Chapter 2

2.

When Madeline returned home, I was arranging flowers in a porcelain vase.

She frowned instantly at the sight of the red roses on the dining table.

“Didn’t I tell you how much I hate roses?” she snapped. “I forbade you from ever bringing them into this house.”

I didn’t turn around, continuing to slide the stems into the water one by one.

“Just stay away from them,” I replied calmly. “As long as you don’t get pollen on yourself, it won’t ruin your intimacy with Ashton.”

All because Madeline once said she hated roses, I had never bought a single bouquet, even though I loved them.

I only recently discovered the real reason: Ashton was deathly allergic to rose pollen.

Madeline had banned them simply because she didn’t want pollen on her clothes when she fooled around with him.

Her face drained of color before twisting in fury. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you throwing a tantrum now? Who gave you permission to leave without saying a word? Do you know how many times I called you? Why didn’t you answer?”

“Because of your petty attitude, you ruined the mood for everyone at the party!”

I leaned down and breathed in the sweet fragrance of the roses.

I could not be bothered to engage with her manufactured outrage.

During the days I was absent, she and Ashton had indulged themselves to the fullest.

Ashton had generously “shared” every detail on his private story.

Kissing by the pool.

Showering together.

Sleeping in the same bed.

I tapped open a short clip on my phone, where Madeline was lying draped over Ashton’s bare chest.

“Maddy,” Ashton’s voice purred in the video, “do you prefer a hot, chart-topping pop star like me, or that washed-up actor at home?”

“Of course I prefer my young pop st―”

Before the sentence finished, Madeline snatched the phone from my hand and smashed it violently onto the floor.

Then, she slapped me hard across the face, sending me stumbling into the vase and tearing my forearm on the rose thorns.

“Harrison Clark, I told you that Ashton and I are completely innocent!” she screamed. “I threw a party for him, and you chose not to show up. How is that my fault?”

“Take a look in the mirror! He has an eight-pack, sings, dances, and tops the charts, while you’re just a lazy, washed-up ex-actor rotting around the house doing nothing useful!”

“You’re nowhere near the man you used to be, so what right do you have to throw a temper tantrum at me?”