Chloe sat in the back of the Audi, watching the city streets blur past the tinted window. The heater blasted warm air against her frozen legs. The car eventually turned onto a familiar, cracked driveway and came to a stop.

She pushed the heavy door open, stepped out into the cold, and waved awkwardly to the driver. She turned and walked up the concrete path to the suburban house. The paint on the porch railing was peeling.

She pulled her house key from her pocket and shoved it into the lock. Before she could turn it, the sound of Brenda's shrill voice pierced through the thin wood of the door.

Chloe pushed the door open. She stepped into the living room and froze.

Cardboard boxes were stacked waist-high across the carpet. Her winter coats, her books, and her cheap shoes were crammed into the open flaps.

Brenda ended her phone call and spun around. When she saw Chloe, a wide, synthetic smile stretched across her face.

"Well? Did you get it done?" Brenda asked, taking a step forward.

Chloe unzipped her tote bag. She pulled out the marriage certificate and held it up for two seconds before shoving it back in.

Brenda's eyes lit up. The greed in her expression made Chloe's stomach twist.

"Perfect," Brenda said. She pointed a manicured finger at the boxes. "I went ahead and packed your things. You can move out today."

Chloe's throat tightened. "You could not wait one single day?"

"Newlyweds need to build their bond," Brenda said, waving a hand in the air. "Besides, Caleb needs the extra space for his gaming setup. Your old room is perfect for it."

Chloe stepped toward the boxes. She reached out to check a carton labeled 'fragile', terrified Brenda had thrown her late mother's ceramic mugs in without wrapping them.

Brenda slapped her hand away. "Don't unpack now. You will just make a mess."

Brenda pulled her phone from her apron pocket. She tapped the screen a few times and held it to her ear. Right in front of Chloe, she booked a U-Haul truck for immediate pickup.

A cold wave of anger washed over Chloe. Her chest heaved. She turned her back on her stepmother and walked up the carpeted stairs to her old bedroom.

The room was stripped bare. The posters were gone. The bedsheets were stripped.

Chloe dropped to her knees. She reached under the bed frame, her fingers brushing against the dusty floorboards, until she felt the cold metal of an old iron cookie tin. She dragged it out. Inside was three hundred dollars in cash and her high school diaries. It was everything she had left in the world.

She shoved the tin into her backpack, zipped it shut, and stood up. She did not look back.

A loud honk echoed from the street. The U-Haul had arrived.

Chloe walked downstairs. Brenda hovered near the door, offering to carry a box. Chloe ignored her, bent down, and hoisted the heaviest carton of books into her arms.

She carried the box out the front door, the wind biting at her cheeks, and shoved it into the back of the truck.

Brenda walked down the driveway. She pulled a wad of cash from her pocket and handed it to the U-Haul driver.

"Keep the change," Brenda said loudly.

Chloe stared at the transaction. Brenda was notoriously cheap. The fact that she was willing to pay for the moving truck just to get Chloe off the property felt like a physical slap to the face.

Chloe slammed the back door of the truck shut. She walked around to the passenger side and climbed into the cab.

The engine roared to life. Chloe looked in the side mirror as the truck pulled away. The old suburban house shrank into the distance. The tight band around her chest finally snapped. She was free.

"Where to?" the driver asked, chewing on a toothpick.

Chloe pulled the card Harrison had given her from her pocket. She read the address out loud.

The driver let out a low whistle. "That is a pricey zip code, lady."

Chloe frowned. She looked out the window as the truck merged onto the highway. Harrison was a project manager. How could he afford rent in a high-end district? She assumed he must be terrible with his finances, blowing his paycheck on a flashy address.

The scenery outside changed. The strip malls faded, replaced by towering glass facades and manicured sidewalks. Luxury sedans lined the streets.

The U-Haul turned a corner and stopped in front of a massive, steel-and-glass apartment building. A large fountain bubbled near the entrance.

A security guard in a tailored uniform saw the rusted U-Haul and immediately marched toward the driver's window, raising his hand to shoo them away.

Chloe rolled down her window. Her palms were sweating. "I am here for Harrison Montgomery. Apartment 4501."

The guard stopped dead in his tracks. He pulled a tablet from his belt, tapped the screen, and his posture instantly shifted. He stood up straight and pointed toward the loading dock with extreme politeness.

"Right this way, ma'am. I will open the service gates for you."

