Chapter 2

He froze. His spine went rigid as a board.

After two agonizing seconds, he abruptly bent down and fished the lighter out of the trash, his movements flustered.

"My hand slipped! Total accident! How could I ever throw away something you got me?"

He turned around with an oily smile, carefully tucking the lighter into a side pocket of his luggage.

I said nothing, quietly watching the show.

At that exact moment, the veil completely dropped.

He had never cared about me. Not about the gifts, not about my feelings—all he ever cared about was my bank account.

Whenever I wired him money, he looked like a devoted prince. The second the cash dried up, his true, resentful colors showed.

"Keep packing. I’ll go see what we can order for dinner," I said, turning away from the bedroom.

He let out an audible sigh of relief, and the harsh sound of his suitcase zipper echoed behind me.

I walked into the home office and sat back down in front of my laptop.

His SnapChat was still logged in, the group chat open on the screen.

I pulled out my phone and took screenshots of every single message, scrolling from bottom to top. The more I read, the colder my blood ran.

They weren't just discussing the fraudulent loan—they were openly laughing at what a gullible sucker I was.

"Bro, that chick's money is so damn easy to squeeze. Whisper a few sweet nothings and she wires thousands."

"You're living the dream, man. Free penthouse, endless cash, and you get to sleep with a rich girl."

"By the time she realizes the loan is under her name, I’ll already be in Thailand living like a king, lmao."

I screenshotted every single line.

Scrolling through his recent chats, I noticed another contact pinned to the top. The display name read: "My Baby".

I clicked it. It was a chat thread with a girl that spanned over two years.

Their messages were nauseatingly intimate. Morning texts, goodnight texts, virtual kisses and hugs—almost identical to the lines he fed me every day.

Her name was Victoria. Judging from the chat history, they had met at a downtown bar, and he had convinced her he was a struggling entrepreneur.

He had even told Victoria the exact same lie: "Once I close this big deal, I’m coming back to marry you."

I scrolled down and found several PayPal transfers he’d sent her. Small amounts—a few hundred here, a thousand there.

The most sickening part? Every transfer memo read: "A little gift for my future wife."

Funded entirely by my money.

I screenshotted every transaction and saved them to my phone.

My phone vibrated in my palm. A text from my dad:

"I’m downstairs."

My heart thumped hard against my ribs. I got up immediately, heading for the front door.

Just as I reached the foyer, the bedroom door opened.

Logan stepped out, pulling his carry-on behind him. Seeing me standing near the door, a flicker of panic flashed across his eyes.

"Babe, where are you going?"

He hurried over and grabbed my wrist.

"I’m leaving in an hour. Aren't you going to spend my last few minutes with me?"

When he said that, his eyes were dripping with tenderness.

I sneered inwardly. Still acting right up until the grand escape. Truly dedicated.

"Just opening the door to let some air in. It feels stuffy," I said, trying to pull my wrist back.

He held on tight.

"Don't open the door. Come sit with me on the couch."

He tugged me toward the living room.

I yanked my arm back with force.

The sudden movement jostled his jacket pocket. A small square packet slipped out, bouncing on the floor and sliding to a stop.

An unopened condom.