1 When Garrett Montgomery signed his tenth marriage certificate with Audrey Fontaine, I didn’t shed a single tear. I didn’t scream. I didn’t smash the antique crystal vases in his penthouse, nor did I threaten to jump from the terrace, or set fire to the silk drapes in his master bedroom, or try to drag Audrey into the freezing surf off Nantucket like I had in the past. Garrett let out a long, ragged exhale of relief. “I’m glad you’re finally being reasonable, Nora,” he said, reaching out to smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I’ve told you a hundred times: this marriage is purely transactional. It’s the only legal mechanism that gives me standing to navigate the Fontaine family trust and wrest her inheritance back from her half-brothers. As soon as the statutory waiting period clears and the uncontested divorce is finalized, you and I will get married. Just be patient. Be my good girl.” I smiled and nodded. And for once, I played the part to perfection. When Garrett stayed out all night at Audrey’s brownstone to nurse her through a supposed panic attack, I didn’t blow up his phone. I left a pot of fresh chamomile and valerian tea on the kitchen island for when he returned. When he took Audrey as his plus-one to the Metropolitan Museum’s annual gala, I didn’t demand an explanation. I adjusted his cufflinks before he left and told him it was only practical for their public facade. And when Audrey, radiant in champagne satin, clung to Garrett’s arm at her twenty-sixth birthday party and leaned in with wide, doe-like eyes asking for my blessing, my voice didn’t waver. “I wish you both a long and happy life together,” I said softly. Ten minutes later, on my way to the restroom down the dimly lit service corridor, a hand gripped my bicep and slammed me against the wainscoting. Garrett was breathing hard, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes dark with frustration. “I thought you’d finally grown up,” he hissed, towering over me. “Turns out you’ve just invented a new way to torment me. I swore I’d marry you, Nora. You couldn’t even wait three damn days? What the hell do you want from me?!” I didn’t flinch. I just looked at him, studying the sharp, aristocratic planes of his face. What did I want? The old Nora would have clawed at his shirt, begging him to choose her. But the Nora who had survived the next three years—the woman who had carried the phantom memories of a slow, agonizing descent into clinical depression and an overdose in an empty bathtub—only wanted to let him go. “Garrett,” I said, my voice shockingly level. “You’re hurting my arm.” He blinked, suddenly aware of his own brutality, and snatched his hand back as if burned. “I’m… I’m sorry, Nora. I lost my temper.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, his voice dropping into that familiar, persuasive cadence. “You know the terms of the Fontaine trust. Without a spousal proxy, the board won’t recognize my authority to freeze the liquid assets. I only cycle through these filings so her family doesn’t suspect fraud. I never wanted you to overthink it. Don’t twist the knife with those passive-aggressive toasts.” It was the most thorough, earnest explanation Garrett had ever given me. If I hadn’t already lived through the next three years, if I hadn’t known that his legal team had found three alternate loopholes to seize the trust without touching a marriage license, I might have believed him. Audrey appeared at the end of the hall, clutching her satin clutch with both hands. “Nora,” she pleaded, stepping between us with delicate hesitation. “I swear Garrett has zero romantic feelings for me. He’s just protecting me because we grew up together on the Cape. Please don’t be mad at him.” As she tucked her hair behind her ear, the overhead light caught the gleam of vintage gold at her wrist. A loud, hollow ringing filled my ears. The blood drained from my face, taking all my carefully practiced composure with it. I pointed a trembling finger at her arm. “Where did you get that bracelet?” Audrey glanced down, then looked up at Garrett with wide, innocent eyes. “My diamond tennis bracelet broke in the car. Garrett went into your jewelry box and brought this down for me to wear with my dress.” Garrett immediately stepped half an inch forward, subtly shielding Audrey behind his shoulder. His brow furrowed. “It’s just an old gold bangle, Nora. Is it really worth making a scene in the hallway?” I was the one whose boundaries had been violated, yet he treated me like an unhinged intruder. A bitter, metallic taste flooded my mouth. “That is the only thing my mother left me before she died, Garrett. For two years, I haven’t even dared wear it to a grocery store because I was terrified of scratching the filigree. Who gave you the right to put it on her wrist?!” Garrett’s expression flickered with a brief flash of guilt, but his pride swiftly paved over it. “She’ll give it back to you when the party’s over.” “Take it off her now.” Garrett glanced at Audrey, who looked on the verge of tears, biting her lower lip like a wounded child. His face hardened into cold disdain. “Nora, I just finished explaining everything to you. Are you really going to humiliate Audrey over a piece of scrap