator contact you through an unregistered phone?"
I had one second to choose between a terrible lie and a better distraction.
So I covered my mouth and swayed.
Julian's expression changed instantly.
"Serena!"
Before I could hit the railing, his arm locked around my waist.
The suspicion in his eyes vanished, replaced by alarm.
I hated that I still noticed how fast he'd caught me.
I hated even more that his concern looked real.
"I'm fine," I whispered.
"You're freezing."
He took off his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. Then he touched my forehead, his thumb brushing my temple.
"Did you eat?"
"Not much."
"I told you not to skip meals."
The reprimand was intimate. Familiar.
It hurt more than the betrayal.
A man could remember exactly how his wife took her coffee and still put his hand under another woman's dress.
He could panic when his wife nearly fainted and still plan to steal her company.
Julian guided me to a chair against the wall.
"Sit."
I obeyed.
The sweet, compliant wife he'd trained me to be would always obey.
He crouched in front of me, his attention fixed on my face.
"Who were you talking to?"
"An old friend."
"Name."
"Mara. We went to film school together."
"You haven't spoken to Mara Bell in two years."
Of course he knew.
I lowered my eyes and made myself look embarrassed.
"That's why I didn't want to tell you."
"Why did she call?"
"Her husband violated their prenup. She wanted my opinion."
"So when you said someone broke an agreement..."
"I was talking about him."
Julian tipped my chin up.
"Look at me."
I did.
He was close enough that I could smell mint on his breath.
His dark eyes searched mine.
Once, that kind of focus made me feel as if he'd chosen me out of everyone in the world.
"Are you unhappy with me?" he asked.
I almost laughed.
Instead, I reached up and touched the front of his shirt.
"Why would I be unhappy?"
His shoulders finally relaxed.
He believed me.
Because he needed to.
Over three years, Julian had slowly turned me into a quiet, obedient wife.
It had never occurred to him that I'd only been quiet because I loved him.
He mistook my love for stupidity.
"Good," he said. "Because there isn't an agreement in the world that could take you away from me."
"Even if you're the one who breaks it first?"
His gaze cooled.
"I would never give you a reason to leave. You're my wife, Serena. Don't joke about things like that."
I used to love hearing him say my wife.
It made me feel chosen.
Now it only made me feel trapped.
His watch lit up.
I was close enough to read the message on the screen.
Suite. Now.
No name.
I didn't need one.
Julian darkened the screen immediately.
He let go of me, his expression returning to normal as if nothing had happened.
"There's a problem with the company. I'll deal with it and come home afterward."
Then he bent and kissed my forehead.
The kiss felt exactly like the countless others he'd given me.
It still made me sick.
"Okay."
The same mouth would be on another woman within the hour.
"The driver will take you back to the penthouse. Lock the door when you get in."
"Okay."
He stood, then paused.
"Serena."
"What?"
"Don't use strange phones like that again. If you need anything, call me directly."
I stayed where I was and watched him disappear down the hall.
Less than a minute later, the burner phone received a video.
It had been recorded in the hotel corridor.
Julian opened the door to a suite, and Isabella rushed out to meet him.
She was barefoot and wearing his jacket.
He bent his head and kissed her.
There was nothing restrained about it.
Nothing like the careful way he'd held me minutes earlier.
I watched for only a few seconds before closing the video.
Not because I couldn't bear to see it.
Because I didn't need to see any more.
Damien's car was waiting at the hotel's rear entrance.
When I got in, he told the driver to turn up the heat.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked.
"I assumed you knew Cross Technologies and Pioneer Media were enemies."
"So I'm useful to you."
"Yes."
He didn't hesitate.
I preferred that honesty to fake kindness.
"Is there another reason?"
Damien was quiet for a moment. Then he looked out the window.
"When every bank in New York refused to finance my first company, your grandfather gave me a loan."
"He didn't ask for equity. He didn't ask for control."
"He only told me to build something worth saving."
I'd never heard that story.
"He talked about you," Damien continued. "He said you were the only director he knew who could make an audience hate a character in one scene and forgive him in the next."
Silence settled over the car.
I took out the ultrasound photo.
The words on the back had blurred beneath the sweat from my hand.
You finally have a family.
I stared at them for a long time, then slid the photo back into the envelope.
"Take me home."
Damien turned to me.
"You're going back to his house?"
"My things are there too."
I wouldn't run like someone being thrown out.
I would leave on my own terms.
It was after midnight when I returned to the penthouse.
The living room was dark.
I sat on the sofa and waited for two hours.
Julian never came home.
At six in the morning, he sent a text.
Last night got complicated. Don't wait up. Eat breakfast.
Almost at the same moment, Isabella updated her private social account.
The photo showed an ocean view.
At the edge of the table was a man's watch.
The watch I'd given Julian for our anniversary last year.
Her caption read:
Stolen things are always more addictive.
I didn't respond.
At exactly eight, Julian finally came home.
He'd changed his shirt, but Isabella's perfume still clung to him.
As usual, he came over to kiss me.
I turned my face away.
He frowned.
"Still upset?"
"I didn't sleep well."
He didn't question it.
In his mind, I would never truly leave.
He tossed a script onto the coffee table.
Starlight.
The story I'd spent four years writing.
"Sweetheart, rewrite the lead to suit Isabella," he said. "The board is approving the project the day after tomorrow."
I looked at the cover without touching it.
"She's wrong for the role."
Julian's tone cooled.
"It's a company decision."
"It's my story."
"Serena."
For the first time, irritation showed on his face.
"Don't bring personal feelings into business. You haven't directed in three years. The company is the reason this script has value again."
Those words hurt more than the video.
Because he knew why I'd stopped.
After we married, Julian said he didn't want his wife spending months on film sets.
He said our home needed me.
So I put down my camera, rejected every project, and stood beside him at one event after another that I never wanted to attend.
Now he was using my sacrifice as proof that I no longer mattered.
Julian didn't notice anything strange in my silence.
He looked down and adjusted his cuff links.
"I'm flying to Tokyo tonight. I'll be back Friday. Leave the revised script in the study, and I'll bring you a present."
The burner phone vibrated inside my bag.
Arthur had sent me Julian's real itinerary.
His destination wasn't Tokyo.
It was the Maldives.
He had booked the same villa where we'd spent our honeymoon.
I looked at the man in front of me.
He was taking his mistress to the place where our marriage had begun.
And he wanted me to stay home and rewrite my movie for her.
I smiled.
"All right."
Julian finally looked satisfied.
He came over, took the back of my neck in his hand, and kissed me like he was rewarding a well-behaved child.
"I knew you'd understand."
I didn't push him away.
Because in forty-eight hours, he would learn the truth.
His obedient wife was done with him.