Chapter 2

It was late at night when I finally returned to our damp, dark basement apartment.

As soon as I pushed the door open, the heavy, medicinal smell of cheap ointment hit my nose.

Wyatt was lying on our worn-out single bed, his right leg encased in a thick plaster cast. His face looked incredibly pale.

Hearing the door, he turned his head with difficulty, his eyes instantly filling with worry.

"Roxy! Oh my god, you’re soaked! Go take a hot shower before you catch a cold."

He struggled to sit up, groaning in pain before falling back onto the mattress.

What a brilliant performance.

If I hadn't seen him earlier, I would have truly believed he was on the verge of death.

I walked over and stood by the bed, looking down at him.

"Does your leg still hurt?" I asked softly.

"It does," he said, reaching out to grasp my hand, his eyes red. "But now that you're here, the pain is gone."

"Roxy, I don't know what I would've done without you today. You saved my life."

I looked down at his long, clean fingers.

These same hands had been wrapped around Chloe Monroe's waist just hours ago.

With a cold shudder, I yanked my hand back.

Wyatt blinked, sensing the sudden shift in the air. "Roxy? What’s wrong? Are you just exhausted?"

"Wyatt," I said, staring directly into his eyes. "Were you home all day?"

His eyes flickered for a fraction of a second before he nodded without hesitation.

"Of course. How could I go anywhere with this leg? If you hadn't sent that money, those thugs would have killed me."

"Is that so?"

I walked to the foot of the bed. Before he could react, I raised my foot and slammed it down with all my might onto his "shattered" right leg.

"Ahhh!"

Wyatt let out a blood-curdling shriek, curling into a ball.

"Roxy! Are you insane?!" he roared, sweat pouring down his face from the pain.

I watched him coldly. "The cast is fake, isn't it? Just stuffed with foam."

"Because if your leg was actually broken, my kick would have snapped the bone right in half."

Wyatt's face drained of all color.

He stared at me, his lips trembling, unable to utter a single word.

"I saw you today, Wyatt. Outside the Presbyterian Maternity Clinic."

I stated the facts calmly, as if I were telling someone else's story.

"The suit looked great. The watch was stunning. And Miss Monroe’s bump is really starting to show, isn't it?"

Silence, heavy as death, filled the room.

The pain and helplessness on Wyatt's face began to fade, replaced by a cold, arrogant sneer.

Now that his cover was blown, he didn't bother pretending anymore. He ripped the fake cast off his leg and stood up.

He towered over me, any trace of the gentle boyfriend completely gone from his eyes.

"Since you saw us, there's no point in hiding it," he said, casually straightening his collar. His tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather.

"Chloe and I are getting engaged next month. She's four months pregnant."

I felt my heart shatter into a million jagged pieces.

"So the bankruptcy was a lie? The debts were a lie?" My voice trembled despite my best efforts.

"The bankruptcy was real," Wyatt said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. "But I don't owe any money to loan sharks. Those guys were just actors I hired."

"Why?" I screamed, my eyes burning with tears. "Why would you do this to me?"

"Because I needed the fucking cash!" Wyatt snapped, raising his voice. "My company went under. I was broke! If I wanted to be with Chloe, I needed money to present myself as a successful entrepreneur!"

"If I didn't play the victim, would you have worked yourself to the bone to give me every cent you made?"

I stared at the man in front of me, utterly horrified.

Was this really the boy who used to write me love letters on our college campus?

"Don't look at me like that, Roxy," Wyatt sneered, blowing a cloud of smoke in my face. "Let's be real. You’re an orphan with no family, no connections, and a useless degree. What could you possibly offer me?"

"Chloe can give me the life I want. She can save me twenty years of hard labor. I just made the smart choice."

"And what about me?!" I gestured to my exhausted body. "I worked five jobs for you! I sold my own blood!"

"I turned myself into a ghost for you! Wyatt, do you even have a soul?!"

"Nobody forced you to do that."

Wyatt let out a harsh laugh, pulled his wallet from his pocket, and threw a credit card right at my face.

"There's $50,000 on this card. Consider it compensation. Take the money and get out."

"And don't ever show your face in front of Chloe or me again. Your cheap, ghetto vibe will only embarrass me."

The plastic card struck my cheek, stinging sharply.

I looked at the card on the floor, and suddenly, a laugh escaped my lips.

I bent down and picked up the card.

Wyatt’s eyes flared with disgust. "That’s more like it. I knew you'd be reasonable. At the end of the day, girls like you are always about the money—"

Slap!

I swung my arm and slapped him across the face with every ounce of strength I had left.

The impact spun his head around, a trickle of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"Keep the fifty grand," I spat, throwing the card back into his bleeding face. "You’ll need it for your funeral."

I turned on my heel and walked out.

"Roxy! Don't you dare walk away from me!" Wyatt screamed behind me, his voice cracking with rage. "Who the hell do you think you are? Without me, you’ll be starving on the streets in a week!"

I didn't look back.

I pushed open the heavy door and stepped out into the endless, dark night.