metal?” I didn’t budge. I held my ground, staring straight into his eyes. After ten agonizing seconds, Garrett snapped. He reached over, roughly unclasped the bracelet from Audrey’s wrist, and flung it down the corridor. “You are exhausting, Nora.” The bracelet arched through the air, heading toward the slate floor near the emergency exit. Panic seized me. I lunged forward to catch it before it shattered against the stone, my shoulder slamming violently into the doorframe, my knees buckling beneath me as I skidded across the floor. My fingers closed around the cold, bruised gold. From the end of the hall, the sound of Audrey’s soft sniffles and Garrett’s low murmurs of comfort faded back toward the ballroom. Neither of them looked back. I stayed on the floor for a long time, staring up at the acoustic tiles of the ceiling. The scene overlapped perfectly with the memories of three years in the future—the months leading up to my death. The cruel headlines in the society blogs. The vicious anonymous comments under every photo of us. “Look at her clinging to him. Everyone knows he’s legally married to Audrey Fontaine.” “They’ve been back and forth for five years. Audrey isn’t the mistress—Nora Ellis is the social climber refusing to let go.” “Disgusting homewrecker. She deserves whatever happens to her.” Back then, Garrett had never defended me either. He had let the press tear me apart while he issued neutral statements protecting the Fontaine estate. I let out a faint, self-deprecating laugh. I should have seen it long ago. In this life, just like the last, Audrey Fontaine would always come before me. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Garrett’s mother, Eleanor Montgomery. “Mrs. Montgomery, five years ago you covered my mother’s palliative care bills when I had nothing. In return, I signed a contract to stay by Garrett’s side for five years, serving as his buffer and companion. You told me that when the five years were up, regardless of whether he forgot Audrey or fell in love with me, the choice to stay or leave would be entirely mine. My choice is to leave. The contract expires in seventy-two hours. I will be gone.” Eleanor Montgomery was a woman of rigid principle. Within two minutes, her reply arrived: “I respect your decision, Nora. The legal hold on your accounts will be lifted on Friday. Be well.” A suffocating weight lifted from my ribs. I picked myself up, slipped the bracelet into my coat pocket, and took the service elevator down to the subterranean parking garage. I started my sedan and drove toward the exit gate. Just as the car cleared the final blind turn of the concrete ramp, a pale figure darted directly out from behind a pillar. I slammed my foot onto the brake pedal, the ABS grinding violently, but the bumper clipped her with a sickening thud. Audrey rolled onto the asphalt, clutching her side and groaning. My heart hammered against my ribs. I scrambled out of the driver’s seat, trembling, my hands out. “Audrey—?” Before I could reach her, heavy footsteps thundered down the concrete ramp. A powerful hand shoved me back so hard that I scraped my palms against the rough pavement. “Are you out of your goddamn mind, Nora?!” Garrett roared, dropping to his knees beside Audrey. “Running her down with your car over a bracelet?!” The stinging burn in my scraped palms radiated up my arms, but I shook my head frantically. “No—Garrett, look at where she was standing! She jumped in front of the car, I didn’t—” “Stop lying!” he cut me off, his voice venomous. “Just like the time I filed our fifth certificate and you held a paring knife to her throat? You’re dangerous!” He wasn’t wrong about the knife. A year ago, when I found the fifth set of county marriage records filed under their names, something in my brain had snapped. I had grabbed a paring knife from the kitchen island, hysterical, demanding to know why he kept lying to me. Audrey had sobbed in terror. Garrett had wrestled the blade from my hands, slicing my palm open in the struggle. But he hadn’t cared about my bleeding hand. He had wrapped Audrey in his cashmere coat and rushed her to the private clinic, leaving me on the hardwood floor with blood pooling around my knees. Back then, I had cried until I couldn’t breathe. This time, I didn’t shed a tear. I drove home through the quiet city streets, feeling utterly hollowed out. When I entered the penthouse, the first thing my eyes landed on was the charcoal wool trench coat hanging by the entryway console. I had bought it with my very first bonus check from my junior analyst job years ago. “Look, Garrett! Try it on. You’ll look so handsome in this cut.” He hadn’t even glanced at it that night, offering only a flat, dismissive grunt. I had kept it hanging by the front door for two years, having it dry-cleaned twice a season, hoping that one autumn morning he might throw it over his shoulders. He never did. I used to think he just didn’t care for that style. It wasn’t until the future timeline that I saw him wearing the exact same cut and color—a bespoke piece Audrey had ordered for him from London—treating it like a prized heirloom. I took the coat off its hanger, walked to the utility closet, and stuffed it down the building’s trash chute