The Billionaire's Broken Marriage

2. Carly

CARLY

The morning sunlight came through the kitchen windows in thick golden slants.

I stood at the counter with my phone pressed to my ear, listening to Dee's voice crackle through the speaker. She was telling a story about last night at the bar. I laughed, even though it wasn't that funny, because it felt good to hear her voice. It felt normal.

"You're being too quiet," Dee said, cutting herself off mid-sentence. "What's wrong?"

My throat went tight. "Nothing," I said. I picked up a dish towel and folded it, just to give my hands something to do. "Just tired. The concert ran late."

"Uh-huh." She didn't believe me. Dee never believed me. "How was it?"

"Fine. Good. Boone killed it, like always." I set the towel down and stared out the window. The house was too big. I felt like I was rattling around in it. "There was this new song he played. I'd never heard it before."

Dee was silent for a beat. "He didn't run it by you first?"

"No."

"Carly—"

"It's fine," I said quickly. "He's allowed to write on his own. I'm not his keeper."

"You're his partner," Dee said. Her voice was sharp, the way it got when she thought someone was being an idiot. "Or you're supposed to be."

I didn't answer. My chest ached, and I hated that it ached, and I hated that I was even talking about this because talking about it made it real. I heard the sound of tires on gravel outside and my stomach dropped. "I have to go," I said. "Someone just pulled up."

"Call me later," Dee said. "I mean it, Carly. Call me."

"I will." I hung up before she could say anything else.

The front door opened, and I heard Boone's voice echoing through the hallway.

He was laughing, that easy, unguarded laugh that used to make me feel like I was the only person in the world who could make him happy.

Now it just made me nervous. I set my phone on the counter and smoothed my hands down the front of my jeans, trying to look calm.

Boone walked into the kitchen first, carrying his guitar case in one hand and his phone in the other.

Tuck followed behind him with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder, and then Savannah appeared, balancing a stack of folders and a coffee cup.

She was wearing white jeans and a silk blouse.

Her hair was still perfect, even though it was barely nine in the morning.

God, I wanted to hate her.

"Hey, babe," Boone said. He set his guitar down and kissed me on the cheek without looking at me, already moving toward the coffee pot. "We've got a working session today. Hope that's okay."

I blinked. "Yeah," I said. "Of course. That's fine."

Savannah smiled at me like we were old friends. "Morning, Carly," she said. She set the folders on the table and gestured at the coffee cup. "I would've brought you one, but I didn't know how you take it. Next time."

There wasn't going to be a next time. Or there shouldn't be. But I just nodded and said, "Thanks."

Tuck gave me an apologetic look and muttered something about needing to set up in the living room.

Boone was already pouring himself a cup of coffee, scrolling through his phone with his free hand.

Nobody asked if I'd eaten breakfast or had plans.

They moved through my kitchen like it was theirs, spreading out papers and laptops, talking over each other.

Savannah pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing her legs at the ankle. "So," she said, looking at Boone. "Daddy's ready to move forward with the deal. He wants to get the paperwork signed by the end of the month."

Boone's head snapped up. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." She smiled, slow and satisfied. "He loved the new song, Boone. He thinks it's the perfect direction for the next album. Fresh, personal, marketable. You're going to be huge."

You're going to be huge. Not we're. Not y'all. Just him.

Boone set his coffee down and ran a hand through his hair.

He was grinning now, that big, genuine grin that I used to see all the time when we were first married.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," he said.

He looked at Tuck. "Did you hear that? They want to sign by the end of the month. "

Tuck nodded, but he didn't look as excited as Boone did. He looked tired. "That's great, man," he said. "Really great."

Boone turned to Savannah, and his whole face lit up like she'd just handed him the world on a silver platter. "This is because of you," he said. "You talked to your dad, didn't you? You got him to take the meeting."

Savannah waved a hand, modest and gracious. "I just reminded him what he's been missing," she said. "You did all the hard work, Boone. The music speaks for itself. I just opened the door."

I stood there with my arms crossed, watching the two of them talk like I wasn't even in the room.

Like I was furniture. Boone was practically bouncing on his heels, talking a mile a minute about what this deal could mean, about the tour they could book, about the studio time he could finally afford.

