Chapter 4

The next morning at eight, I woke with a start from a shallow sleep.

Sean happened to walk in at that moment.

Seeing me sitting on the edge of the bed folding clothes, he paused.

"You're up early?"

He took off his suit jacket and walked closer, his tone as casual as if nothing had happened. "What's gotten into you? You didn't bombard my phone with messages all night?"

I finally looked up at him.

Right. In the past, every time he came home late, I'd send a barrage of texts, terrified he'd get into a drunk driving accident.

"Then why didn't you reply?" I asked calmly.

He walked to the nightstand, picked up his water glass, and took a sip with his back to me.

"I took Hayley home last night. The Airbnb she booked was in the South Side, and the neighborhood is terrible. She was a little scared, so I stayed on the living room couch to keep watch. Later, I was so tired I just crashed there for a few hours."

"I already rebooked her a suite at the Four Seasons downtown with my Amex," he added, his tone carrying a hint of reassurance. "Great security. No more hassle from now on."

I folded the cashmere sweater in my hands and said nothing.

There were so many questions I could ask. Like, did he keep watch from the living room or go into the bedroom? Like, if he was so tired, why not call an Uber and come home to sleep?

But I didn't want to ask anymore.

Over the past eight years, aside from refusing to go public on social media, he really did treat me well in daily life. I'd convinced myself that as long as he didn't cross the line, keeping the relationship low-key was understandable for his career.

What I wasn't willing to admit was — all his boundaries automatically disappeared when it came to anything involving Hayley.

She'd post an emotional Instagram Story late at night in California, and he'd chat with her until three in the morning.

She said she missed Chicago deep-dish pizza, so he spent a fortune shipping one to her with dry ice.

Every year on her birthday, he'd time the time zone difference perfectly to send a "Happy Birthday."

He'd do those things for me too. But he'd also do them for her.

I'd confronted him countless times. Every single time, he had a hundred reasons — she just got divorced and was emotionally unstable, we're all old classmates — to shut me up.

And this time, the reason no longer mattered.

He set the glass down, his eyes falling on the Rimowa suitcase on the carpet, his brows furrowing slightly.

"What are you doing?"

"Going back to my parents' place in the suburbs." I placed the folded clothes inside. "I need to spend time with them before the wedding. It's part of the pre-wedding prep."

He froze for a second, then walked over and crouched down beside me. He pressed his hand over the dress I was about to put in.

"Stop this joke. Don't take it any further."

I met his gaze, my own exceptionally cold. "It's not a joke."

"We did premarital counseling. Checked our *Co-Star* synastry. It's a perfect match." I lowered my eyes and pulled the garment out from under his hand. "If I don't get married this year, the fall slot at that country club will be snapped up. Should I wait until next year?"

He looked at me, that usual nonchalance in his eyes fading.

After a long pause, he suddenly sighed and played along. "Next year works too."

"Once I wrap up the partner promotion next year, I can give you a proper, grand wedding. In Hawaii, or Tuscany."

My hands paused for a moment. Next year? I remembered he said the same thing when he switched firms two years ago. It seemed that in his mind, my life could be postponed indefinitely for his sake.

"Then you can post an Instagram Story saying you drank too much last night. That getting married next Saturday was a total joke." His tone softened, carrying a coaxing edge. "No one took it seriously anyway. Brad and those guys are just a bunch of onlookers."

"I only drank sparkling water last night." I stood up and zipped the suitcase shut. "They know I'm allergic to alcohol."

He paused, slightly stunned. It was as if he'd suddenly realized there were details about me he'd never bothered to commit to memory.

I glanced at my Apple Watch, ready to call an Uber.

"Are you done yet?" His voice finally hardened, laced with impatience. "Just because I didn't step up to defend you at the party? Is it necessary to throw this kind of ridiculous lie at me out of spite?"

I looked at him, ready to speak, but he suddenly pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Actually, there's something I haven't told you. About that birth time you asked for to check the Co-Star synastry—"