without a second thought. I hadn’t even washed the dried blood from my scraped hands when the front door flew open. Garrett marched in, grabbed my wrist in a vice-like grip, and dragged me toward the elevator. “What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” He didn’t look at me until the elevator doors closed. “Audrey lost too much blood from an internal tear. The hospital’s local blood bank is low on her negative type. You have the exact same blood type. You hit her—you owe her this.” I fought against his grip. “Let me go! I told you, she deliberately threw herself into my car!” He ignored me, his jaw set like stone. At the private surgical wing, two private security guards flanked the phlebotomy bay. When I tried to pull back, Garrett gave the nod, and the two men pinned my shoulders down against the recliner. “It’s just four hundred milliliters, Nora,” Garrett said coldly from the doorway. “Consider it an apology.” The needle pierced my vein. I fought, thrashing until my muscles gave out, but the men held me like an iron vise. As the dark red fluid filled the bag, a cold, heavy grayness crept over the edges of my vision. The last thing I saw was Garrett turning away, walking down the hall toward Audrey’s room. When I opened my eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital room stung my retinas. Garrett was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his face buried in his hands. His eyes were rimmed with red, his hair disheveled. The moment he saw me wake, he grabbed my limp hand, pressing it against his lips. “I’m sorry, Nora… God, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know you were pregnant. If I had known, I swear to God I would never have let them draw your blood.” My hand froze. Slowly, almost mechanically, I slid my free hand down to my flat, empty stomach. There was a life inside me. My baby. My only living blood relative in this world. Garrett dropped to his knees beside the bed, looking up at me with desperate, pleading eyes. “The mandatory waiting period ends the day after tomorrow. I’ll finalize the divorce decree with Audrey at nine in the morning, and we’ll go straight to City Hall. Nora, please. Give me one more chance. For our family.” I didn’t know what to feel. For the sake of the fragile life clinging inside me, I didn’t push him away. When he peeled an apple and offered me a slice, I took it and chewed slowly. When he served me the hot broth the nurses brought, I drank every drop. For twelve hours, there was no Audrey Fontaine. No screaming matches. No cold shoulders. In the quiet hum of the hospital room, there was a fleeting, agonizing illusion of the warmth we had shared years ago. By late afternoon, Garrett checked his phone, stood up, and smoothed his jacket. “The firm needs me to sign off on an emergency filing for the merger. I have to run to the office for a couple of hours, but I’ll be right back. Rest, okay?” I nodded placidly. After he left, the four walls of the room felt suffocating. I unplugged my IV pole and walked slowly down the carpeted corridor to stretch my cramped legs. Near the central nursing station, a middle-aged woman in navy scrubs looked up from a clipboard. When our eyes met, her expression tightened into instant disgust. It was Nurse Gable—the palliative care nurse who had managed my mother’s final weeks at the hospice facility two years ago. I forced a faint, respectful smile and stepped forward. “Nurse Gable… hello. It’s been a while.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes with undisguised contempt. “Save the dutiful daughter routine, Ms. Ellis. You weren’t this concerned when you took that trust fund payoff and signed the non-prosecution waiver for the girl who drove your mother to her grave.” The smile froze on my lips. My heart slammed against my throat. “What… what did you just say? My mother died of natural respiratory failure from her lung cancer.” Nurse Gable laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Natural? Your mother had at least six comfortable months left on her regimen. She didn’t drop dead overnight, Ms. Ellis. That Fontaine girl marched into her room waving a certified marriage certificate, calling you a paid whore who was tearing apart a prominent family, telling her that every dime keeping her alive was blood money you traded your body for.” The hallway seemed to tilt beneath my feet. “Your mother couldn’t bear the thought of destroying your life,” Nurse Gable continued, her voice trembling with righteous fury. “She hoarded her liquid morphine, swallowed the entire reserve that night, and choked on her own lungs before the morning rounds could revive her. I risked my damn license to call the precinct and report it as coerced suicide. And what did you do? You showed up with Garrett Montgomery’s high-priced lawyers and signed an affidavit declining to press charges!” I staggered backward, clutching the handrail on the wall. “No… I never signed anything like that. I didn’t know…” And then, like a shard of ice plunging into my brain, Garrett’s voice from two years ago echoed in my ears: “Nora, sweetheart, look at me. I know you’re devastated, but we have to let her rest. These are just the authorization forms for the coroner and