Chapter 4

The day Chris flew back to New York, he didn't contact me.

High-resolution paparazzi photos from the airport hit Twitter's trending page first.

In the frame, he carried Susan's bag while his other hand rested protectively on the small of her back. They wore matching Cartier woven red-cord bracelets.

The caption read: **A decade-long aurora promise, fulfilled.**

Becky called, demanding I rush to the office immediately.

"The paparazzi dug up your live-in relationship with Chris. Now everyone online is calling Susan a homewrecker. You need to make a public statement to the media right now!"

"Clarify what, exactly?"

"Just say you two amicably split six months ago and the Iceland trip has nothing to do with you."

I hung up.

Half an hour later, Lori showed up at my Upper East Side apartment with two security guards.

"Annie, Chris is waiting for you at the townhouse. The bank's risk officer is there too. If you don't sign a long-term authorization today, the house goes to forced auction this afternoon."

I went with her.

The townhouse gate stood wide open. The sycamore tree my father had planted years ago had been ripped out by a construction crew and tossed against the garden wall.

The living room furniture—every piece that held my childhood memories—had been cleared out.

Susan stood in the center of the living room, holding a roll of architectural blueprints, cheerfully discussing plans with Chris.

"Let's convert the upstairs study into a nursery. That way when we're married and have a baby, it'll be convenient."

I stopped in the doorway.

Chris followed her gaze and saw me. His expression stiffened.

"Susan's just joking."

"This is my home."

Susan's smile vanished instantly.

Lori stepped in immediately: "Annie, Chris already bought out the other half of the property. Once you marry him, this will still be your home. Susan's just helping look at interior renovation options."

I walked to the fallen sycamore and ran my hand along its rough bark.

When Lori and I were little, we used to swing on the tire swing tied to this very tree.

Now a chainsaw had split it open like worthless firewood.

Chris came up behind me.

"The roots were rotted. It would have died eventually. I'll have a new one planted."

"Where are my manuscripts?"

He turned and retrieved the boxes from the trunk of the Rolls-Royce.

Several pages from the top had been cut out and placed inside Susan's interview portfolio.

Next to my father's handwriting sat Susan's signature.

"The media interview required physical exhibits," Chris said. "I'll return them after the launch."

I reached over and pulled those pages out.

Susan lunged to stop me, and her sleeve knocked the aurora snow globe off the table.

Glass hit the floor and shattered instantly.

Green glitter and liquid spread across the tile.

When Chris had given it to me, he'd recorded a message into the voice chip embedded in the base.

*"Once Polaris goes public, we'll get married."*

Now the base had cracked in two, and the recording stuttered on repeat.

*"We'll—We'll—"*

Susan went pale with shock.

"I'm sorry, Annie, I really didn't mean to—"

Chris immediately pulled her behind him and quietly told the assistant to clean it up.

I bent down to pick up the base.

He grabbed my wrist.

"Glass. Don't touch it."

"Let go."

"It's just an old knickknack. You want more? I'll get you as many as you want."

I looked at him, and a sudden calm washed over me. "Chris, is this why you pursued me in the first place?"

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