Chapter 2

"Chloe, do you mind if I sleep in the master bedroom?"

Clara stood at the doorway. She hadn't even stepped inside, but her eyes were already scanning every corner of the room.

"Oh, did I come at a bad time? Maybe I should just check into a hotel instead."

Carter pushed her suitcase into the hallway.

"What hotel? It’s not safe for a girl like you to stay alone in the city."

He finished speaking, then looked up at me.

"Change the sheets in the master bedroom, Chloe. Clara has sensitive skin; she can’t sleep on old linens."

I was still clutching a piece of the shattered ceramic mug in my hand.

The sharp edge dug into my palm, making my fingertips go numb.

Clara immediately grabbed Carter’s sleeve.

"Carter, please don't make Chloe mad because of me. I can honestly just sleep on the couch."

"You are not sleeping on the couch," Carter's voice softened. "Be good. Go take a shower."

I turned around and walked into the master bedroom. The sheets on the bed were pastel blue.

When we first moved in years ago, Carter had said this color looked clean. He said it felt like home.

As I yanked the sheets off, the picture frame on the nightstand fell to the floor.

In the photo, Carter and I were standing on the beach.

The wind was howling, and he was blocking the sun for me with his hand. I was laughing so hard my eyes were closed.

That was our first year of dating.

Back then, if I worked late, he would drive half an hour in the freezing cold just to pick me up.

If my stomach hurt, he would stand at the pharmacy counter for an hour, carefully reading the back of every medicine bottle.

He would even push the last bite of his warm sandwich to me.

"You eat it. I'm not that hungry."

But later, he started talking about how "adults need to be independent."

And eventually, he turned that "independence" into a very dull, slow-cutting knife.

I placed the photo face down.

Just as I finished tucking in the new sheets, Clara pushed the door open and walked in.

"Chloe, please don't be mad at Carter. He’s just always taken care of me. I was a sickly kid, so it’s just a habit for him."

I said nothing.

She walked over to my vanity and picked up my perfume, taking a sniff.

"Wow, this scent is so... mature."

I reached out and took it back from her hand. Instantly, Clara’s eyes welled up with tears.

Carter happened to walk in at that exact moment.

"What's going on?"

Clara shook her head.

"Nothing! I think I just accidentally touched Chloe's things and upset her."

Carter glared at me.

"She literally just got here. Is it really necessary to target her like this?"

"It's just a bottle of perfume."

Carter snatched the bottle from my hand and carelessly tossed it into Clara’s hands.

"If you like it, keep it."

I had bought that perfume for myself on my birthday last year.

When Carter saw the receipt back then, he had lectured me, saying $120 for a bottle of perfume was too luxurious, and made me pay him back my half of the rent early to "balance my budget."

Yet now, he gave it away to Clara without a second thought.

The cut in my palm was still oozing blood, staining the glass shard in my hand.

I threw the fragment into the trash.

Carter glanced down. "What happened to your hand?"

"Got cut by some old trash," I replied flatly.

He paused for a second.

But in the next second, Clara let out a tiny, delicate cough.

Carter immediately turned his back on me.

"Is the AC too cold?"

He rushed over to adjust the thermostat for her.

I looked down at my hand.

It turned out that some pain can truly only be felt by yourself.

Later that evening, I was moving some of Carter’s work samples out to the balcony when he walked over.

"Clara wants that premium truffle pasta from downtown. Come with me to grab it."

I looked up. "Now?"

"She has jet lag and can't sleep."

Carter pointed to some cardboard boxes on the floor.

"While we're out, make sure to carry up that case of spring water from the garage. Clara only drinks that brand."

I let out a cold laugh. "If it's so easy, why don't you carry it up yourself?"

His face darkened.

"What is wrong with you today? Clara is a guest."

I pushed the last box into the corner.

"Carter, my fever just broke this morning."

He froze for a fraction of a second, as if he finally remembered my call from the ER last night.

But it was only a fraction of a second.

"Then stay home and rest. I’ll calculate the venmo request when I get back. We’re getting three portions of pasta, so you'll pay for yours."

I sat on the floor of the guest room and opened my phone.

An email from HR was sitting in my inbox.

It was an offer for a transfer to our LA branch. A permanent position, starting next week at the latest.

I stared at the screen for a long time.

Then, I clicked *Accept*.