the cremation release. Sign right here so I can handle the arrangements for you.” I had been weeping so hard I couldn’t see through my tears. I hadn’t read a single line of those legal documents. Garrett hadn’t handled my mother’s funeral. He had shielded Audrey from a manslaughter investigation. I don’t remember how I found Audrey’s private suite. I stumbled through the double doors, tripping over my own feet, knocking into orderlies and medicine carts. When I shoved Audrey’s room door open, the sight before me was domestic perfection: Garrett was sitting on the edge of her bed, gently blowing on a spoonful of soup before offering it to her lips. Garrett’s head snapped toward me. He stood up in a flash, his voice dropping into that smooth, rehearsed reflex: “Nora? I—I only told you I was at the office because I didn’t want you getting worked up. Please, don’t overthink this.” Don’t overthink this. Always those four words. A grotesque, twisted smile broke across my face. I ignored him entirely, my eyes locked onto Audrey’s pale, wide face. “Why did you kill my mother?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. “She was dying in hospice care. She never did a single thing to you. Why did you kill her?!” Audrey’s face drained of color. “Garrett…” she whimpered, shrinking into the pillows. With a single movement, Garrett shifted his weight, putting his broad frame entirely between Audrey and me. “Audrey didn’t do it on purpose, Nora! She was young, she was reckless, she just wanted to scare her into talking sense into you. She had no idea your mother would do something so extreme!” I stared at him, my voice cracking into a jagged scream. “A reckless mistake?! A living, breathing human being took her own life because of her, and you call it a mistake?!” Garrett’s voice turned hard, authoritative, the voice he used in corporate boardrooms. “And what do you want to do about it now, Nora? Your mother has been dead for two years! What good does it do to dig up her grave? Is it worth saddling Audrey with a criminal record and a prison sentence over a woman who was already terminal?!” A woman who was already terminal. “That was my mother!” I screamed. My hands shook violently as I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed 911. Before the call could connect, Garrett’s eyes flashed with dangerous menace. “Nora Ellis, you press that call button, and I will instruct my legal team to file felony assault charges against you for every single time you threatened Audrey’s life over the last two years. I will personally ensure you spend the next ten years in a state penitentiary.” I froze, staring at the man I had loved for nearly a decade. “You’re threatening me?” I whispered. His eyes flickered with shame, but his jaw stayed rigid. “You’re forcing my hand, Nora.” I closed my eyes for three long seconds. When I opened them, the last ember of affection in my chest had turned to cold, dead ash. “Then let them lock me up,” I said. “I’m getting justice for my mother.” As my thumb pressed the green icon, Garrett lunged forward. He didn’t hold back. His heavy shoulder slammed into mine to knock the phone away, and the momentum hurled me backward against the raised steel guardrail of the hospital bed. A sharp, blinding agony ripped through my lower abdomen. The air was knocked completely out of my lungs. I crumpled to the linoleum, clutching my stomach, gasping for breath as black spots swarmed my vision. Audrey gasped from the bed, her voice trembling. “Garrett… blood. Look at her legs!” I looked down through the haze of agony. A warm, heavy stream of crimson was rapidly soaking through my cotton hospital trousers, pooling onto the white floor tiles. Garrett’s face turned gray. The arrogance vanished instantly, replaced by sheer, unadulterated terror. He dropped to his knees, scooping me into his arms. “Doctor! Someone get a doctor! Nurse!” He carried me down the hall, his voice breaking into hysterical sobs against my temple. “Nora, hold on. Stay awake, baby, please stay awake. Look at me!” I didn’t answer him. When his hot tears dripped onto my cheek, I felt only a profound, sickening revulsion, but I didn’t have the strength left to wipe them away. When I woke up, the morning sun was cutting through the blinds. The ache in my pelvis was hollow and dull. The life was gone. Garrett was kneeling on the cold floor beside my bed, his forehead pressed against the mattress. The moment he heard the rustle of the sheets, he looked up, his eyes bloodshot and swollen, his face tracked with tears. “Nora… I’m so sorry. I killed our baby. It’s all my fault.” He reached for my hand, trembling. “Punish me however you want. Beat me, scream at me, just please… don’t look through me like I’m not here.” I looked at the flat, silent expanse of my stomach. I didn’t feel rage anymore. I just felt an all-consuming, bone-deep exhaustion. “Get up, Garrett,” I said softly. A spark of frantic hope lit up his eyes. He scrambled to his feet, hurriedly wiping his tears with his sleeve. “I knew it. I knew you loved me too much to give up on us. I’ll make this right, Nora. I swear on my life, I will never let anyone hurt you again. We’ll start over.” A faint smile touched the corner of my lips. So