Chapter 1

I caught my boyfriend’s female coworker unlocking his front door with her own key.

She dangled the key chain in my face, looking completely smug.

"I’m just here to feed his cat and tidy up a bit. You don’t mind, right?"

I froze for a split second.

Dylan had told me I was the only one who had a key to his place.

But I composed myself immediately and flashed her a bright smile.

"Oh, perfect! Dylan just texted me saying he hired a maid to clean today and asked me to supervise."

Her smile instantly died.

I pushed right past her, shoved a heavy-duty trash bag into her chest, and walked in.

"Well, maid, get to work. Start with the litter box, then mop the floors."

She stood frozen in the doorway, still clutching that key.

I walked straight past her, sat down on the sofa, and tossed my designer bag aside.

"What are you standing around for?"

I looked up at her coldly.

"Get moving. Weren't you here to clean?"

She opened her mouth, her face pale and ugly.

I pulled out my phone, leaned back against the cushions, and started scrolling, not even bothering to give her another glance.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her freeze by the door for about fifteen seconds. Finally, she shoved the key into her pocket, bent down, and pulled the litter scoop from under the coffee table.

Her movements were smooth.

She clearly wasn't doing this for the first time.

She squatted by the litter box and started scooping.

Without looking up from my screen, I asked casually, "So, how much is he paying you to clean his place?"

The scoop in her hand paused.

"We don't talk about money."

She tied a knot in the trash bag.

"We just help each other out. We're coworkers. He looks out for me at the office, so it's only normal that I drop by to feed his cat and tidy up."

Hearing the subtle superiority dripping from her voice, I couldn't help but smirk.

Not getting paid a single cent, providing free maid service, and showing off a key like it was a badge of honor.

"Right," I nodded slowly. "Then why did he tell me he hired a maid?"

She didn't answer.

I didn't press her. I shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch.

"Whatever. Doesn't matter."

I waved a hand at her dismissively, like she was hired help.

"Hurry it up. When you're done with the litter, mop the hardwood floors and wipe down the kitchen counters."

She didn't move.

I looked up and locked eyes with her.

"What? Got a problem?"

She bit her lip, swallowed her words, and dragged the scoop out toward the balcony.

Listening to the clattering on the balcony, my smile faded completely.

I knew this girl.

Or rather, I’d seen her on Dylan’s phone.

Once, his phone lit up on the nightstand with a notification from "Chloe." It was a photo of his cat with a text: "Your fur baby is refusing to eat again today."

I’d asked about it back then.

Dylan had wrapped his arm around my shoulder, looking completely innocent.

"Just a girl from work. She helped feed the cat a couple of times when I was out of town. It's nothing."

Nothing.

And yet she had a key to his apartment.

I hadn't said anything at the time, but that thorn had buried itself deep inside my chest.

Today was my day off.

I had woken up early, gone to the specialty grocery store to buy Dylan’s favorite cut of steak, planning to surprise him with a romantic homemade dinner while he was out.

Instead, I arrived to find Chloe twirling a key, greeting me with that sly grin.

There was a little plush bear keychain dangling from her set.

I recognized it instantly. Dylan and I had won matching pairs at a boardwalk carnival last summer.

He told me we’d each keep one. Mine was on my car keys; his was on his apartment key.

And now that little bear was in Chloe’s hands.

On my phone, my chat with Dylan had gone dead since seven this morning.

I had texted: "Good morning babe."

He replied hours later with a dry: "Morning."

I asked if he wanted to have dinner together tonight.

No reply.

I opened Instagram. Dylan had posted a photo of a flat white at a chic cafe near his office just an hour ago.

Timestamp: 9:15 AM.

He had time to curate an aesthetic Instagram story, but no time to answer my text.