He kept saying I — I could do this, I could go there, I could make this happen — and every time he said it, something in my chest pulled tighter.

Savannah leaned back in her chair, looking pleased with herself. "We should celebrate," she said. "Dinner tonight? Somewhere nice. My treat."

"Hell yes," Boone said. He looked at me, finally. "You're good with that, right, Carly?"

I opened my mouth, but Savannah cut me off before I could answer.

"Oh, wait," she said, tilting her head like she'd just remembered something. "Carly, do you think you could grab us some waters? It's so warm in here." She fanned herself with one hand, delicate and helpless.

Boone didn't even blink. He was already back to scrolling through his phone, probably looking at the contract Savannah had mentioned. Tuck glanced at me, and I saw something flicker across his face — pity, maybe, or discomfort — but he didn't say anything. He just looked away.

I wanted to snap at her. I wanted to tell her to get her own damn water, that this was my house, that I wasn't the help. But I didn't. I turned to the fridge, pulled out three bottles of water, and set them on the table without a word.

"Thanks, Carly," Savannah said, bright and warm. She unscrewed the cap and took a sip. "You're a lifesaver."

I wasn't a lifesaver. I was invisible.

They spread out across the living room after that, setting up laptops and pulling out printed contracts.

Savannah sat on the couch with her legs tucked under her, looking like she belonged there.

Tuck took the chair by the window, his laptop balanced on his knees.

Boone paced back and forth, too wired to sit still.

He kept talking about the deal, about what it would mean for his career, about how this was the break he'd been waiting for his whole life.

I hovered near the doorway, not sure if I should stay or go. Nobody had asked me to leave, but nobody had invited me to sit down, either. I felt like a stranger in my own house.

Boone grabbed his guitar and sat down on the arm of the couch, strumming a few chords.

"I've been working on something new," he said.

He played a melody I'd heard him fumble through a dozen times over the past week.

It was pretty, but it didn't land right.

The rhythm was off. The bridge sagged in the middle.

I knew how to fix it. I'd known since the first time I heard him play it.

He got to the bridge and stumbled, just like I knew he would. He frowned and played it again, slower this time, but it still didn't work. Savannah leaned forward, her chin in her hand, watching him like he was painting the Sistine Chapel.

"Try shifting the chord change to the downbeat," I said.

Boone stopped playing. Everyone looked at me.

"What?" he asked.

I stepped into the room, my pulse kicking up even though I wasn't doing anything wrong.

"The chord change," I said. "You're hitting it on the upbeat, and it's making the whole section feel rushed.

If you shift it to the downbeat and hold it for an extra measure, it'll give the melody room to breathe. "

Boone stared at me for a second, then looked down at his guitar. He played it again, this time the way I'd suggested. The bridge opened up. The melody settled into place. It sounded right.

He played it through one more time, nodding to himself. "Yeah," he said. "That works."

I waited. I waited for him to say thank you, or to ask me how I'd figured it out, or to acknowledge that I'd just fixed the thing he'd been struggling with all week. But he didn't. He just kept playing, moving on to the next section like I hadn't said anything at all.

Savannah glanced at me, her expression unreadable. Then she looked back at Boone and smiled. "See? I told you it would come together. You just needed to trust your instincts."

My jaw tightened. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something I'd regret.

Tuck cleared his throat. "That sounded good, Boone," he said. He shot me a look I couldn't quite read, then went back to his laptop.

Nobody else said a word. Boone kept playing, humming under his breath, and Savannah kept watching him with that adoring look on her face, and I stood there feeling like I'd just been erased.

I turned to leave, but Savannah's voice stopped me.

"Carly," she said. Her tone was sweet, almost apologetic. "Do you think you could make us some coffee? The pot's probably cold by now." She looked at Boone. "I don't know how you work without caffeine, Boone. I'd be useless."

I looked at Boone. He didn't look up. He didn't tell her I wasn't the maid. He didn't tell her to get her own coffee. He just kept playing his guitar, oblivious or indifferent or both.

"Sure," I said. My voice sounded flat even to my own ears.

I walked back into the kitchen and stood at the counter, staring at the coffee pot like it had personally offended me.

