At 2:17 in the morning, I watched another man sit in my driveway with the woman I had planned to marry, and when she finally walked through the door, she acted as though I was the one who owed an explanation. Eight minutes had passed between the time Derek pulled up and the moment Victoria stepped out of his car. Eight minutes of laughter, silhouettes leaning toward each other, and the sickening realization that I had spent months saving for a diamond while my girlfriend had been building a life I wasn’t allowed to question.
Chapter 2
For several seconds, Victoria seemed unable to decide whether she was awake. Then she set the mug down hard enough to rattle the spoon inside it. “You moved my belongings while I was sleeping?”
“Mostly while you were showering.”
“That’s supposed to make it better?”
“No.”
She followed me upstairs and threw open the guest-room door. Her clothes hung neatly in the closet. Her makeup sat in two boxes on the dresser, fresh sheets covered the bed, and clean towels were folded on the chair.
Her outrage seemed to grow because everything had been done carefully.
“This is insane, Chase.”
“Maybe.”
“You can’t just decide I don’t belong in our bedroom.”
“Our bedroom?” I asked. “Last night you told me my concerns about our relationship weren’t legitimate. So I’m changing the arrangement.”
“This is my home too.”
“You’ve lived here with me, yes. But right now, I don’t want to share a bedroom while we figure out whether we’re still a couple.”
She stared at me. “You’re punishing me for having a male friend.”
“I’m putting distance between myself and someone who comes home at two in the morning with him and tells me I’m crazy for caring.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Then help me understand.”
“I already explained it.”
“No, you repeated the phrase ‘we work together.’ That’s not an explanation for three two-a.m. rides.”
Her jaw tightened. “My car has been acting up.”
“It’s been acting up for three weeks?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“So busy you can’t take it to a mechanic, but you’ve got time to get drinks with Derek after midnight?”
“You’re twisting everything.”
“No. I’m finally looking at everything at once.”
Victoria spent Saturday behind the guest-room door. On Sunday she announced that she was staying with her older sister, Nicole, for a night or two “until I could behave rationally.”
“Take whatever time you need,” I said.
She expected me to stop her.
I didn’t.
Nicole called Monday evening. She had always been sensible, and unlike Victoria, she usually listened before choosing a side. Her tone was cautious.
“Victoria says you kicked her out of your bedroom.”
“I moved her things to the guest room.”
“She says you’re controlling her.”
“Did she tell you why?”
A pause followed.
“Something about a coworker.”
“Derek?”
Another pause, longer this time. “She mentioned him.”
“Did she mention coming home with him around two in the morning three times in three weeks?”
Nicole went quiet.
“Three times?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “That’s different from how she described it.”
“I’m not asking you to referee. She’s your sister. I’m just telling you what happened.”
“Chase, moving her things was pretty extreme.”
“Maybe it was. But I’m not willing to pretend we’re fine while she refuses to have an honest conversation.”
Tuesday evening, Victoria returned. She barely looked at me before going upstairs. We passed each other like strangers in an airport.
Wednesday changed everything.
I got home shortly after six and saw Derek’s silver SUV in my driveway.
For a moment, I simply sat behind the wheel.
There are times when suspicion hurts more than certainty because suspicion leaves room for hope. Seeing his vehicle outside my home erased that room.
I walked in and found them on my couch.
Documents covered the coffee table. Derek had his laptop open, and Victoria was beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. They both looked up at once.
Victoria stood. “Chase, we’re working on the Hendrix account.”
“Derek, pack your things and leave.”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Chase,” Victoria said sharply.
I pointed toward the door. “He’s not welcome in my home.”
Derek stood slowly. He was about my height, broad-shouldered, maybe thirty. Until that moment, we’d met only briefly at a company holiday party.
“We’re working, man.”
“You have an office.”
“The conference rooms are booked,” Victoria said.
I almost laughed. “So you brought the man we’ve been fighting about into my house?”
“Because nothing is happening!”
“Then why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”
She had no answer.
Derek muttered something about me being childish as he gathered his papers. I didn’t threaten him or touch him. I simply held the front door open.
“Good night, Derek.”
He looked at Victoria as if waiting for her to stop him. She didn’t.
When his car disappeared down the street, I turned around.
Victoria was crying.
“Show me your messages with him,” I said.
Her face changed.
It was subtle, but I saw it.
“What?”
“Show me the conversation with Derek. I’m not going to grab your phone. I’m asking you. If all of this has been innocent, give me something that makes sense.”
“That’s private.”
“We’ve shared a bed for four years.”
“That doesn’t mean you own my phone.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Then stop acting like you have a right to inspect me.”
I nodded.
That frightened her.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay what?”
“I’m done.”
The color drained from her face. “You’re breaking up with me because I won’t hand over my phone?”
“I’m breaking up with you because every time I ask a reasonable question, you attack me instead of answering it. Because you keep choosing your connection with Derek over the relationship you claim matters. And because you brought him into this house knowing exactly what was happening between us.”
“Nothing happened between us.”
“Maybe nothing physical happened.”
Her eyes flickered.
That was enough.
I stepped back as though she’d slapped me.
“Something did happen,” I said.
Victoria started sobbing. “Chase—”
“Emotionally?”
She covered her face.
“Victoria.”
“We got too close.”
The words hung between us.
“How close?”
“We talked. A lot. About work. About life.”
“About us?”
She lowered her hands.
“Yes.”
That answer hurt worse than I expected.
“You discussed our relationship with him?”
“I was confused.”
“And when I noticed, you called me jealous.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not yet, you’re not.”
Her head snapped up.
I hated the bitterness in my voice, so I lowered it. “Right now you’re sorry there are consequences. That’s not the same thing.”
I gave her a reasonable deadline to arrange another place to stay and later confirmed everything with an attorney so neither of us would make the situation uglier than it already was. Whatever else had happened, four years together deserved a lawful, orderly ending.
But as I walked upstairs, one question kept following me.
If their relationship had really been nothing more than emotional, why had Victoria looked terrified when I asked to see her phone?
