After a few turns, he knelt and set the girl down, gesturing toward an indoor playroom. “Daddy has some things to discuss. Go play inside for a bit.”
Chloe picked up the gift box and walked away, looking back every few steps.
the hallway was quiet. The early autumn air was cool, the sunlight perfect.
Adrian leaned against a window and pulled out a cigarette. He fumbled in his pockets for a moment, a flicker of irritation crossing his brow.
I took out a lighter, cupped the blue flame, and lit it for him.
He stared at me through the haze of pale smoke, momentarily stunned.
“When did you start smoking?”
“I don’t, I said. “Mr. Chris is always losing his lighter, so I carry one.”
I stepped back, maintaining a careful distance.
“Clara,” he said suddenly, “I’ve always wondered why you left so decisively. Was it just because I lied about my family?”
There were many reasons. Seeing him with another girl at the mall was just the spark, What truly broke me wasn’t that he was distracted. It was the slow, dawning realization that he had never really cared about me at all.
For our second anniversary, I took five hundred dollars from my savings and bought him a tie.
I’d agonized over it. For me, spending that much on a tie was outrageously impractical. But a custom suit was out of my league, a watch would look cheap, and belts or shavers were too generic. I wracked my brain, trying to think of something that could stay with him for a long time. He wore suits often. A good tie would be perfect for many occasions,
I gritted my teeth and bought it. I wrapped it beautifully and gave it to him, my heart full of anticipation.
Adrian said he loved it. That night, he used it to tie my wrists, tight but not painful.
I never saw him wear it again.
The tie, still in its gift box, was left on a shelf in his liquor cabinet. He went back to wearing his own. I told myself he just didn’t have any occasions important enough for it. After all, it was a five–hundred–dollar tle. You don’t wear that to the office every day.
It would have been better if he were poor.
The moment I learned his identity, I felt a strange sense of relief. So, he just looked down on my gift. And here I was, worried our tastes didn’t align it made sense. With his status, if he wore something I bought him to a gala, people would probably ask if he’d gone bankrupt.
But still. He could have at least pretended to like it. To not even try… that hurt.
Chapter 2
And then there was the break–in.
20:00
If our roles were reversed, if he had been the one who was followed and almost robbed, I would have given him money. I would have helped him move to a better, safer neighborhood. Even if I didn’t have much, I would have given him a hundred or two a mon- th, no problem.
But he d
didn’t. He never mentioned it. He just said it wouldn’t happen again and told me not to worry. But who could guarantee that?
I would have preferred it if he were broke. If he couldn’t help me because he didn’t have the money, I would have understood. But he wasn’t. He was a man who could move mountains with a snap of his fingers. He could buy a girl a fifty–thousand–dollar bag without a second thought, but he wouldn’t spend a dime on me.
What was I supposed to think? I could only conclude that after two years together, I had failed to earn a single ounce of his affecti-
Adrian crushed the cigarette butt under his heel. The more I spoke, the colder his expression became
didn’t wear the expensive tie you bought, and I didn’t give you money to move to a better place… So, what this is really about is you feel like you invested in me and got nothing in return. You’re angry that I short–changed you financially.”
“You seem to really hate it when I talk about money.” I observed.
“Hah,” he scoffed, “Who wouldn’t?
“I’m poor, Adrian,” I said softly. “For me, money is a form of
cerity.
“I have plenty of money. Does that mean whoever I spend it on, I love?”
“For someone with your status, giving money doesn’t necessarily mean love,” I said. “But not giving it… that means you think she isn‘ t worth it.”
The sneer froze on his lips. He stared at me for several seconds, his throat working.
“I never thought that.”
“It’s fine,” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
I gave him a slight nod and turned to walk away. He took a few quick strides and grabbed my wrist, his grip tight, painful. His breat- hing was heavy. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but the words seemed stuck.
“Stay,” he finally managed, his voice strained. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Right now, all I want is to find a suitable partner.”
Chloe w
was standing in the doorway of the playroom, hugging a doll, watching us.
I gently pulled my arm free. “Don’t let the child see this.”
His hand hung in the air for a moment, veins standing out on his skin as his fingers curled into a fist. He watched me walk away before slowly lowering his arm.
Chloe hesitated, then tugged on his pant leg. “Daddy?”
“Hmm?”
“Is that Mommy?”
“Yes.”
“Other kids‘ mommies hug them. Why doesn’t Mommy… why is she like that with me?” She seemed to be searching for the right word
Adrian wrapped an arm around her, smoothing her braids. “Because Mommy has her own plans. From now on, when other people are around, you have to call her Aunt Clara. Understand?”
“Okay.”
There were two weeks left before my handover was complete. Chris stopped assigning me new tasks. The sudden idleness after
