Chapter 2

The party went on until ten at night.

James stayed by Sophie's side the entire time, introducing her to family friends and taking drinks on her behalf.

Since Sophie didn't like champagne, he had the staff get her her favorite white grape juice instead.

Back when I first attended a Foster party, I had no clue they'd mixed strong booze into the drinks.

One glass in, and my stomach burned all night.

James didn't know back then that I couldn't drink on an empty stomach.

Eventually, he learned my habits. And now, he was learning another woman's.

When the party wrapped up, the driver held the car door open for Sophie.

James was driving her back to the Lane residence himself.

Before leaving, he walked up to me. "Head home first. I'll be back shortly."

He used the word home. As if that place were still ours.

I looked at him. "You're coming back tonight?"

James answered without missing a beat, "Of course. The engagement is only for show. It's not like we're actually getting married."

After saying that, almost as if afraid I'd overthink things, he squeezed my hand again. "I gave you my word. I won't touch her during these hundred days.

"Anna, nothing will change between us."

He let go of my hand, turned around, and got into Sophie's car.

The car pulled away right in front of me.

Sophie sat in the passenger seat. James leaned over to fasten her seatbelt.

I stood on the steps, watching the taillights fade into the dark.

I actually found it laughable. He could go ahead and get engaged to another woman, yet somehow he believed that refraining from sleeping with her was the ultimate sign of loyalty to me.

*****

By the time I got back to our home, it was almost eleven.

After showering, I grabbed a pillow and headed to the guest room.

At 1:00 AM, James returned.

He opened the master bedroom door, found it empty, and quickly tracked me down. "Why are you sleeping here?"

"We're divorced." I smoothed out the blanket. "Separate rooms make more sense."

James leaned against the doorframe, his expression darkening. "Anna, I've had a long enough day.

"I know this is unfair to you. But we had a deal. It's only for a hundred days."

"When did I ever agree to that?" I raised my head to look at him.

James paused. "You didn't object the day we got divorced."

"I agreed to the divorce. I never agreed to remarrying a hundred days later."

His expression finally shifted. But only for a second. Before long, he walked over and reached out to grab my pillow. "Quit it. I have a meeting early tomorrow morning. Wake me up at seven."

I held the pillow down. "You can set an alarm."

He stared at me as if hearing those words for the very first time.

In our four years of marriage, he had never set an alarm once. I would always wake up ten minutes before he needed to get up.

I'd draw the curtains for him, make his coffee, and pick out his shirt and tie based on the weather forecast.

These small gestures had long become second nature—so ingrained that he had probably forgotten a household doesn't just run on autopilot.

James stayed quiet for a moment. "If you want me to make it up to you, you can say so. Don't let these little things get to you."

"James." I looked at him. "Starting today, your life is no longer my business."

His face darkened slightly. "Then what is your business?"

Just then, my phone lit up on the nightstand. It was a text from Charles Reed: [Homeward Wings is still looking for a lead director.]

[Ms. Nash, would you be interested in coming back?]

I read it for a few seconds and typed back a single word: [Yes.]

James caught sight of the name on the screen. "Charles? When did you get in touch with him?"

"Just now."

"What does he want, messaging you at this hour?"

I put my phone down. "Work."

James scoffed. "Do you really not know how messed up your foot is? Picking up a dance production on a whim just to spite me. You're the one who'll suffer in the end."

"I'll deal with the consequences myself."

"Deal with it yourself?" He fixed his gaze on me. "When things go sideways, it'll still be up to me to clean up the mess."

Hearing those words used to bring me comfort. Now, all I felt was exhaustion.

He always talked about picking up the pieces for me. Yet he never once stopped to ask if I actually wanted him calling the shots in the first place.

I pulled the blanket up. "I'm going to sleep. Close the door on your way out."

James stood there for a long moment. In the end, he slammed the door and stormed out.