Chapter 2

2.

I had been with Spencer for three years.

But ever since his childhood friend, Vicky, returned from her studies in Paris, our relationship had taken a nosedive.

I was bothered by her complete lack of boundaries, but Spencer always said I was making a big deal out of nothing, that I wasn't being generous enough.

He said he only saw Vicky as a little sister, that she didn't have those kinds of feelings for him.

But he remembered every single one of her allergies, knew all her favorite Michelin-star restaurants, and tolerated her endless princess syndrome.

Our love was worn down by these petty fights. He was terrible at communicating, always resorting to the silent treatment after an argument. It would last for a few days, then a week. This time, because of Vicky, it had been two full months.

The final straw was when I found out he had let Vicky move into his TriBeCa penthouse behind my back.

I had swiped my key card and walked in to find Vicky wearing one of Spencer's white button-downs―the classic "boyfriend shirt" look―with her long legs bare as she messed around with him in the living room.

I froze in the doorway.

Vicky was draped over the sofa, one hand on Spencer's shoulder, her body pressed against his. "I'm serious!" she purred. "Don't you dare mention setting me up with that Hoffman kid again!"

Spencer was lounging on the expensive Italian leather couch, a lazy smile on his face. "Come on, didn't you used to love greasy food? Marrying into the Hoffman family is a perfect match."

Vicky covered his mouth. "Shut up! Just thinking about him makes me want to puke."

She looked up then, and her eyes met mine. There wasn't a trace of panic in her expression. Instead, a defiant smirk played on her lips as she tucked a stray blonde hair behind her ear. "Well, after a traumatic experience like that, I think I deserve a little reward."

Her hand slid down Spencer's chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the hard muscle underneath.

And through it all, Spencer didn't resist at all.