Chapter 2

Adrian called after the cab had gone two blocks.

I watched his name on the screen until the ringing stopped. A second call came moments later, followed by a text.

You can leave if you want. Just don’t say anything to the press. Tonight matters.

He was still worried about the premiere.

I silenced my phone. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, asked no questions, and switched off the entertainment news playing through the speakers.

Twenty minutes later, we reached my studio.

Nora had already unlocked the apartment upstairs. It was meant for clients visiting from out of town. There was one bedroom, and the kitchen didn’t even have coffee.

She stood in the doorway and frowned when she saw my empty hands.

“Where are your bags?”

“I’ll get them tomorrow.”

“Does Adrian know you’ve moved out?”

I handed her my phone. There were six missed calls now, and his latest message was still telling me to keep quiet.

Nora read it and set the phone on the table. “So the stories about the baby are true?”

“He admitted it himself.”

She pulled out a chair for me, but I crossed the room and closed the blinds instead.

My studio was directly below us. I had designed six fine-jewelry collections there, yet I had never spent a single night in the apartment above it.

Adrian didn’t like the place. He said the security wasn’t good enough. He also said that if I had a panic attack in the middle of the night, he was the only person who knew what to do.

For a long time, I believed him.

During the first few months after my mother died, I often woke in the middle of the night unable to breathe or form a full sentence. Adrian would sit beside me, hold my hand, and count each breath with me.

Back then, he promised he would never turn off his phone when I needed him.

Eventually, he became the one who stopped answering.

On the anniversary of my mother’s death last year, we had planned to eat at her favorite restaurant. Then Adrian received a call from a young actress crying in a hotel room. She was afraid her agency would drop her after a failed audition.

“She needs me more than you do right now,” he said as he put on his coat. “You can take care of yourself.”

I waited until the restaurant closed.

The next morning, the actress sent me a voice message. I had never deleted it.

I found it in my cloud archive and pressed play. Her tipsy laughter spilled from the phone.

“He says your marriage has been over for years. He only stays because you can’t survive without him.”

I had forwarded the recording to Adrian. When he came home, he didn’t deny it. He only asked why I was harassing a young woman whose career had barely started.

In the end, I apologized.

Nora reached over and stopped the recording. “Lena, you’ve known all along.”

“I knew he would come home.”

As long as Adrian ended the night in our bed, I could pretend coming home meant he had chosen me. I never asked exactly what he promised the other women. If I knew too much, I would have no excuse to stay.

My phone vibrated again.

This time, it wasn’t Adrian.

Sloane had sent me an ultrasound image. The date in the corner showed she was twelve weeks along. Adrian had been shooting in London when she conceived.

A message appeared beneath it.

Adrian told me the premiere would make it clear that our child would not be hidden. He says your marriage ended years ago, and he’ll marry me as soon as the divorce is final. I won’t raise my baby as his secret because you refuse to let go.

In Sloane’s version, she was claiming the future Adrian had promised her, and I was the other woman refusing to leave a marriage he had told her was already over.