Chapter 2

The doctor gave me a formal injury report, and I left the hospital alone.

It was after midnight when I returned to the townhouse Adrian and I shared on the Upper East Side.

Every light in the living room was on.

Natalie was curled up on the couch in my silk pajamas, sipping chicken soup Adrian had made for her.

The pajamas were a limited-edition set he had brought me from Paris the month before.

Adrian came out of the kitchen carrying a glass of water. His brow tightened when he saw me in the doorway.

"What took you so long?"

He set two new boxes on the coffee table.

"The smoke irritated Natalie's lungs. I don't want her staying alone, so she'll be here for a few days. These are the newest fitness trackers. They monitor blood oxygen and alert you to abnormal heart rates."

He opened one box, removed a pink tracker, and slipped it onto Natalie's wrist as if it belonged there.

"Natalie's health is fragile. She needs constant monitoring."

Then he pushed the other black box toward me.

"Your old screen is ruined. Wear this one."

I stared at the matching pair and did not reach for mine.

The anniversary tracker had once been a promise made to me alone. Now its replacement had become Natalie's consolation prize.

I looked at him steadily.

"This is my home. I don't want a stranger staying here."

Adrian blinked, clearly surprised that I had objected.

Natalie immediately set down her bowl. Her eyes filled with tears as she rose from the couch.

"I'm sorry, Clara. I didn't know it would upset you this much. I'll leave right now. I'd rather be terrified and alone in a hotel than come between the two of you."

She headed for the door, but Adrian caught her arm.

He turned to me, his expression hardening into a warning.

"What is this tantrum, Clara? You were born unable to understand normal fear or helplessness. Natalie has serious post-traumatic stress. Could you try not to be so heartless?"

I looked at the hand wrapped tightly around hers.

"Post-traumatic stress gives her the right to wear my pajamas and sleep in my room?"

Adrian glanced at the pajamas, and embarrassment flashed across his face.

He covered it by raising his voice.

"It's one set of clothes. You've never cared about material things. What difference does it make if she borrows them for a night? I'll have my assistant buy you ten more sets tomorrow. Happy?"

That was how he handled everything.

He stuffed money into wounds he had torn open himself, believing the higher the price tag, the more thoroughly it erased the damage.

He never understood that I did not care about the pajamas.

Without another word, I went to the guest room.

As I closed the door, I heard Natalie's soft voice outside.

"Adrian, I think she's really angry."

His reply held equal parts certainty and contempt.

"She doesn't feel anger. She just thinks someone invaded her territory. Leave her alone. She'll reset after a good night's sleep."

I sat on the edge of the cold bed.

I opened my banking app and transferred every dollar I had saved into an overseas account.

Then I took a backup phone from the drawer and called a number I had not dialed in three years.

A deep, steady voice answered.

"Clara?"

"Mr. Miller," I said, watching the darkness beyond the window. My voice never wavered. "Draw up a separation and property settlement agreement. Cover the townhouse and every asset in both our names. I need it as soon as possible."