The next morning, my phone dragged me awake.

Chloe told me to get to the mall. No reason.

When I got there, she was at a counter, checking out luxury watches.

She turned, smiling. "Babe, I guess my Remington contact didn't like the bag. Help me pick a watch instead?"

She was glowing.

My eyes dropped to the Rolex in her hand. I glanced at the fake on my wrist and let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh.

She caught it. Took my hand, all serious. "Babe, don't worry. Once I get into Remington Group and work hard—after I'm cured—I'll buy you an even better watch than this."

I met her eyes and nodded.

"What about this one? It looks more high-end. Or this one? I heard my Remington contact is pretty low-key—maybe the darker one fits better?"

She kept going.

My chest just went cold.

For someone she'd never even met, she put in all this thought. I gave her three years—and got a fake watch.

I snapped back. She was holding up two watches.

"Babe, you're a guy too. You decide!"

One platinum. One dark green. Both shining under the lights.

I watched for a second, then pointed. "This one."

The platinum.

Truth was, I liked the dark green.

Chloe lit up and told the clerk to wrap it. She moved in close beside me, voice soft. "Babe, I got you something too."

Like it was treasure, she pulled out a silver ring.

I knew it. Some dollar-store spot a couple miles away. Ten bucks.

"Babe, once I'm making real money, I'll get you the best."

She slid it onto my middle finger, smiling to herself, talking about how good it looked.

The clerk handed over the boxed Rolex and the card. Chloe thanked them, grabbed my hand, and we headed out.

"I'm hungry. Let's get a seafood boil." I stopped.

She was still smiling. "Sure, let's go."

Finding the "perfect" gift had her in a great mood. It wasn't peak hours, so the place was almost empty. Our food still wasn't out.

I sat across from her, watching her tap away on her phone.

Finally, she looked up. "Babe, wanna try the watch?" She glanced at the Rolex.

I shook my head. "No. Don't wanna mess it up."

She'd already opened the box. "It's fine. Try it. You're not getting another chance to wear something this expensive."

I froze. Her words kept looping in my head.

The cold metal hit my wrist. She fumbled with the clasp—and something in me pushed back. I yanked my hand away.

Next second, the watch dropped straight into the pot of spicy broth.

I didn't even move before Chloe grabbed the tongs and fished it out.

By the time she got it back, it was slick with red chili oil. No clue how much got inside.

Her face went cold.

She said nothing. Packed it up and stood to leave.

I chased after her, but she kept pulling her arm free, anger rolling off her.

At a red light, she finally stopped. When she looked at me, her face was tight with resentment.

"Kyle Remington, that Rolex costs more than you'll make in your entire life. Who do you think you are?"

I froze.

Her lips kept moving, but I couldn't hear a thing.

This wasn't the Chloe I knew.

The old Chloe would never talk to me like that.

Guess the engagement made her impatient to drop me.

The light flipped green. Horns snapped me back.

"What if your Remington contact... is me?" I said.

Her eyes widened—then she scoffed. "Kyle, just 'cause your last name's Remington doesn't mean you're part of that family. Go buy me the same watch right now, and I'll forgive you."

I looked down, laughed, then shook my head.

She turned and walked off without a second thought.

I went the other way.

I was done.

After handling some stuff with my parents, I decided to leave Arlencia for a bit. Clear my head.

By chance, a sales associate from a brand I liked told me they just got new luggage. I walked in—and there was Chloe, carefully picking out bags.

I kept my head down, swiped my card, told the clerk to send the suitcase to my place.

She spotted me.

Stepped right in front of me, chin tipped up. "Kyle, here to apologize? Pay for this bag and I'll forgive you."

She pointed at it.

Nice design. Good for travel.

I liked it.

I nodded and handed over my card. A second later, the receipt was in my hand.

Like I'd just passed a test, she brushed a quick kiss against my cheek.

"Babe, I knew you wouldn't let me stay mad."

I gave a faint smile. Said I had work to handle. She didn't walk me out.

When I got home, the bag was already on the coffee table. Lucy looked at me.

"I'll use it."

Around eleven, just as I was about to sleep, Chloe texted:

[Babe, I'm at the hospital. The doctor said it got worse. I really want to see you.]

She sent a photo—lying in a hospital bed, face pale.

I zoomed in.

The foundation around her lips wasn't even blended.

Terrible.

[I'm coming now.]

After replying, I got up and headed to the hospital.

Chloe lay in bed, looking like she was on her last breath. The second she saw me, her eyes went red.

I had to admit—nice acting.

"Chloe, are you okay?"

She didn't answer. Just broke into a harsh coughing fit. I covered my nose and mouth.

It went on for a while. I patted her back, half there.

Finally, she stopped and grabbed my hands.

"Babe, I might only have two days left. I won't be able to make money for you anymore." Her eyes filled with tears.

I shook my head fast.

"My Remington contact's been really good to me. He gave me this chance—I want to thank him. Can you help me?"

I paused, then nodded. "Don't worry. I'll stay with you these next two days. I'll handle whatever needs handling."

My nose stung. Two tears slipped down.

She wiped them gently, leaned in, and hugged me. Her heartbeat was steady and strong.

I tried not to laugh.

Quiet, I asked, "What did your contact actually do for you?"

The second I asked, she pushed me back. Something flickered in her eyes.

After a long pause, she said, "He knew I was sick and sent me money. And before that, he helped me hit my sales... so... so..."

I smiled, soft.

I didn't remember sending her anything.

Helping her hit her numbers, though—that part was real.

"So you want to thank him properly."

"Yes, yes." She nodded fast.

Looking at her now, I felt stupid. Guess I'm a terrible judge of character.

I followed the address she gave me and pulled up to a mansion.

The owner?

Not some stranger.

My older brother—Gideon Remington.