Chapter 4

We returned to the living room with the bowl of strawberries, the tension between us a tangible thing. After a few more minutes of stilted conversation, we prepared to leave.

"Why don't we all go out for dinner?" Frances suggested, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Caleb.

He immediately agreed. "That's a great idea." He didn't even glance at me for my opinion. He just took my arm, his touch proprietary and cold, and said, "Jaliyah will join us."

We ended up at an upscale Italian restaurant. We were led to a private booth, and Caleb took the menu, ordering without consulting me. I listened as he listed off dishes, each one a favorite of Frances's. Prosciutto with melon, mushroom risotto, tiramisu. Things I knew he remembered because she had told him. He had never once remembered my favorite food.

The difference between being loved and not being loved was in these tiny, brutal details. But strangely, I didn't feel the usual sting of disappointment. I was just an observer now, cataloging the evidence that confirmed my decision.

I ate in silence, a ghost at their table.

My quietness was broken by the sharp ring of Caleb's phone. He excused himself and stepped out of the booth to take the call.

As soon as he was gone, my eyes were drawn to Frances's wrist. A familiar glint of silver caught the light. It was the vintage watch. The one I had spent months restoring for Caleb. The one with the inscription on the back: C.M. & J.O. Forever.

"That's a beautiful watch," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Where did you get it?"

Frances smiled, a smug, triumphant little smile. "Oh, this? Caleb gave it to me. He said it was just some old thing he had lying around, but I think it's lovely."

The world tilted. A hot, furious wave washed over me. All my carefully constructed calm shattered. This was the final straw. This was the ultimate desecration of the last shred of hope I had secretly harbored.

I remembered the plot of the novel. The villainess, upon seeing the watch on the heroine's wrist, flies into a jealous rage. She causes a scene, tries to rip the watch from Frances's arm, and ends up looking hysterical and unhinged, pushing Caleb further into the heroine's embrace.

I could feel the pull of that pre-written path, the urge to scream, to lash out. But then, a cold wave of self-preservation washed over me. I would not follow their script. I would not give them the satisfaction.

I took a deep breath and forced my lips into a smile. "He was right to give it to you," I said, my voice smooth as glass. "It looks much better on you. You two are a perfect match."

The triumphant glint in Frances's eyes faltered, replaced by a flash of confusion and disappointment. This wasn't the reaction she had wanted. She had wanted a fight.

She bit her lip, then stood up. "I'm going to get us some soup," she announced with forced cheerfulness. She walked over to a nearby soup tureen, part of the restaurant's buffet.

She returned with a bowl of steaming seafood chowder and offered it to me. "Here, Jaliyah. You look like you could use something to warm you up."

I started to refuse. I'm allergic to shellfish. A fact Caleb knew, but had obviously never shared with his true love. But before I could speak, she wasn't handing me the bowl anymore.

With a small, theatrical gasp, she let the bowl slip. It crashed onto the floor by my feet, splashing hot chowder onto my shoes and the hem of my dress.

"Oh, my goodness!" she cried, her eyes immediately filling with tears. "Jaliyah, I'm so sorry! Did you push my hand?"

Just as the novel predicted.

Caleb rushed back to the table, his face a mask of concern. He went straight to Frances, his arm wrapping around her protectively. "What happened? Are you okay?"

His cold, furious gaze then landed on me. "What did you do?"

"She... she just knocked the soup out of my hand," Frances sobbed, burying her face in his chest. "I know she didn't mean to... she's just upset about the watch, Caleb. It's my fault."

It was a masterful performance. The perfect blend of victimhood and feigned magnanimity.

"It wasn't me," I said, my voice flat. "She dropped it on purpose."

Caleb didn't hear me. He was too busy comforting a weeping Frances. "You're being ridiculous, Jaliyah," he snapped, his voice filled with disgust. "Can't you stop being so petty for one night?"

He scooped a distraught Frances into his arms and carried her out of the restaurant, leaving me alone in the wreckage.

As they left, Frances looked back over his shoulder. She gave me a tiny, triumphant smirk.

The next few days were a relentless series of similar events. Frances would orchestrate "accidents" and "misunderstandings," and Caleb would invariably blame me. I was a malicious, jealous harpy. She was a fragile, innocent victim. The narrative was correcting itself, pushing me firmly into the role of the villainess.

Finally, Caleb stormed into the penthouse late one night, his face livid. "I can't take it anymore, Jaliyah! Why are you constantly going after Frances? What has she ever done to you?"

It was the first time I had ever seen him truly lose his temper. The first time I had seen such raw emotion on his face. And it was all for her.

"I didn't do anything," I said, my voice weary. "She's lying."

"Lying?" he scoffed, his laugh harsh and humorless. "Why would she lie? You're the one who bought me! You're the one who thinks money can solve everything. Just leave her alone. Leave the people I care about alone!"

His words were like stones, heavy and bruising. He left, slamming the door behind him, the sound echoing in the silent, empty apartment.

I stood there, the last of my fight draining out of me. I felt a surge of panic. The plot was accelerating. If I didn't do something drastic, I would end up exactly where the book said I would. Dead.

I couldn't let that happen. An idea, cold and sharp, formed in my mind. If I couldn't escape the plot, maybe I could accelerate it. Push the protagonists together myself, so I could make my exit before the final, tragic act.

That night, I drove to Frances's apartment.

She opened the door, her expression wary.

"I want to make a deal," I said, without preamble. "I'll help you get Caleb. In return, you stop your little games. I'm leaving soon, and I'd like to do it in one piece."