Chapter 1

Every dollar my boyfriend spends on me can be divided by nine.

I have always been good with numbers, so after three years with Adrian Moretti, I know it is not a coincidence.

Even the condoms cost exactly twenty-seven dollars.

I ask him about it once.

He only laughs.

“I’m broke. Of course I have to watch every dollar.”

I believe him.

Adrian has always said his family is complicated and that he wants nothing to do with them. He lives simply, never talks about money, and lets me think we are building our future from nothing together.

Everything changes when a woman approaches me.

She looks me over and smiles.

“Claire Bennett. The genius on a scholarship.”

I frown.

She tilts her head. “You’re so good with numbers. You never wondered why it’s always nine?”

She takes me across the street from the apartment Adrian and I share and unlocks the door to another unit.

The moment I step inside, I stop breathing.

One entire wall is covered with photos of me.

Me leaving for work.

Me coming home.

Me carrying groceries.

Me sitting alone by my window.

Under the photos are notes.

What time I wake up.

How much I spend each month.

When Adrian and I fight.

Even the nights he stays over.

My stomach turns.

A laptop sits open on the desk.

A group chat is still running.

THE SCHOLARSHIP GIRL BET.

The newest messages are coming in fast.

[Are we getting a show tonight?]

[Don’t let her close the curtains.]

My fingers go cold.

For three years, whenever I try to pull the curtains shut, Adrian stops me.

He always says the apartment across the street is empty.

Standing here now, I can see straight into my bedroom.

Even the wrinkles in my sheets are visible.

I force myself to look back at the chat.

The first messages are dated three years ago.

[Moretti, you lost. Go ask out the broke scholarship girl.]

Adrian replies with one word.

[Fine.]

Another message follows.

[We’ll split the cost. Let’s see how long the genius takes to figure it out.]

There are expense notes under it.

[Condoms: $27. Three bucks each.]

[Birthday necklace: $270. Thirty each.]

I stare at the screen until the words blur.

The woman beside me lifts her left hand.

A diamond ring catches the light.

“One more thing.”

I look at her.

She smiles.

“I’m Vanessa Romano Moretti.”

My chest tightens.

“Adrian’s wife.”

For a second, I hear nothing.

Then she adds, almost casually, “We’ve been married for two years.”

Two years.

Adrian and I have been together for three.

I look at the wall again.

Three years of my life.

Three years of breakfasts, medicine, birthday gifts, whispered promises, and nights I thought belonged to us.

To them, I am just a game whose cost they have been splitting nine ways.

I take photos of everything, save the chat records, and forward copies to my attorney.

I send Adrian one message.

[Game over.]

I block him and book the first flight to San Francisco.

If nine people enjoyed splitting the cost of my life, they can split the consequences too.