Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Zara
The morning light was cruel.
It slid through the curtains like an unwelcome guest, painting gold stripes across the unfamiliar ceiling. I blinked, disoriented for a moment, before the weight of everything crashed back down on me.
The penthouse. The marriage. The fight. The gift.
I rolled over, checking; it was seven thirty. Lorenzo would be gone by now—he always left early, according to the schedule on his desk that I had glanced at when I’d done a little snooping yesterday while he was out attending to “business”.
I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
Both? Neither?
I didn’t know what I felt anymore. My thoughts were crashing into each other, all sharp edges and chaos.
Anxiety curling with regret, a flicker of desire shadowed by shame.
My chest felt tight, like someone had tied a string around my lungs, and I pressed my hand over my heart just to remind myself it was still beating.
I caught myself replaying scenes from a few nights back, small humiliations and brief moments of tenderness that only left me more confused.
And then the complete embarrassment and shame last night as I got off to the vibrator he’s bought me, calling his name out to keep it alive as I thought of him.
I was starting to feel like I was floating outside myself, unable to decide if I should cry, scream, or simply disappear back into the sheets. And I hated that feeling. It’d always ended poorly for me.
Fighting the anxiety brewing, I dragged myself out of bed and padded to the bathroom. The floor’s cold under my bare feet. The whole place smelled like him—expensive cologne, woodsy, dangerous, and I hated how much I noticed it.
After showering and throwing my messy curls into a bun, I made my way out of my room.
I’d half-expected Lorenzo to be there, waiting in the living room with that intense, unreadable expression he wore like armor.
But the rooms were empty. The air was still.
The only sound was the dull thud of the dryer running.
The only thing out of place was a note that sat on the counter in sharp, angular handwriting:
I will be away on business for a few days. The car will take you anywhere you wish to go. Call if you need anything. — L
I stared at it longer than necessary.
Away on business, and he couldn’t even bother to tell me.
I’m so glad I didn’t end up letting Lorenzo into my bed.
Plus, how old was this man anyway? Always leaving notes when he could just text me. Or, you know, knock on my door that he passes to get to his own.
He claims to be thirty-seven, yet acts like he’s from the Middle Ages in the most infuriating ways.
Yet for some reason, I couldn’t just leave it alone.
All I could think about over the last few days was the heat of his hands on my skin, the way his mouth felt when he was angry and desperate.
So what? So he could have gotten his fix, vanished into another city, probably fucking some other girl with the ring of our fake marriage still cold on his finger.
My stomach twists, half in anger, half in something I refuse to name.
I crumpled the note in my fist and tossed it into the same trash can as the one before.
Fine. This is what I wanted after all. The cold expectations that I agreed to on paper. A chance to prove to myself, and to him, that I didn’t need more. That I could live in his world without letting it swallow me whole.
Work was a blur of spreadsheets and coffee and pretending I wasn’t falling apart.
My cubicle at the marketing agency felt smaller than I remembered. The beige walls pressed in on me, the fluorescent lights hummed a monotonous drone, and every time my phone buzzed, I jumped, half-expecting it to be him.
But it wasn’t.
Lorenzo didn’t text, didn’t call, didn’t do anything except exist somewhere in the city, running his empire, while I sat here pretending to care about quarterly projections and social media engagement rates.
By lunchtime, I’d gotten exactly nothing done.
Pushing my salad around the container, my mind drifted back to the text I’d received last night.
Jamie
Hey Zara, I saw on Facebook that you and Nathan split. That sucks. I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I’d love to take you out for drinks if you’re up for it. No pressure. Just thought you could use a friendly face in the city. Let me know.
I’d stared at that message for ten minutes.
Jamie and I, along with my ex, had all grown up together in the same town until he got a full-ride scholarship to NYU.
We’d flirted a few times, although it had never been anything serious.
He was sweet, harmless, the kind of guy who brought donuts on Fridays and remembered everyone’s coffee order.
He always wore these scuffed-up Vans covered in ridiculous doodles—tiny planets and music notes he’d drawn himself when he was bored in class. The complete opposite of Lorenzo.
But… maybe that is what I needed.
Me
Sure. Tonight works. Send me the details.
He responded immediately with a time and a place.
Jaime
Koto, a little sushi restaurant and bar in SoHo. Eight o’clock.
My stomach twisted in anticipation.
Part of me knew this was stupid. I was married. Technically, legally. But what did a paper contract mean when the man I’d signed it with barely spoke to me, barely looked at me, and treated me like a possession he’d acquired rather than a person he’d married?
It was all fake.
So why did my chest ache when I thought of him? Why did I replay every second of our fight—the way his jaw set, the way his eyes went dark when I told him to leave—over and over until I wanted to scream?
Fuck it.
I didn’t owe anyone anything.
I pulled up Jamie’s text again and typed a quick reply.
Me
Looking forward to it.
Then I closed my eyes and tried to forget the weight of Lorenzo’s gaze on my skin.
The afternoon crawled by.
The agreement was supposed to fix everything—keep his family away, make sure I got a nice bed to sleep in and money for my future, if I lasted a year.
If left too soon, I lost it all. If I broke the rules—no scandals, no other relationships, always available when he needed to parade me around—I could end up worse off than before.
But then he’d let his father talk to me like I was trash.
Then he’d come home and expect me to fall into his arms as if nothing had happened.
No, I wasn’t going to feel guilty about this. Lorenzo had made his choices. He wanted a wife who would smile, nod, and play nice with his awful family. He wanted someone who would be grateful for his money, his penthouse, and his cold, empty attention.
That’s what I agreed to.
So when five o’clock finally rolled around, I packed up my things and left without a backward glance. The driver was waiting for me, just like he had been yesterday.
When I arrived at the crowded bar, Jamie was already there, tucked into a booth near the back. His face lit up when he saw me. Handsome in an ordinary way—kind eyes, a warm smile, dirty blonde hair falling over his forehead. He looked comfortable. Safe.
Everything Lorenzo wasn’t.
“Zara!” He stood to greet me, pulling me into a quick hug. “God, it’s good to see you. You look great.”
“Thanks,” I forced a smile. “You too.”
We settled into the booth, and he flagged down a waitress so we could order drinks.
“So,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. “I’m really sorry about Nathan. To be honest, I always thought you were too good for him, anyway.”
I shrugged, taking a long sip of my drink. “It is what it is.”
“That’s a very philosophical way of looking at it.”
“It’s a very ‘I’ve been dumped before’ way of looking at it.”
He laughed, and the sound was easy, uncomplicated. I found myself relaxing, just a little.
We talked about old times, high school, about coworkers we’d both hated, and projects we’d both survived. He asked about my new job, and I told him the watered-down version. He talked about his—he’d gotten promoted, was considering buying a house in the suburbs.
Normal things.
For an hour, I let myself pretend I was just a regular twenty-one-year-old at a bar with a friend. That my life wasn’t a mess of contracts and old wounds and a husband who watched me like I was a puzzle he needed to solve.
“You okay?” Jamie asked, his brow furrowing. “You seem a little…out of it.”
“Sorry.” I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. “Just a long day. Rough week, really.”
He nodded sympathetically. “Breakups suck. Trust me, I’ve been there. If you ever need to talk, or just want someone to drink with, I’m around.”
“Thanks, Jamie.”
I meant it. But even as I said it, a part of me felt hollow.
I didn’t want Jamie. I didn’t want casual drinks with a nice guy who would never understand the darkness clawing at the edges of my life.
I wanted—
No, I wasn’t going to think about what I wanted.
I lifted my glass and smiled, and I let the noise of the bar drown out the silence where Lorenzo’s voice had been.