Chapter 2

His face changed on a dime. His voice dropped low, dangerous.

"What about the money I hand you every month, Yan? Where the hell is it all going?"

I let out a quiet, tired laugh, reached into my bag, and pulled out a small ledger. Every entry, meticulous.

His mother's long-term stay at the rehab facility—over ninety thousand.

The Lexus I'd bought him last year—eighty.

His business dinners and country club dues—fifteen thousand, give or take.

And then, of course: the medical bills and bail money from the previous six times he'd played hero for Sofia. A little over sixty thousand.

At the very bottom of the page, in cramped little numbers, was what I'd spent on myself during the pregnancy—prenatal vitamins, appointments, a maternity bra or two. A few hundred dollars. Pitiful, really.

Ethan's brows drew together. "What about the company accounts?"

"The last project blew up. We poured everything we had into plugging the hole. What's left is locked in CDs. Early withdrawal comes with a penalty."

I kept my voice level.

"But then, you've been so busy driving Sofia to her therapy appointments, I imagine the company slipped your mind."

Sofia's crying kicked up another notch. Ethan could only stroke her hair with one hand while snapping at me with the other:

"Just borrow it from someone, Yan—I'll pay it back! Sofia is not in a good place right now!"

I told him to give me a minute.

I went back inside and came out with a document.

"I'll run it through the company account. Sign here, and finance can push the transfer through."

He didn't so much as glance at it. He just signed.

I calmly tucked the document away, paid his bail, and turned to leave.

Behind me, Ethan called: "I'm going to drop Sofia off first. It's dark—she shouldn't be alone."

I didn't answer.

He'd forgotten that I was alone, too. Four months pregnant. Dark streets. Icy sidewalks. All of it just as dangerous for me as it was for her.

But the second Sofia was in the picture, nothing else registered.

I walked home. Slowly. Then I packed a bag. Then I called my lawyer.

"He signed the divorce agreement. He doesn't know it yet."

The next second, the front door opened.

Ethan was back, exhaustion pooling under his eyes, a bag of my favorite Chinese takeout hooked over one finger.

"You must be starving. How did the checkup go today?"

"Fine."

"Don't take the Sofia thing to heart, okay?"

He paused. There was something almost like guilt in it.

"You remember when the company was on the ropes? Sofia was the one who fronted the money to keep us afloat. We can't just forget something like that. Helping her out is the least we can do."

I went very still.

Because when the company had been hemorrhaging money, on the verge of collapse, it hadn't been Sofia at all. It had been me. I'd sold off my own design patent to cover the shortfall.

I'd asked Sofia to hand him the money because I didn't want to bruise his pride. I never told him where it had really come from.

And this whole time, he'd carried around this quiet, grateful debt to a woman who'd done nothing.

But I didn't feel like explaining anymore.

Ethan cupped my cheek.

"Alright. This really was the last time. I swear to you—no more running off to be the hero."

But the moment he mentioned the man who'd supposedly been following Sofia, his eyes turned to flint. The rage in them was impossible to miss.

I gently pulled my face out of his hand. "You're hurting me."

He let go at once, his voice softening.

"Alright. Get some rest. The baby needs sleep, too."

He scooped me up and carried me to bed. He warmed a mug of milk and pressed it into my hands. He rubbed my feet for half an hour. He lit the lavender oil diffuser on the nightstand.

Then he laid his palm gently over my belly.

"Get some sleep in there, little one. Don't give Mommy a hard time. Daddy loves you."

He'd done every single one of these things, every single night, for the four months I'd been pregnant.

Something tightened in my chest until it hurt to breathe.

Every time we fought about Sofia, he did this. The small tender gestures. The rituals. And every time, they softened me. Made me want to give him one more chance.

I looked, silently, toward the drawer where the divorce papers were waiting.

Maybe—maybe—if this really was the last time, I could believe him one more time.

One in the morning.

The phone shattered the quiet.

I jolted awake, but Ethan was faster—he had it to his ear before I'd fully opened my eyes.

On the other end, a woman was shrieking.

"Okay. Okay—breathe. I'm on my way."

Ethan threw on his jacket and bolted for the door.

"What happened?"

"Something happened to Sofia. I have to go."

My stomach dropped. Ignoring his protests, I grabbed my coat and followed him.

"I'm coming. Just to make sure you don't put anyone else in the hospital."

His expression darkened. "I won't."

He drove to Sofia's apartment building, produced a key from his pocket, and let himself in like he owned the place.

Sofia was standing in the middle of the living room in a sheer lace nightgown. The second she saw him, she launched herself into his arms, her voice a high, terrified thing.

"Ethan—thank God you came. There was a man—he climbed in through the window—I was so scared. But I fought him off. I did. I didn't want to bother you this time…"

"You're safe. I've got you."

Ethan stroked her back like she was made of spun glass.

"You did great. You protected yourself."

Sofia gave him a watery, brave little smile. "It's because of those self-defense moves you taught me."

I spoke, my voice quiet. "Where is he now?"