My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against the counter and took a slow breath, trying to calm down.

It didn't work. I felt like I was standing in the middle of my own life and watching it happen to someone else.

I made the coffee. I poured it into mugs. I carried them back into the living room and set them down on the table without saying anything. Savannah thanked me again, all warmth and gratitude, and I wanted to throw the coffee in her face.

I didn't. I just nodded and stepped back.

Boone was still playing the song, working through the section I'd fixed for him. He looked happy. Satisfied. Like everything was falling into place exactly the way he wanted it to.

I sat down on the edge of the chair near the door, trying to make myself small.

Trying not to exist too loudly. Savannah was talking now, something about the timeline for the album, about what her father expected from Boone in terms of promotion.

Boone listened, nodding along, asking questions that made him sound engaged and professional and nothing like the man who used to ask me what I thought before he made a single decision.

I pulled out my phone and pretended to scroll through it, just to have something to look at. Just to have a reason not to be part of the conversation I wasn't being invited into anyway.

"Boone," I said quietly.

He didn't look up. His thumb moved across his own phone screen, his attention already somewhere else. Savannah was still talking, gesturing with her hands, and Tuck was typing something on his laptop.

"Boone," I said again, a little louder this time.

"Yeah?" He still didn't look at me. He tapped something on his phone and frowned at the screen.

I swallowed. "I was going to head into town later. Do you need anything?"

"Nah, I'm good." He glanced up for half a second, then went right back to his phone. "Thanks, though."

That was it. That was all I got. I sat there with my hands in my lap, feeling like I'd just asked the most pointless question in the world.

Savannah looked at Boone, then at me, and her smile turned sharp. "You know, Carly," she said, "it's so sweet how supportive you are. Not every wife would be okay with her husband spending this much time on his career." She tilted her head. "You must have a lot of patience."

I wanted to tell her I didn't have patience.

I had ten years of writing songs nobody knew I'd written and running a house nobody thanked me for running and standing in the background while everyone else took credit for the work I'd done.

I wanted to tell her that I wasn't just his wife, I was his partner, and she had no idea what I'd given up to be here.

But I didn't say any of that. I just smiled and said, "I do my best."

Savannah's smile didn't waver. "I'm sure you do," she said.

Boone finally looked up from his phone. He was grinning again, that same grin he'd been wearing since Savannah walked into the house. "Hey," he said, turning to Savannah. "Didn't you say you needed me to look over those promo ideas? The ones your dad wanted input on?"

"Oh, right," Savannah said. She leaned forward and pulled a folder out of the stack on the table. "I almost forgot. He wants your thoughts by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Boone stood up, setting his guitar aside. "That's tight."

"I know," Savannah said. She handed him the folder, her fingers brushing his for just a second too long. "But if we can get it to him tonight, it'll show him you're serious. That you're ready to move fast."

Boone looked at the folder, then at Savannah. "Tonight," he said slowly.

"I can stay and help," Savannah offered. "We can knock it out together. It won't take that long if we focus."

Boone hesitated. For half a second I thought he might say no. I thought he might look at me, sitting there on the edge of the chair with my hands folded in my lap like a guest in my own house, and realize that I was still here. That I existed.

But he didn't.

"Yeah," he said. "Okay. Let's do it."

Savannah's smile widened. "Perfect," she said. She looked at me, and her expression was so sincere, so kind, that anyone watching would have thought she actually cared. "Carly, you don't mind, do you? I know this is all so last-minute."

I looked at Boone. He was already flipping through the folder, his brow furrowed in concentration. He didn't ask if I minded. He didn't look at me at all.

"No," I said. My voice sounded far away. "I don't mind."

Savannah reached over and squeezed my hand. "You're the best," she said.

I pulled my hand back and stood up. "I'll let you work," I said.

Nobody stopped me. Nobody asked me to stay. I walked out of the room and up the stairs, my chest tight and my throat aching, and I didn't look back.

When I got to the bedroom, I closed the door and sat down on the edge of the bed. I stared at the wall, listening to the muffled sound of their voices downstairs. Boone's laugh. Savannah's bright, easy chatter. Tuck's low murmur.

I felt like I was disappearing.