Before I went to sleep that night, I ran my hand down Logan’s back and touched the tiny wound he had guarded for nearly a week as if it were open-heart surgery. What stopped me cold wasn’t the fact that the pimple was gone. It was the little brown heart painted around the spot in iodine—and the neat handwritten name beside it: Bianca. “Babe, did you pop that thing on your back yourself?” I asked.
Chapter 3
The police were waiting downstairs. By early afternoon, Logan had been questioned, booked, and charged in connection with the attempted transfer while company lawyers prepared the civil side of the case.
I could have gone home.
Instead, I asked my driver to take me to The Frosted Cup.
The café was empty.
Bianca stood behind the counter cleaning an espresso machine. The viral auction scandal had done what bad reviews never could. Every table was vacant.
When she saw me, her face hardened.
“We’re closed.”
“Then you have time to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“That makes two of us.”
I sat near the window.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
Before I could answer, the door flew open.
Logan stumbled inside.
He had clearly come straight from meeting his attorney after being released pending further proceedings. His tie was gone, his shirt was wrinkled, and the polished confidence I had known for years had vanished.
“Bianca.”
She hurried around the counter.
“Where’s the money? The auction house called again. They said the transfer never arrived.”
Logan noticed me.
“What are you doing here?”
“Watching.”
Bianca grabbed his arm.
“Logan. Where is it?”
He couldn’t look at her.
“There was a problem.”
“What problem?”
“The company stopped the transfer.”
Her fingers loosened.
“What company transfer?”
He remained silent.
Bianca stared at him.
“You said you found an investor.”
“I lied.”
Her face emptied.
“I tried to use Dreamscape’s advertising budget.”
“You stole it?”
“I was going to fix everything later.”
She stepped backward.
“I’m fired,” he continued. “There may be criminal charges. My accounts are restricted. Chloe filed for divorce.”
Bianca looked at him as though he had suddenly become a stranger.
“So you don’t have money.”
“Not right now.”
“Not right now?”
“We still have each other.”
Logan reached for her hands.
She pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
He blinked.
“Bianca?”
“You promised me thirty locations.”
“I know.”
“You said you ran Dreamscape.”
“I was a vice president.”
“You said Chloe was barely involved anymore. You said she was sick and couldn’t manage anything.”
Logan glanced at me.
Bianca’s voice sharpened.
“You told me you were practically the owner.”
“Baby, listen—”
“Don’t call me that.”
He stared at her.
“You said you loved me.”
Bianca laughed.
It wasn’t a pleasant sound.
“I’m twenty-four years old, Logan. You’re thirty-five, you complained about your wife constantly, and you drove a car she paid for. What exactly did you think attracted me?”
His face crumpled.
“I bought you things because I loved you.”
“And I liked the things.”
“You said I was your soulmate.”
“I said whatever kept the bills paid.”
The words landed harder than anything I could have said.
Logan slowly turned toward me.
For the first time, he seemed to understand that there would be no grand romance waiting beyond the wreckage of our marriage.
He came toward me.
“Chloe.”
I stood.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes.”
“I was stupid. I was selfish.”
“Yes.”
“Please help me.”
“No.”
His knees actually gave way, and he lowered himself onto the edge of a chair.
“I don’t want to lose everything.”
I looked at the man I had once trusted to guide me through darkness.
“When I couldn’t see,” I said, “I memorized the sound of your footsteps because hearing you made me feel safe.”
He covered his face.
“I used to think that as long as I had you, I would never really be in the dark.”
“Chloe…”
“But you weren’t the person leading me out.”
I stepped around him.
“You were the darkness.”
Bianca hurried after me.
“Wait.”
I turned.
Her anger had disappeared. In its place was desperation.
“He lied to me too.”
“He did.”
“He manipulated me.”
“He did.”
“You have money. You could pay the auction house and take the coffee. Three hundred thousand is nothing to your company.”
“It’s not my company’s debt.”
“They’ll ruin me.”
I looked at the woman who had written her name on my husband’s skin because she wanted me to see it.
“You were very concerned about toxins when Logan had that breakout.”
Her face stiffened.
“Maybe start there.”
“What?”
“Remove what’s poisoning your life.”
Then I walked outside.
The afternoon sun was bright enough that I had to stop for a moment and let my eyes adjust.
Six months earlier, brightness had been the thing I feared I would never experience again.
Now I lifted my face toward it.
