Chapter 2

A month later, the air at the Silicon Valley Cares charity gala was thick with money and ambition. I walked in alone, my hands in the pockets of my simple, dark suit. I immediately spotted them. Jen was draped over Tyrone near the main auction stage, her laughter loud and performative. She was holding court, surrounded by a circle of sycophants who used to pretend to be my friends.

Her eyes found me, and a smirk spread across her face. She nudged Tyrone, and they both watched me as I made my way to an empty table in the corner. I could feel their condescending gazes, could practically hear their thoughts. Look at him, the pathetic puppy, crawling back for more.

I ignored them. I poured a glass of water and watched the auction begin. Item after item went up for bid-exotic vacations, bespoke jewelry, original artwork. Jen's hand was in the air for every single one, her voice ringing out with ridiculously high bids. She would win an item, then turn and blow a kiss to Tyrone, who would preen like he'd earned it himself.

He caught my eye from across the room and mouthed the words, "Nepo baby."

I just took a sip of water.

The auction was nearing its end when the final item was presented: a rare, vintage Patek Philippe watch. It was elegant, timeless, and understated. My mother had loved watches like that. It was the kind of thing Molly would appreciate.

The bidding started. I waited. When the auctioneer was about to bring the hammer down, I raised my paddle. Just once.

"One million dollars," I said, my voice clear and calm in the suddenly quiet room.

No one else bid. The hammer fell.

"Sold, to Mr. Andrew Fowler!"

I signed the slip the attendant brought over, my mind already on how I would give the watch to Molly. I didn't notice Jen storming towards my table until she was standing right in front of me, her face a mask of fury.

"What was that?" she hissed.

"I bought a watch," I said simply.

"You ignore me all night, you ignore Tyrone, and you buy a stupid watch?" Her voice was rising, drawing attention. "I told you to light up the board for him! To show me you were sorry!"

Tyrone swaggered up behind her. "It's okay, babe. He's just a soulless rich kid. He doesn't understand art or passion. He only understands price tags."

Jen wasn't listening to him. Her eyes were locked on me. "You're going to fix this. Right now. You are going to go up there and pay for everything I won for Tyrone. That's two and a half million dollars. Consider it an apology."

I looked from her furious face to Tyrone's smug one. "No."

The word hung in the air. Jen stared at me as if I'd spoken in a foreign language.

"What did you say?"

"I said no," I repeated, standing up. "I'm not paying for your boyfriend's new toys, Jen. You wanted to prove you could live a lavish life without me? Go ahead. Pay for it yourself."

Her face went from shocked to crimson. The sycophants who had been watching started to whisper.

For a second, I thought she was going to scream. Instead, she did something else. Her hand flew through the air and connected with my cheek. The slap was loud, echoing in the cavernous room.

I didn't flinch. I just looked at her. I felt the sting on my skin, and I knew it was the last time she would ever touch me. It was the price of my freedom.

"You will regret this," she seethed, her voice a low, venomous whisper. "Just wait until your birthday. When I'm supposed to legally merge with your fortune. I will stand on that stage and I will reject you in front of everyone. You'll be the laughingstock of the Valley."

She turned and stormed off, Tyrone scrambling to follow her.

I touched my cheek, a faint smile on my lips. Let her believe that. Let her plan her big, dramatic rejection. Her humiliation would be so much sweeter when she realized she was a month too late.