Chapter 3

The yacht docked at ten o'clock.

Oliver walked me off the yacht with his arm around my shoulders. His cedarwood cologne was laced with something sweeter.

I knew exactly what it was. She always wore the same sickeningly sugary scent.

"What do you want to eat? I'll grab that matcha mousse cake you love," he said, buckling my seatbelt for me with practiced warmth.

I looked at his face — so polished, so charming, so completely rotten underneath — and said, "Whatever."

He leaned in to kiss me. I turned away.

A flicker of irritation crossed his eyes. Then the warmth came back, smooth as ever.

"You okay? Did the sea air give you a chill? I'll make you ginger tea when we get home."

Back at home, Oliver went to shower.

I sat on the couch. His phone lit up on the coffee table.

A text.

Oliver — Lily's burning up. She's been crying for you. I don't know what to do. I'm scared.

From Candy.

The shower stopped.

Oliver came out with his hair still dripping, already pulling on his jacket, eyes on his phone.

"Babe, something urgent came up at work. The server went down. I've got to go in immediately."

He didn't even blink.

"It's eleven at night," I said. "What kind of server emergency needs the CEO to show up in person?"

His hands stilled on his buttons. His expression cooled.

"Ros, can't you be a little more understanding? The company is at a critical stage right now. Do you really think things will run smoothly if I'm not there to keep an eye on them?"

"Understanding?" I let out a scoff. "Oh, I'm very understanding. Understanding enough not to ask a single question about the strange perfume on you."

His eyes went sharp.

He crossed the room and grabbed my wrist — hard.

"What's that supposed to mean? You're accusing me of something?" He flipped it around instantly, like he always did. "I bust my ass every day for this family, and I come home to this? What is wrong with you?"

I wrenched my arm free.

"You'd better actually be going to fix a server, Oliver."

He shot me a fierce look. Then he grabbed his keys and slammed the door behind him.

The sound rang in my ears.

I looked around the empty apartment. Sitting on the coffee table was the cake he'd picked up on the way home.

I opened the box.

Mango cream cake.

I'm severely allergic to mango. Even a small amount can send me into anaphylaxis. Oliver had known that for seven years.

Or maybe he'd just stopped caring.

I picked up the box and dropped it in the trash without another thought.