Chloe blinked, momentarily stunned by the rapid 180-degree turn in his attitude. The transition from hostility to extreme hospitality was jarring. She swallowed hard, guessing that Harrison must have called ahead to register her arrival, or perhaps the property management here was just trained to be incredibly dramatic to avoid complaints from tenants.

Chloe pushed the heavy truck door open and jumped down to the pavement. She craned her neck, looking up at the penthouse levels disappearing into the clouds. A deep sense of dread settled in her stomach. She had severely misjudged her new husband's financial situation.

Chloe stood by the loading dock as the U-Haul driver drove away. She piled her cardboard boxes onto a brass luggage cart. She pushed the heavy cart through the service doors, down a pristine hallway, and into the elevator.

She pressed the button for the 45th floor. The elevator shot upward so fast her ears popped.

The doors slid open. She pushed the cart down the quiet corridor until she reached a massive oak door with a digital keypad. She stared at the glowing numbers. She swallowed hard, her throat dry.

Instead of typing the code, she raised her hand and pressed the doorbell.

Heavy footsteps echoed from inside. The lock clicked, and the door swung open.

Harrison stood in the doorway. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a black Henley shirt with the top two buttons undone. The fabric stretched tight across his chest. A wave of masculine heat and the faint smell of cedar washed over her.

Chloe's eyes darted to the exposed skin at his collarbone. She immediately looked down at her shoes, her cheeks burning hot.

Harrison looked at the battered cardboard boxes on the cart. His brow furrowed. There was no disgust in his eyes, only a quiet confusion.

He stepped past her. He reached down and grabbed the heaviest box of books with one hand. His bicep flexed, lifting the carton as if it were filled with feathers.

"I can get that," Chloe said, stepping forward.

Her sneaker caught the edge of the brass cart. She lost her balance and pitched forward.

Harrison dropped the box. He spun around and caught her by the elbow. His grip was like a steel vice, halting her fall instantly.

The heat of his palm burned through the sleeve of her trench coat. Chloe gasped and yanked her arm back as if she had touched a hot stove.

Harrison let his hand fall to his side. His expression did not change. He turned around, picked up the box again, and carried it inside.

Chloe followed him into the apartment. Her jaw dropped. The living room was massive, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. The furniture was minimalist, all dark leather and cold marble. It looked like a showroom. She immediately assumed he had drained his savings to rent this place to keep up appearances.

Harrison set the box down. He pointed down a long, well-lit hallway.

"The guest room is the second door on the right. That will be your room," he said.

Chloe let out a breath she did not know she was holding. Separate bedrooms. The knot of anxiety in her stomach loosened, though she found his rigid adherence to boundaries slightly bizarre.

She walked down the hall and pushed the door open. The room was spotless. The bed was massive, covered in crisp, high-thread-count sheets. It made her feel incredibly small.

Harrison walked up behind her. He held out a silver key and a black keycard.

"The building requires the card for the elevator. The key is a backup for the front door," he said. He adjusted his cuff. "I wake up at six. I prefer quiet in the mornings. Do not touch the documents in my study."

His voice was flat, delivering the rules like a corporate memo.

Chloe nodded rapidly. "I understand."

Harrison gave a single nod and walked away, heading toward the master suite.

Chloe closed the door to her room. She leaned her back against the solid wood and closed her eyes. The tension drained from her shoulders.

She opened her boxes and began unpacking. She carried her cheap, fast-fashion clothes into the walk-in closet. The space was the size of her old bedroom. When she finished hanging her garments, they took up less than a tenth of the rack. The empty space mocked her, amplifying the massive gap between their lives.

An hour later, her stomach growled. She left her room and walked into the living area. The apartment was dead silent.

She wandered into the kitchen. The appliances were built into the sleek black cabinetry. She stared at the induction stove, completely lost.

She opened the massive double-door refrigerator. It was stocked with organic vegetables, premium cuts of meat, and glass bottles of sparkling water.

The door to the master bedroom clicked open. Harrison walked out, holding a phone to his ear.

"Le rapport doit être sur mon bureau demain matin," he said, his voice low and his French accent flawless.

Chloe froze by the open fridge. French? A project manager speaking fluent business French?

Harrison saw her. He immediately pulled the phone away from his ear and tapped the screen, ending the call without a goodbye.

He walked toward the kitchen island. "Are you hungry? I can order food."

Chloe panicked. She needed to prove she was not just a freeloader in this expensive apartment. "No! I can cook. Let me make dinner tonight."

Harrison looked at her tense shoulders. He gave a brief nod. "Fine."

He turned and walked into his study, shutting the door behind him.