Page 198 of The Marriage Clause

Cammy.

Still on for coffee tomorrow?

I look at the loaded backseat through the car window. At the old paintings. At the life I boxed away once and might have to live inside again.

Then I type back:

Yes. See you tomorrow.

Because I may be heartbroken and I may be humiliated that I stupidly fell in love with my fake husband.

I may have let a man build me a studio and a future and then talk me out of both in the same damn breath.

But I am not going to lie down in his beautiful empty house and disappear.

Not if I can help it.

Chapter Thirty-Two

EVERETT

Moving out of the penthouse feels less dramatic than I expected.

No shouting or slammed doors. No cinematic collapse.

Just cardboard boxes, garment bags, and Levi standing in the middle of my living room holding a roll of packing tape.

"I have to admit it… this is depressing," Damien says from the kitchen.

He has one of my coffee mugs in his hand as he scans the living room with all of the boxes that the moving van will be taking to storage. I could move it all to the Estate. There’s plenty of room in the attic for it all, but that’s her space now and the last thing I need is an excuse to go over there and see her.

Archer is on the floor by the media console, unplugging cables without comment. Levi is taping up another box of books I probably should've left on the shelf.

"It's not depressing," I say, folding a stack of shirts into a duffel. "It's practical."

Levi snorts.

Damien takes a sip from my mug and grimaces. "Your taste in coffee is bleak."

"That's not coffee," I say. "That's whatever's been sitting in the pot since six."

He looks down at it. "That explains some things."

Archer says nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

I zip the duffel bag harder than necessary and set it by the front door.

The penthouse looks wrong, all half-packed.

Too open in some places. Too cluttered in others. Like someone started leaving and lost the nerve halfway through.

Fine. That's not inaccurate.

Levi straightens with a groan and tosses the tape onto the counter. "Tell me again why you're pretending this is couch surfing."

"Because it sounds less pathetic than saying I've been displaced by my own life."

"You're not living on Colston's couch."