Chapter 2

"Ma'am, your keycard access was revoked this morning."

The neighborhood security guard stopped me at the gate, flipping through his logbook.

"The homeowner requested it personally. Mr. Sterling said... you no longer reside here."

I stood at the gates of the gated community. The cool May evening breeze swept over me.

My phone rang. It was Scarlett.

"Chloe, are you home yet?"

She called my name with a sweet warmth, as if we were best friends.

"I’m so sorry. Jared said you guys are taking some space, so he asked me to pack up your things. I left them with the front desk. You can just pick them up."

I was silent for two seconds.

"Are you in my house?"

"Yeah. Jared wanted me to move in temporarily so we can work late. It’s just easier."

I could hear her rustling through things on the other end.

"Oh, by the way, Chloe. That camel cashmere coat in your closet—what brand is it? I couldn't find the tag. Jared said you bought it yourself, not him. So, I hope you don't mind if I borrow it for a few days."

I hung up.

I went to the front desk to get my things. Eight cardboard boxes were piled in the corner of the storage room. Two of them were crushed.

I opened one. On top was our framed wedding photo. The glass was shattered, the shards cutting right through Jared’s and my smiling faces.

Underneath were a few old clothes—the ones Scarlett didn't want.

The second box held my old work files.

Wait. Something was missing.

My blue notebook. The handwritten dev log for Project 3. It held every step of the process, starting from the very first line of pseudocode I wrote in my dorm room eight years ago. It was the ultimate proof of my original work.

It wasn't in any of the boxes.

I called Jared.

"Where is my development log? The blue notebook."

"What notebook?" his tone was utterly dismissive.

"Project 3. Handwritten. From the initial architecture sketches to—"

"I don't know. Ask Scarlett."

"Jared, that notebook is the source of all the company's tech!"

"It’s just a stupid notebook. If it’s lost, it’s lost. Can you stop being so paranoid all the time?"

He hung up.

I stood in the dusty storage room, staring at the eight boxes.

Eight years of my life, packed into eight boxes. And two of them were crushed.

I called an Uber to take the boxes to a hotel. When I tried to pay with my credit card at check-in, it was declined.

I called customer service.

"Ma'am, this authorized user card has been deactivated by the primary account holder."

I handed over my debit card.

"Ma'am, there was a large transfer out of this account today. You have insufficient funds."

"A transfer? I didn't authorize that."

"The records show it was initiated by the joint owner..."

I closed my eyes.

The joint owner was Jared. Years ago, he said it was easier to manage household expenses this way, so I signed the authorization. Just like the equity power of attorney, I signed whatever he put in front of me.

Because I trusted him.

I sat in the hotel lobby for a long time.

Eventually, Leo wired me some money.

"Chloe, use this for now. Please don't argue."

"Thank you," I said, holding the keycard to a room that didn't feel like home. "I’ll pay you back double when this is over."

"Chloe—"

"Leo."

"Yeah?"

"Don't sign that severance agreement yet."