Chương 2
If she had been smiling, if she had looked pleased that she had been right, I could have hated her for it.
But she looked like someone watching a person fall through ice.
“What records?”
“Your apartment.”
I stopped.
“What about my apartment?”
“Your lease.”
I frowned.
“My lease?”
“And your credit reports.”
A cold feeling spread across my chest.
“Why would David have my credit reports?”
Sarah didn't answer immediately.
That was worse.
“Sarah.”
“He had information about your debts.”
I laughed once.
It was a small, broken sound.
“Everyone knows I have student loans.”
“Not the amount.”
The air disappeared from my lungs.
Nobody knew that.
Not even my parents.
I had always paid everything on time, but the number embarrassed me.
It felt like a reminder of every decision I had made before I became successful.
Every late night working extra shifts.
Every cheap meal.
Every time I told myself I was almost free.
“How did he get that?”
“I don't know.”
“You opened a folder and saw my private information, and instead of calling me, you waited until my wedding?”
Her eyes filled again.
“I tried to call you.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Yesterday.”
I reached for my phone automatically.
The screen was full of notifications.
Thirty-seven missed messages.
Calls from family.
Calls from friends.
Calls from numbers I didn't recognize.
Sarah watched my face change.
“You blocked me.”
I stared at her.
“No, I didn't.”
“You did.”
My thumb moved across the screen.
There it was.
Her name.
Blocked.
For the first time that night, something other than fear broke through.
Confusion.
“I didn't do that.”
Sarah gave a tired laugh.
“That's what scared me.”
The loading dock became quiet again.
Not peaceful.
Just quiet.
“David had access to your phone,” she said.
“No.”
“You gave him your passcode.”
I looked down.
I had.
A month after we got engaged, my phone had stopped working during a trip.
David had used his laptop to help transfer everything.
I had handed him my passcode without thinking.
Because why wouldn't I?
He was the man I loved.
The man whose hand I held in front of everyone.
The man who had just watched me destroy a wedding cake because my sister told me to run.
A vehicle door closed somewhere nearby.
Sarah looked past me.
“Maya.”
I turned.
Through the glass doors leading back into the building, a figure stood in the hallway.
David.
He was no longer wearing his jacket.
His tie was loosened.
Several people stood behind him, including my father and two of his business partners.
But David wasn't looking at them.
He was looking directly at me.
And even from across the distance, I could see the expression on his face.
Not rage.
Not panic.
Something worse.
Disappointment.
Like I had ruined something he owned.
Sarah quietly closed the car door.
“He's going to tell everyone you're unstable.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“He already started.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that's what I would do if I was him.”
I hated that answer because it sounded like her.
Practical.
Cold.
Prepared.
David lifted a hand and pointed toward us.
My father started moving.
I had never seen my father run.
Not when my mother was sick.
Not when I fell off my bike as a child.
Not even when he missed my college graduation because of a flight delay.
But now he was running toward me.
And the look on his face told me he had already heard a version of the story where I was the problem.
My father stopped several feet away from us, breathing hard, his face caught between confusion and anger.
“Maya.”
He said my name like it was a warning.
Not a greeting.
Not relief.
I had spent my entire life hearing different versions of that voice.
The one he used when I broke a lamp as a child.
The one he used when I quit my first job without another one lined up.
The one he used when he was disappointed but trying not to show it.
I hated that it was the same voice he used now.
“Dad,” I said.
His eyes moved over my torn dress, my bare feet, Sarah standing beside me.
“What happened?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because there were too many answers.
The wedding.
The cake.
David.
The folder.
The phone.
The fact that I had no idea which part of my life had been real and which part had been carefully arranged.
Sarah stepped forward.
“Mr. Carter, David—”
My father raised a hand.
“Not now, Sarah.”
The words hit her harder than he probably intended.
She went quiet.
That was when I noticed something that bothered me.
My father was not looking at Sarah like she had caused a problem.
He was looking at her like he had already been told she had.
Behind him, David walked slowly toward us.
He had always been good at controlling his pace.
I noticed that early in our relationship.
Other people rushed when they were nervous.
David became slower.
Calmer.
Like nothing could touch him.
“Maya,” he said.
His voice was gentle again.
Almost perfect.
The same voice he used when I cried after my grandmother died.
The same voice he used when he brought me soup during my flu.
For a second, my body reacted before my mind did.
I almost stepped toward him.
Then I remembered his face when the cake fell.
I stayed still.
His expression changed slightly.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Enough for me.
He wasn't used to me refusing him.
“What happened?” my father asked him.
David looked at me first.
That small movement was almost invisible.
But it told me everything.
He was checking whether I would speak.
When I didn't, he looked back at my father.
May you like
“I think Maya had a panic response.”
The sentence was so carefully chosen that it took me a moment to understand what he had done.
