Chapter 2

By the time I check my bag, there are forty minutes left before boarding.

An unknown number calls.

I answer.

Adrian’s voice comes through immediately.

“Why did you block me?”

“Your wife showed me the apartment across from mine.”

Silence.

Only for a few seconds.

Then his voice is calm again.

“I left that group a long time ago. The others kept it going without me. I’ll deal with them.”

I almost laugh.

“And your wife?”

Another pause.

“Our marriage is between two families. I can’t just end it.”

“So you married her and kept dating me.”

“Vanessa wanted the Moretti name. You wanted me. I’ve been with you for three years. You both got what you wanted.”

I grip my phone tighter.

“Should I thank you?”

“Claire, when did I ever neglect you? Breakfast. Medicine. Birthday gifts. Whatever you needed, I made sure you had it.”

“Did your friends order my breakfast too?”

He goes quiet for a moment.

“Sometimes, when I was busy. It still got delivered. What difference does that make?”

For three years, every breakfast avoided peanuts and anything too cold for my stomach.

I thought Adrian remembered my allergy and my stomach problems.

Now I know anyone in that group could have read the notes and placed the order.

His care was a checklist.

Nothing more.

Adrian exhales.

“Go to San Francisco if you need space. But tomorrow’s deal still goes through.”

I go still.

“What deal?”

“Your research partnership with Moretti Biotech. Sign the licensing agreement as planned. Don’t throw away your career because you’re angry with me.”

My hand tightens around the phone.

“Moretti Biotech is yours?”

“It belongs to my family.”

The last piece falls into place.

The Moretti Foundation has supported my education and research for six years.

I have spent years talking about how badly I want to work with Moretti Biotech.

Every time, Adrian would smile and say, “Once you get in, you can support me for a change.”

He let me believe he was broke.

He let me dream about getting into a company his family owned.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“After you signed.”

I hang up.

A message arrives from one of his friends.

[Adrian isn’t divorcing Vanessa. You’ve had him for three years. Be grateful.]

I delete it and open the group-chat files I saved.

There is a nine-second video from seven days ago.

That was the day my project passed its final review.

Adrian promised he would come home and celebrate with me.

In the video, he is in the surveillance apartment.

Vanessa is underneath him on the bed.

Their clothes are scattered across the floor.

The curtains are open.

Across the street, visible through the window, I am sitting alone in my apartment, lighting a candle on a small cake.

The group chat runs beside the video.

[Our genius is still waiting for Moretti.]

Vanessa replies.

[It’s our anniversary. He should be with his wife.]

Someone tags Adrian.

[You really not going over there?]

His answer appears below.

[Let her wait.]

My vision blurs for a second.

That night, he was not too busy.

He had simply chosen who deserved his time and who could keep waiting.

The boarding announcement sounds.

Two messages from the same unknown number appear on my screen.

[Take a few days. Come back when you calm down.]

A second message follows.

[Vanessa is my wife. If you see her again, don’t make things difficult for her.]

I stare at the words before canceling tomorrow’s signing with Moretti Biotech.

I transfer back every dollar of the educational and research grants I received from the Moretti Foundation.

Memo:

[Grant repayment.]

With that done, I turn off my phone and walk toward the gate.

For three years, Adrian Moretti kept telling me to wait.

This time, I don’t.