Chapter 2

The master bedroom smelled like him—that intoxicating blend of sandalwood and cold indifference. Lily stood in the doorway, her suitcase wheels catching on the threshold like a final protest. Five years. Five years of stolen moments in this gilded cage. They'd fucked against every surface—the mahogany desk, the shower glass, the very spot where her knees now threatened to buckle. But they'd never made love. Not once. Her packing took less than ten minutes. How pathetic, that a marriage could be undone faster than the time it took David to choose a tie each morning. The suitcase—bought new for their honeymoon, still faintly dusty from disuse—gaped open like a wound. She filled it only with what she'd brought: a few books, the pearl earrings her mother left her, the silk nightgown he'd once torn off her without looking at the color. The study smelled of his Cuban cigars and betrayal. There, in the top drawer where he kept his whiskey and condoms, lay the divorce papers. Prepared before they got married. A contingency plan for Marina's inevitable return. Lily signed without trembling. The pen glided smoothly as the knife he'd slid between her ribs for half a decade. She'd come to him willingly. She'd leave with equal resolve. No tears. No dramatics. Just the quiet unraveling of a dream she should've abandoned the first time he'd whispered another woman's name into her hair. The front door clicked shut behind her. Rain lashed the pavement as she hailed a cab. The droplets streaked the windows like the tears she refused to shed. "Where to?" the driver asked. The question froze her. Leave. Just leave. That had been her only thought. But now, faced with the reality—she had nowhere to go. No home. No family. Her mother had died bringing her into this world. Her father’s remarriage had brought only a stepmother whose mistreatment cut deeper than cruelty. Her childhood had been a nightmare. The only peace she’d ever known was those fleeting years with David—years she now realized were just another kind of solitude. She’d severed ties with her own family for him, unwilling to let their dysfunction touch his world. And what had it earned her? A divorce paper signed before marriage. A husband who used her merely as a sex toy. "Where to?" The driver’s voice sharpened as horns blared behind them. Panic tightened her throat. Then, before she could think— "Noah’s apartment. 27 Willow Lane." The name escaped like a confession. Noah, her best friend since high school. The woman who’d gripped her shoulders the day she signed that contract marriage, eyes blazing: "You’ll regret this, Lily. He’ll destroy you." And like a fool, she’d laughed it off. Now, with the divorce papers heavy in her bag and the taxi meter counting away her old life, Lily finally believed it. The clock ticked 12:17 AM when Lily appeared at Noah's doorstep. Rainwater dripped from her hair onto the welcome mat—Noah's joke gift from last Christmas: "Go Away Unless You Have Wine." Her knuckles hovered, trembling. The door flew open before she could knock. Noah stood there in rumpled pajamas, her sleep-mussed braids swinging as she jerked fully awake. "Jesus Christ, Lily—" Her voice cracked when she saw Lily's shattered expression, the death-grip on her suitcase. "You look like you walked out of a fucking horror movie." Lily's attempt at a smile twisted into something broken. "I didn't... know where else..." The words dissolved like sugar in whiskey. Noah didn't ask. Just yanked her inside, kicking the door shut with her bare foot. "You're fucking freezing." Her hands—always warm, always steady—rubbed Lily's icy arms. "Where's your coat? Scratch that—where's your common sense?" The suitcase thudded to the floor. Lily stared at it, numb. Five years of marriage reduced to one wheeled carry-on. Noah swore under her breath and manhandled her onto the couch. "Move and I'll duct tape you here." She vanished into the kitchen, banging cabinets with unnecessary violence. Lily sat. The apartment smelled like Noah's vanilla candle wax and takeout—real life, not David's sterile mansion. Her fingers traced a coffee stain on the cushion. Proof that people actually lived here. A chipped "World's Best Accountant" mug (a gag gift from Lily) appeared under her nose. Chamomile steam curled between them. Noah didn't do it gently, but her hands were careful as she wrapped Lily's around the heat. "Drink. Then talk. Or don't. But hydrate, you tragic heroine." The tea scalded Lily's tongue. Good. Pain meant she still felt. Noah perched beside her, knee bouncing. Waiting. "I signed them," Lily whispered to the tea leaves. "The divorce papers." Noah went statue-still. "Marina’s back." The words came out strangled. The tea rippled—her hands were shaking now. "They’re… together." A tear plopped into the mug. Then another. Silent. Efficient. Like she'd practiced this moment in the mirror for years. Noah exploded off the couch. She didn’t miss the bruise-like love bites peeking above Lily’s collar. If David had chosen Marina, why leave marks like claim staked on condemned land? "Fuck that emotionally stunted bastard—" She kicked the coffee table so hard a magazine slid off. "I'll burn Hardison Corp to the ground. I'll—" "It doesn't matter." Lily's voice surprised them both—hollow as a picked-clean bone. "I know he never loves me. And I promised him. The contract..." Noah whirled, eyes blazing. "That contract was emotional blackmail and you know it—" She bit off the rest, fists clenching. Because they'd had this argument before. Many times. The silence stretched. The radiator hissed. Somewhere downstairs, a dog barked. Finally, Noah sat. Not touching, but close. "Okay," she said, exhaling hard. "Okay. Fuck him. His loss." She gently hugged Lily, her tone firm, "I've got you. You're home now." Tears burst out, Lily curled into Noah's side, her tea cooling between them. Outside, the rain slowed to a drizzle. The world kept turning. And for the first time in five years—so did Lily. *** The next day, Lily went to work as usual. The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing Jenny’s smug face. "Oh, Lily," Jenny chirped, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You're such an angel for covering my shift last night." Her manicured fingers fluttered near her chest in mock gratitude. "But then again," she added with a poisonous smile, "it's not like you have much of a personal life to interfere, do you?" "Did you see the news? David’s real love is back." She leaned in, her perfume cloying. "And everyone bets he'll propose to her soon." Jenny's painted lips curled in triumph, "Face it - you'll never be the one to win David's heart." Lily’s grip tightened on her bag, but her voice remained ice-cold. "Funny, coming from someone who couldn’t even handle a simple report without faking a migraine." She stepped past Jenny without another glance, leaving the other woman gaping. At her desk, Lily mechanically sorted through emails, her movements precise, practiced. The resignation letter in her bag weighed heavily against her hip—a burden, yet also a promise of freedom. She couldn’t stay. Not after last night. Not when every glance at David would remind her of Marina’s triumphant return. Today would be the last time she made his coffee. The ritual began without thought- measuring the exact 17 grams of Ethiopian beans, heating the water to 96°C, and timing the 30-second bloom. She'd perfected this routine like she'd perfected everything else about being Mrs. Hardison - the silent wife, the flawless secretary, the warm body in the dark. The first time he'd praised her coffee, she'd clung to that scrap of approval like a lifeline. Maybe if I perfect this, she had thought, he'll see me. What a fool she'd been. Steeling herself, she pushed open his office door—only to freeze. David wasn’t at his desk. Instead, Marina lounged in his leather chair like a queen on a throne, her manicured fingers tracing the edge of his polished mahogany desk. She looked up, a slow, feline smile spreading across her lips. "Oh, Lily," she purred. "I've heard about you."