Chapter 3

I was still staring at Damien's message when an unknown number called.

I knew who it was before he spoke.

"You think one message from Cross means he wants you?" Ryan laughed. "He was being polite, Sloane. Men like that do it for the optics. You really think Damien Cross would look twice at you?"

I slid into the back of my car and shut the door. "You got a new number just to tell me that? That's sad, Ryan."

"I'm doing you a favor. Somebody has to tell you the truth."

As he kept talking, memories flashed through me like a broken film reel.

Ryan driving four hours through a blizzard because I mentioned I'd never seen the sunrise from Montauk.

Ryan baking my mother's lemon cake from an old recipe card, burning it six times before he got it right.

Ryan holding my hand under the table at board dinners, his thumb drawing circles on my skin, his eyes whispering soon.

My father gave me everything except a warning. He never taught me how to spot a shark in a lover's suit.

So I gave Ryan everything. I let him move into Dad's corner office. I let him replace Dad's loyal people with his own friends. I signed every paper he slid in front of me, including a power of attorney over my future shares.

Then, a year ago, two days after I left for London, Chloe found my funeral photo on Ryan's old phone. Mia told me what happened later. Chloe laughed and said, Didn't know you were into whales, Ry. The whole table laughed with her.

Ryan's face had turned to stone.

After that, his calls got shorter. His texts got colder. I thought he was stressed. Now I knew. He was ashamed of me.

"Are you finished?" I asked.

Something told me to tap the red button on my screen. Record.

"No, I'm not finished." His voice dropped, low and ugly. "You want the truth? Here it is. I never loved you. Your father's will gives you his controlling shares when you turn twenty-five. I needed to be your fiancé. I needed that signature. You were a key, Sloane. A big, sweaty, crying key."

The car went silent.

Somewhere deep in my chest, something that had been bleeding for a year finally stopped.

"And now you don't need the key anymore," I said.

"Smart girl. Tomorrow at midnight, your shares vest, and that power of attorney you signed hands me every vote. Then I end our little engagement in front of everyone, and I announce Chloe as my fiancée. The real one." He laughed softly. "You know what public humiliation does to a girl like you, right? Some of them never get out of bed again. Some of them end up in a clinic upstate."

My heart was pounding. But not from fear.

"Why tell me?"

"Because I want you to spend tonight crying. Wear something with an elastic waist tomorrow. You'll need room to fall apart."

He hung up.

I stopped the recording. Forty-one minutes. Every word.

I saved it in three places.

Then I opened the black circle and typed:

[Thank you, Mr. Cross. I'll be there at seven.]

His answer came in two seconds.

Damien Cross: [Good. Tomorrow, I'll welcome you home properly.]

I stared out at the city lights. At Whitaker Tower glowing over Midtown, my father's name still burning across the top in silver letters.

Ryan thought he was going to break a helpless, heartbroken girl at midnight.

He had no idea she didn't exist anymore.

And he had no idea who would be doing the breaking.