that was who I was to him: the pathetic woman who would always forgive him, no matter how much blood he spilled. No wonder he had trampled on me for five years without hesitation. The old Nora had run headfirst into brick walls, believing her devotion could move mountains. But that woman was dead. Garrett’s phone vibrated against the nightstand. He glanced at the screen, then looked back at me, his eyes searching. “The county court clerk just processed the decree. Audrey’s signature is on the file. I have to go sign the final entry of judgment to dissolve the marriage. Once your discharge papers are clear, we’ll go get our license. Okay?” He stood there, waiting for my blessing, as if he wouldn’t leave without it. I looked at him calmly. “Go ahead.” A genuine, radiant smile broke across his face. “I’ll be back in two hours.” Ten minutes after the door clicked shut behind him, I pulled out my IV line, packed my small duffel bag, and signed the discharge papers Against Medical Advice. I took a cab straight to JFK Airport. My passport was already in my purse; my acceptance into the advanced design fellowship at the University of Melbourne—an offer I had turned down three months ago to stay with him—had been reactivated by Eleanor Montgomery the night before. When the wheels of the Boeing 787 touched down on the tarmac in Australia, my phone hummed violently with dozens of voicemails and texts. All of them from Garrett Montgomery. “Nora, the nurses said you checked out. Where are you? Did you go back to the penthouse?” “Nora, answer me. Please.” I ignored them, walked out to the taxi stand, and gave the driver the address of my university housing. My phone rang again. His name flashed across the screen. Garrett Montgomery never stopped until he got what he wanted. I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear. “Nora?!” His voice was ragged, hyperventilating. “Thank God. Where are you? The penthouse is empty. All your clothes are gone. Did you go to a hotel?” I looked out the window at the eucalyptus trees flashing past in the Melbourne sunlight. “Garrett,” I said evenly. “You already know the answer.” A long, suffocating silence fell over the line, followed by a desperate scramble of words. “Nora, listen to me! I went to the courthouse! The divorce decree is signed and entered! It’s over between Audrey and me! If you don’t believe me, I can have my lawyer pull the electronic docket right now—” “I don’t care, Garrett,” I interrupted. He stopped breathing. “I don’t care if you divorced her or if you marry her an eleventh time,” I continued, my voice as calm as still water. “The moment you covered up my mother’s death, whatever was left between us was permanently dead.” A choked sob came through the receiver. “No… no, don’t say that. Please don’t leave me, Nora. I know what I did was monstrous. I’ll change, I swear to God I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I love you, Nora. I can’t survive without you.” I stared at the palm of my hand. I couldn’t remember the last time Garrett had told me he loved me. I had fallen for him when we were sixteen, watching him on the prep school lacrosse field. Wherever he went, I followed—applying to the same colleges, walking the same paths, always lingering two steps behind his shadow. And in that shadow, Audrey Fontaine was always standing beside him. When his mother approached me five years ago, offering to pay for my mother’s medical care if I agreed to enter Garrett’s social circle and steer him away from Audrey, I had felt a shameful surge of joy. I thought I could save my mother and win the boy I loved. I quit my job, took an entry-level position at his investment firm, and pursued him relentlessly for six months before he finally relented. He was always distant. Cool. Distracted. Three years into our relationship, after a corporate dinner, he had collapsed onto the sofa reeking of bourbon, pulled me into his lap, and mumbled, “I love you, Nora.” That single, drunken sentence had sustained me through two years of agony. I thought alcohol brought out the truth. I was wrong. When Audrey returned from London, he discarded me without a second thought every time she needed a rescue. “Garrett,” I said into the phone. “Do you honestly believe you love me?” He faltered, caught off guard. “Of course I do—” “If you loved me,” I said quietly, “would you have forgotten my birthday five years in a row? Would you have let my mother die in humiliation and swept her suicide under the rug to protect another woman? Would you have stood by while the press called me a dirty mistress, watching me drown in public shame?” The list was so long, so heavy, that my voice didn’t even have the energy to tremble. Silence stretched across the Pacific Ocean. Then, a broken whisper: “I’m sorry, Nora. I’m so sorry.” “An apology is the cheapest currency on earth, Garrett,” I said. “If you truly feel an ounce of remorse, go down to the hotel where Audrey hosted her birthday party. Pull the surveillance footage from the parking garage ramp. Watch it. Once you see it, maybe you’ll finally understand what I’ve always known: from beginning to end, the only person you have ever loved is yourself.”
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