Chapter 2

There was a short silence, then a mean laugh. "What, the allowance isn't cutting it anymore? Trying to raise your prices again? Whitney, don't you ever get tired of this game?"

I ended the call, pulled the IV out of the back of my hand, and walked out of the hospital room.

Outside, the snow was coming down hard. I was wearing a thin hospital gown, and the wind cut right through me.

At that exact moment, Leon was on a massive yacht in the Caribbean, throwing Monica a birthday party that cost millions. He'd arranged for a private viewing of the Northern Lights for her.

I tripped and fell into the snow. I got up. I kept walking.

Three years of debt, paid in full. Three years of loving a ghost. It was time to stop.

I went back to the villa we were supposed to share. When I pushed open the front door, the house felt empty and cold.

Luna Baker, the maid, saw me come in. She dropped her cleaning rag and rushed over to help me stand. "Mrs. Hart, why are you out in this weather wearing nothing? You look like a ghost."

I shook my head, brushed her hand away, and headed straight upstairs to the guest room to pack my things.

I didn't own much. A few old sweaters and jeans. A beat-up old laptop. A photo of my brother.

Luna stood in the doorway, her eyes red. "Ma'am, you're really leaving? Mr. Hart is going to lose his mind."

I slid the photo into my bag and looked at her. "He'll be angry because his property is walking away, not because he loves me. Luna, I'm exhausted."

I dragged the suitcase down the stairs. With every step, the pain in my stomach burned a little hotter.

I'd found out that morning I had stomach cancer. The doctor was blunt. Without treatment, I had maybe three months.

I had to borrow forty bucks to cover the ER copay. Surgery wasn't an option. It might as well have cost a million dollars.

I walked out the front gate. Luna was crying behind me. I didn't look back. I walked into the snowstorm.

My phone kept buzzing. Leon was blowing up my messages.

He sent a photo of himself kissing Monica on the forehead. They were surrounded by sparkling diamond displays.

Leon: [See? That's a real woman. You, with your price tag, aren't worth a single hair on her head.]

I blocked his number and deleted the conversation.

I found the cheapest motel room I could. It smelled like damp carpet and old cigarette smoke. The wallpaper was peeling.

I curled up on the bed, hugging my knees to my chest.

Half-asleep, I was back at the engagement dinner. My mom was on her knees, sobbing, begging me to save my little brother.

She said he was the only reason she got up in the morning. If he died, she'd have nothing left.

I looked at my brother in the hospital bed, hooked up to all those machines, and I nodded. What else was there to do?

I went to Leon and asked him to double the allowance. The way he looked at me was like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

He said, "Whitney, is this how much our marriage means to you? I guess you can't hide what you really are, a gold digger.

"Think carefully. If you take this cash, you're nothing but my pet for the rest of your life."

I lowered myself to the floor and bowed my head. I said I was sorry. I told him I would do anything. I only want the money.

That was the night his love for me vanished.

The dream shifted. Leon forced Monica to slap me across the face. He asked me, "Does it hurt?"

I smiled and said, "Not at all. If it makes you happy, Mr. Hart, she can hit me again."

That made him so furious that he grabbed a vase from the table and smashed it against the wall.

I woke up shaking, my clothes drenched in sweat.

I stumbled out of bed to get some water, but my hands were shaking so much that I spilled it everywhere. I zoned out, staring at the puddle on the floor.

Someone pounded on the motel door. I shuffled over, barely able to keep upright, and opened it.

Leon was standing in the doorway, still smelling like the ocean breeze.

He pushed past me into the tiny room, holding a handkerchief over his nose like the place was toxic. "Whitney, you've got some nerve blocking my number.

"Staying in a dump like this, who's the audience for this little performance?"

I leaned against the wobbly table and looked up at him. "Mr. Hart, our arrangement is finished. Moving out is the logical next step. Please, leave."

He walked over, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked my head back so I had to meet his eyes. "Leave? I'm not done with you.

"You don't get to decide when this ends. What, did you find another guy to bankroll you?"

He shoved me backward. I slammed into the bed frame, and a sharp pain bloomed on my forehead.

I fought through the dizziness and pointed toward the door. "Leon, get out!"

He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Then he strode over, grabbed the collar of my shirt, and yanked it open, exposing the scars along my collarbone.

"Get out? Tell me, is there a single inch of you I didn't pay for? Even your skin belongs to me," he said.

He forced me down onto the mattress. His hands were rough and careless. He didn't care that I was burning with fever.

When he finished, he straightened his clothes, pulled a stack of bills from his pocket, and threw them at my face.

"It's always about the money with you, right? Take it and get back to the villa. Don't make me come to a place like this again," he said.

The bills fluttered to the dirty floor. I stared at his back as he walked away. "Leon, you're going to regret this."

He paused at the door but didn't turn around. "Regret not buying more trash like you?"

The door clicked shut.