Chapter 2

Chloe's POV

The next morning, I called Lucas down to the coffee shop beneath my office building.

I pushed my iced Americano aside and cut straight to the chase: "Where's Owen?"

Lucas froze with his cup halfway to his mouth. "Chloe, why are you asking about him now?"

"Where is he right now?"

I skipped the small talk and repeated the question.

Lucas stirred his cup with a spoon, hesitating for a long moment before muttering, "He's overseas doing a degree in sports management. He left nearly two years ago. He sent an email last year asking how you were holding up, but I didn't dare reply."

"Why didn't you?"

"Back then, you only had eyes for Julian. You'd lose your temper on anyone who even brought Owen up."

I didn't answer.

I had wasted five years glued to Julian, effectively shutting out the person who had actually saved me from drowning.

"Which city, exactly?"

Lucas gave me the location.

I pulled out my phone and typed it into my notes, not missing a single letter.

Once saved, I slid the manila folder across the table to Lucas.

"Take charge of the company for now. I'm heading out of the country."

Lucas pulled out the paperwork and scanned it. It was a power of attorney, signed with last night's date.

Right underneath were the progress reports on three major client projects.

"You pulled an all-nighter for this?"

Lucas's eyes went wide. "Just over what happened last night? No matter how awful Julian is, you don't have to just up and leave the country!"

"It's not about him."

I cut him off, pocketing my phone without any emotion on my face.

"It's for myself. I gave all my devotion to the wrong person for years. I need to look Owen in the eye and set the record straight."

Lucas looked at my face and ended up keeping his mouth shut.

After all, I practically raised him. He knew that when I wore this expression, my mind was made up.

Leaving the coffee shop, I headed back to the apartment I shared with Julian.

I pulled open the lowest storage bin in the walk-in closet, dragging the contents out piece by piece.

To track down the custom pool cue Julian liked, I had pulled every string I had.

Julian's worn-out leather gloves with frayed stitching—I had hand-washed and carefully conditioned them myself.

And a limited-edition tournament box set Julian offhandedly mentioned—I had hired a personal shopper who waited in line for three whole days to snag it, its seals still untouched.

I used to keep all this crap around, hoping that one day Julian would finally let me into his real life and introduce me to his friends.

Looking back, every single drop of my effort was a complete and utter joke.

I found a large cardboard box, shoved every single item inside, and slapped a sticky note on top: For Lucas.

Then I opened the closet, pulled down a row of his hanging jerseys, and stacked them neatly next to the box.

That evening, the front door lock clicked open.

Julian walked in. Spotting the box on the floor, his brow twitched slightly, but he smoothed it out just as fast.

"Last night was my bad."

Julian walked over, reaching out to take my hand.

"I missed our anniversary, so I'm making it up to you tonight. I got us a table at that Michelin-starred spot you’ve been dying to try."

I casually pulled my hand back, sliding it straight into my trench coat pocket.

"Sure," I said, meeting his eyes. "Let's go."

Julian didn't even bother asking why I drew my hand away.

During the drive, all Julian talked about was the upcoming tour for the second half of the year, obsessed with locking in his world ranking by December.

I rested my temple against the passenger window, silent the entire ride.

Julian freed a hand to tousle my hair. I leaned away to dodge it, and he just chuckled, assuming I was burnt out from work lately.

We settled into the private dining room at the restaurant, but barely a minute after sitting down, the door swung open.

Tara walked in arm-in-arm with a female friend. She spotted Julian immediately.

"Julian? What are the odds!"

Tara strolled over with a smile, holding a glass of wine to toast him.

Julian stood up, clinking his glass against hers, acting as completely unbothered as if last night had never happened.

Tara's eyes dragged across me.

"And this lovely lady is...?" Tara asked, smiling sweetly.

Julian rested an arm against his chair, his tone breezy. "Lucas's older sister. Ms. Vance."

I used to beg Julian to make our relationship public—even if he just introduced me as his girlfriend to close friends. He always shut me down.

Tonight, with only a handful of people in the room, my identity was still reduced to "Lucas's sister."

Tara let out a drawn-out "Oh," sizing up my face. "Ms. Vance looks unfamiliar. I guess you don't hang out with Julian's circle much?"

Julian idly flicked his lighter, offering nothing.

I took a slow sip of hot tea, looking up. "Busy with work. No time."

Tara gave a polite laugh, dismissing me entirely as she turned and guided her friend to the adjacent table.

Julian's gaze tracked Tara's back for a solid couple of seconds before pulling away.

I held my teacup tight, the scalding porcelain burning my palm crimson, but I didn't even flinch.

Whatever pathetic shred of hope I had left was wiped completely clean the second "Lucas's sister" rolled off his tongue.

Throughout dinner, Julian droned on about his tournament schedule, and I hummed along on cue, giving him nothing out of the ordinary.

Back at the apartment garage, I got out of the car. Without waiting for Julian, I hit the elevator button and headed up alone.

My suitcase still lay wide open on the living room rug. I had to finish sorting out my travel documents before the sun came up.