Page 169 of Hate You More

The world tilts violently, and my head thuds against the side window.

Metal screams.

Glass explodes.

The world goes black.

Chapter 48

Clara

Saturday afternoon, and I don’t expect to find Troy at home when I get back to the apartment. After a morning spent wandering around on my own, trying to process, trying to find a path through this, there’s no way to avoid returning to the space we’ve shared. No way to avoid what comes next.

I try to rehearse my lines before I walk into the room. It’s not the truth, but the version we can both live with, I think.

Troy sits at the head of the dining table, framed by the window, laptop open, coffee cup next to it. He glances up as I set my keys down, but his attention doesn’t hold. As if that doesn’t tell me all I need to know. “You’re back early.”

“You too.”

“It was a more productive day than I’d imagined.”

“Right.” This makes my stomach hurt, not that he sees as his attention returns to his laptop and he begins typing up a storm.

“Did you have a good day?”

Eliminate the vulnerability. I had the worst day and it’s not about to improve. “We need to talk.” So goes my opening gambit.

His fingers pause and his shoulders stiffen. I guess we all know no good ever came from those words. He sits back in his seat and studies me. Studies my face. “What about?”

“I’m leaving.” Mic drop. Bomb drop. Heart drop. Worse, it’s true.

His expression flickers. Is it strange that it doesn’t read like relief but suspicion? I didn’t expect it. I thought—

“Just like that?” He cants his head very slightly to one side as he studies me.

“Yes.” I rub my lips together, sucking in a sharp breath as I cross the space to take a seat at the other end of the table. It feels formal. Like I’m about to conduct his appraisal. I’ve brought you here today to discuss your performance. As my real fake husband, I’d like to thank you for all your efforts. It’s been . . . more than I ever imagined. But it’s time to let you go. “The reasons we married have been met. I’ve got my trust fund, and you’ve had more than your fair share of publicity. Photos of me dangling from your arm like a fancy purse.”

“What makes you say I’ve had enough?”

My heart skips a beat as it allows my head to misconstrue his meaning, until I process it for what it is. A power move.

“Your share price has stabilized high. We fooled the market and, well, I’m done.”

“Why? Why are you done?”

Because I called my dad.

Because I made him a trade.

I’ll reenter the fold and he’ll leave you alone.

Because I owe you that much and because I love you too much to make you collateral.

I say none of that, obviously. “This feels like a natural end point.”

His brows mildly lift, like I’ve just said I’m going to make a cup of coffee. “That wasn’t the agreement.”

“I know. Three months.” I tip my chin. “I don’t want to wait that long. I’m done.” I force a small smile that probably looks sad. But I don’t feel sad. I feel numb. Heartbreak on hold for later as I add this one ring of truth. Something he can’t want or need. “The lines are beginning to blur, and that’s not good for either of us.”