I pressed the advantage. "Mr. Fox, what you're after is the money. So can we be results-oriented here and let me give it a shot?"

He tilted his head, studying me with a mix of curiosity and appraisal.

A few seconds passed. Then he looked away, cleared his throat.

"Let's discuss the penalty clauses."

"I accept."

I answered before he'd even finished, clean and decisive.

He looked slightly surprised but continued anyway.

"If either party develops feelings, the contract terminates immediately. The penalty for that is also ten million."

I nearly laughed out loud.

Catching feelings? With me, a freshly divorced woman? Mr. Fox was overthinking this.

I agreed without a word and extended my hand.

The wounds from last night were still on it.

He took my hand.

Maybe I imagined it, but his thumb pressed gently against the back of my hand, right where the deepest cut was.

The moment I stepped out of the office, I gripped the contract tight. Ten million dollars. Three months. Worth it.

But for some reason, the spot on my hand where his thumb had pressed still burned.

Contract in hand, I walked out through the front doors of Fox Group with my head held high.

Then I slipped quietly into the parking garage next door, heading for the familiar stairwell.

That dark stairwell was the home I'd found for myself last night.

I carefully pulled the necklace from my pocket and looked at it, my talisman.

I remembered what Cindy had told me. "Keep this. Whenever you're in trouble, you can go to my family for help."

She had been that gentle. That kind.

My phone chimed. I opened the message on reflex.

"You're living like a dog right now. Isn't that exhausting? Come crawling back and beg me, and I'll toss you some scraps."

"I didn't cheat! Stop making things up! The divorce was YOUR fault!"

"The house was just a bad investment! And going to your company wasn't even my idea!"

"You'll never get rid of me! If I go down, you're coming with me!"

My ex-husband.

Since the divorce, he'd been cycling endlessly between insults, threats, and pleas for reconciliation.

I never replied. The most effective way to deal with someone like him was to cut all contact, to give him nothing to work with.

I took a long, deep breath, drank the last of the broth from my cup of instant noodles, and got up to throw out the trash.

I pushed open the heavy fire door, and a tall shadow swallowed me whole.

My heart seized.