Chapter 7

The next morning, I stuck a post-it note right on his Wall Street Journal.

Vera Wang. 10 AM. We need to talk.

AI could filter his emails.

He could ignore my voice notes.

But he couldn't miss black ink on white paper.

I forgot one thing.

He didn't miss it. He just didn't care.

I sat alone in the VIP suite at Vera Wang.

Happy couples walked in and out all day.

The staff refilled my sparkling water five times.

Finally, the boutique director walked in.

"Miss Sterling... we’re closing up for the night."

The pity in her eyes was humiliating.

I walked home numb.

I refreshed Chloe’s Instagram over and over again.

Her latest post went up thirty minutes ago.

Another huge win! Time to celebrate.

The photo showed a high-end sushi bar.

In the corner of the frame was a man’s hand holding a sake cup.

A limited-edition Patek Philippe wrapped around his wrist.

Damian.

Moving out was my final test.

This was the final straw. I was done.

Right below our apartment building was a jazz club we used to frequent.

Through the dim light, I saw a familiar silhouette.

He had his back to me.

Chloe sat across from him, laughing brightly.

She spotted me first.

Damian finally turned around.

The loud jazz music faded out.

A dead silence suffocated our table.

"Ava! Oh my god, sit down!"

Chloe patted the empty seat next to her.

"How was the fitting?"

"I bet the dress looked stunning on you!"

She flashed a bright, plastic smile.