Chapter 28
I was sitting on the edge of the sofa, staring at the cracked phone in my lap. The screen was dark now, but I could still see it.
The elevator. His hand. Laura's head on his chest. Room 2401.
Why was I sad? Why was my chest tight?
I didn't have a reason. He wasn't mine. This wasn't real. It was a contract. A business arrangement with a ring and a penthouse.
So why did it feel like someone had taken something from me?
The door opened.
I flinched. Stood up too fast. The phone slipped from my lap and landed face-down on the coffee table with a soft thud.
Alexandra walked in.
He looked… tired. Jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened. Eyes found me immediately.
"Katrina."
His voice was low. Commanding, even when he wasn't trying. It always made my stomach do that stupid thing.
"Hi," I said. Too quiet. I cleared my throat. "Welcome back."
He didn't answer. His eyes moved past me. To the coffee table. To the phone. The screen had lit up from the fall.
The photo. Him. Laura.
I saw the exact second he registered it. His jaw went tight. His whole body stilled.
He crossed the room in three strides and picked it up.
He didn't look at me. He looked at the screen. Scrolled. Read. His thumb moved once. Twice.
Unknown Number: He never says no to me.
Unknown Number: Room 2401. Key's at front desk.
The silence got heavy. The kind that presses on your ribs.
He set the phone down. Carefully. Too carefully. Then he looked at me.
"Who sent this to you?"
His voice was calm. But it was the kind of calm before a boardroom got fired. The kind that made people sit up straighter.
I swallowed. "I… I don't know. It was an unknown number."
His eyes narrowed a fraction. "You didn't think to ask me about it?"
I shook my head before I could stop myself. Then I realized how that looked and dropped my eyes to the floor. My hands twisted in the hem of my shirt.
"It's not… it's not my place," I mumbled.
The air changed.
"What?" His voice was sharper now.
I forced myself to look up. His expression hadn't changed, but something in his stance had. Straighter. Harder.
"It's not my place to ask," I said. Quieter. "About… about you and Ms. Chen."
He stared at me for a full three seconds. "Ms. Chen?"
"Laura," I corrected quickly. God, I sounded stupid. "I mean Laura. It's not my place to ask about you and her. Because this is… you know." I gestured between us weakly. "The arrangement."
He took a step toward me. Not threatening. But deliberate. Like he was closing a distance I kept trying to put there.
"Katrina. We are married."
Each word was clipped. Final. Like he was stating a fact to a board that disagreed.
I let out a small, humorless laugh before I could stop it. "It's a contract, Alexandra. I signed papers. I'm not… I'm not actually your wife."
"Yes," he said. "You are."
I blinked. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. Because how do you argue with that tone? With that certainty?
"You think because we have a contract, you don't have the right to question me?" he asked. His eyes were on mine, and I felt pinned. Like a bug under glass.
I nodded. Just once. Because my throat was too dry to speak. Because that's exactly what I thought. Because who was I to ask the CEO of Vance Holdings who he was with in Hong Kong?
His jaw worked. I'd never seen him… not angry, but disappointed. And somehow that was worse.
"Let me make something clear," he said. His voice was quiet now, but every word landed. "I don't care what you call this. Contract. Arrangement. Whatever helps you sleep at night. You are my wife. And if you get photos like that, with messages like that, I expect you to walk into my office, or call me, or text me, and ask me what the hell is going on."
I stared at the floor again. My cheeks were hot. Shame. That's what this was. Shame that I hadn't. Shame that I thought I wasn't allowed to.
"Why didn't you?" he asked. Softer now, but no less demanding.
I shrugged one shoulder. "I… I didn't think you'd want me to." My voice was small. Inferior. I hated it. "I didn't think I had the right."
He exhaled through his nose. A sharp, frustrated sound. He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the perfectly styled waves.
"You have every right," he said. "Do you understand me? Every. Right."
I nodded. Because what else could I do? Argue with Alexandra Vance? Me?
He picked his phone from his pocket. Tapped something. Held it to his ear.
"Legal," he said when someone answered. "I need a trace on an unknown number. Sent photos and messages to my wife. I want to know who it is. Now."
My wife.
He hung up without another word. Slid the phone back into his pocket.
He looked at me again. Really looked. Like he was trying to figure something out.
"Are you hungry?" he asked. The shift was so abrupt I blinked.
"What?"
"Food. Have you eaten?"
I shook my head. "No."
He nodded once. "I'll order something. You'll eat."
It wasn't a question. It was an order. But the kind that… I don't know. The kind that made my stupid chest do the thing again.
He walked to the kitchen. Started opening cabinets.
I stayed in the parlor. Staring at the phone on the coffee table. At the cracked screen. At the life I didn't understand.
Why was I sad?
Why was I angry?
I still didn't know.
But for the first time, it felt like maybe… maybe I was allowed to be.