Chapter 2

Amira Osborne POV:

"I didn' t touch her," I tried to explain, my voice trembling with a mixture of rage and disbelief. But he cut me off, his fingers digging into my wrist until I winced.

"Don' t lie to me, Amira."

He dragged me across the living room carpet, forcing me to stand in front of Francine, who was now sobbing delicately into her hands. "Apologize," he ground out, his jaw tight.

That was it. That was the moment. The last flickering ember of warmth I held for him in my heart was extinguished, leaving nothing but cold, dead ash. Eight years of love, of sacrifice, of believing in him-all of it gone.

"Why?" I whispered, my voice cracking. "Why won' t you believe me? Carter, it' s me. It' s been me for eight years. You know I wouldn' t do this."

The raw pain in my voice gave him a moment' s pause. For a split second, I saw a flicker of the man I used to love in his eyes-a brief hesitation.

But it vanished as quickly as it appeared. Francine, a master manipulator, seized the opportunity. She slapped her own face again, even harder this time. "It' s my fault," she cried, her voice thick with fake guilt. "I shouldn' t have come between you two. Carter, I' ll just... I' ll pack my things and move out. I don' t want to be a burden."

The threat was clear. Her investment, his startup, his entire future-it was all tied to her.

Carter' s hesitation evaporated, replaced by a fresh wave of fury directed entirely at me. "See what you' ve done?" he roared.

With a violent shove, he kicked the small coffee table between us. It skidded across the hardwood floor and slammed into the wall. The framed photo on top-our first picture together, taken eight years ago, his arm wrapped around me, his eyes shining with what I had mistaken for love-crashed to the ground, the glass shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

I stared at the broken image on the floor. At his smiling face, now fractured beyond repair. The symbolism was so painfully obvious it felt like a scene from a bad movie.

Slowly, I wiped the tears from my cheeks. I looked at the shattered glass, then at him. Without another word, I stepped over the mess and walked out of the room. I was done trying to glue back the pieces of something that was so completely, irrevocably broken.

The next evening, my phone buzzed with a message from him. "Family dinner at my parents' house tonight. Be there."

Before I could type a refusal, another message came through. "Your mother is already here."

My blood ran cold. My mother, Edie, had a severe heart condition. Any stress, any hint of trouble between Carter and me, could be catastrophic. He knew that. He was using her as a weapon.

Swallowing my pride and my pain, I put on a brave face and drove to his parents' house. The moment I saw my mom, her face lit up with a loving smile that nearly broke me. "Amira, honey! There you are. Where' s Carter? I thought you two would come together."

Before I could formulate a lie, he appeared in the doorway. And he wasn' t alone. Francine was clinging to his arm, dressed in an elegant evening gown. She beamed at my mother. "Edie, you look wonderful tonight!"

My mother, bless her unsuspecting heart, smiled back. "Francine, how lovely to see you. Amira, I didn' t know your friend was joining us."

Carter' s smile was tight, false. "Francine is more than a friend, she' s practically family," he said, his eyes locking onto mine with a silent threat. "In fact, Amira owes her a bit of an apology for a misunderstanding yesterday."

He pulled me aside, his grip on my elbow bruising. "Do it," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. "Apologize to her in front of everyone, or I swear to God, I will tell your mother the wedding is off. Right here, right now."

The room spun. I looked at my mother, laughing and chatting with Carter' s father, completely oblivious. The thought of her collapsing, of the worst happening because of me... it was unbearable.

My pride was a small price to pay for her life.

I walked over to Francine, my body moving as if through water. "Francine," I said, the name tasting like poison. "I' m sorry."

Her smile was triumphant. She picked up a glass of champagne from a passing tray and held it out to me. "Apology accepted, darling. Let' s have a drink to seal it."