Chapter 4

On the third day, I went home.

The burn on my face still hadn't fully healed. Ryan's first words when he saw me: "Chloe's birthday is next week. Have you figured out a gift?"

I stood in the doorway and pointed at my own face. "Aren't you going to ask about my burn?"

He frowned, a note of impatience in his voice. "You know what you did to her. You bullied her for an entire year in high school. What you've got is just a scald."

"Do you really believe," I said, voice raw, "that I'm capable of something like that?"

Ryan was quiet for a beat. Then: "At least Chloe isn't."

I let out a cold laugh. I pushed up my sleeve. The scars were right there—cigarette burns, curling-iron marks, still visible after ten years.

Something shifted in Ryan's expression.

"Ryan," I said. "If I was the bully, why is my body covered in scars while she doesn't have a single one?"

He stood, his voice climbing with a cornered, brittle agitation: "What's the point of telling me this now? Chloe would never lie to me!"

"She says it and you believe it," I said. "Did you ever once ask me?"

"She has no reason to lie."

"Neither do I," I said. "But that never occurred to you."

I turned toward the stairs. He followed. "Explain yourself! Apologize to Chloe—then maybe we can still make this work."

"Apologize?" I frowned. "What exactly would I be apologizing for?"

The disappointment in Ryan's eyes was enormous.

Just then, Chloe's voice drifted up from downstairs. She was coming up, asking Ryan if he'd booked dinner, saying she wanted that Italian place.

Ryan looked at me. In the next instant, he raised his hand and shoved me—hard.

I went backward. My ankle caught the edge of a step, twisted, and I crashed down the staircase.

Chloe appeared at the foot of the stairs, gasping. "Sophia! How did you fall?"

She caught my arm and helped me up. Close to my ear, she whispered: "You look so pathetic right now, Sophia."

Ryan stood at the top of the stairs, looking down. "You did the same thing to her back then."

"And Chloe—she's still willing to help you back up. That's the difference."

Chloe released my arm, looked down, dusted off her hands, then smiled up at Ryan, turned, descended two steps, and looped her arm through his.

"Let's go," she said, voice bright. "I'm starving."

Ryan went downstairs with her.

I stood halfway up the staircase, gripping the railing, watching their silhouettes disappear around the landing.

I looked down at my ankle. It was already starting to swell.

I took out my phone and called my boss, Derek.

He picked up quickly. There was background noise on his end—sounded like a break between meetings.

"Sophia?"

"Derek," I said. "That overseas curation project you mentioned—I'll take it."

"Didn't you turn it down last week?" A note of confusion. "What changed your mind?"

"I've thought it through," I said. "I'm in."

A brief silence. Then: "All right, I'll have my assistant send the contract. But we'd need you out there by next week—can you manage that?"

"The sooner the better," I said.

He didn't ask anything else. Said okay. Hung up.