Chapter 3

Turns out, quitting is easy when you're just a contractor.

Two weeks' notice to HR. No approval needed. No exit interview with management. I filled out the form in Priya's office while she watched me with sad eyes.

"You sure about this?"

"Yeah."

She pulled me into a hug. Tight. Like she meant it. "I'll keep it quiet until you're done with handover. And Wren—" She pulled back, holding my shoulders. "You deserved better than this."

I didn't trust myself to answer.

That night, my phone rang. Nana Mae. I stared at her name on the screen for three rings before I picked up.

"Well?" Her voice was bright. Excited. "Did you get it? You said you'd call me first thing—"

"Nana." My throat closed up.

Silence on the other end.

"I didn't get it."

More silence. Then, softer: "Oh, honey."

"I'm leaving New York." The words came out before I could stop them. "I don't want to be here anymore."

She didn't ask why. Didn't push. That was Nana—she always knew when to just listen.

"Then come home," she said. "I'll make apple pie. The good kind, with the lattice top."

I laughed, but it turned into something else halfway through. She'd been so proud when I got this job. Told everyone at church about her granddaughter working at a big firm in Manhattan. And now I was crawling back with nothing.

"I love you, Nana."

"I love you too, baby. Get some sleep."

I didn't sleep.

Instead, I sat in bed refreshing my email, looking for responses to the job applications I'd sent out that afternoon. Nothing yet. Just spam. And one message that made me freeze.

No sender name. Subject line: Miss you, West Virginia.

The body was empty.

I deleted it. Told myself it was a glitch. Some algorithm gone wrong.

But my hands were shaking when I switched to Instagram.

That's when I saw it.

Sienna's story. Posted an hour ago. A close-up of her collarbone, golden skin, delicate bones. And right there, just below her shoulder—a small tattoo.

An owl.

The same owl that was on Callum's wrist. The same one I had on my ankle.

The caption read: Some things never change after all these years. 🦉

I couldn't breathe.

I pulled up my pajama leg and looked at my own tattoo. The little owl staring back at me, mocking me. I'd gotten it a year into our arrangement, on our "anniversary"—if you could call it that. He'd been in a good mood that night. Almost soft. I'd asked about the one on his wrist and he'd laughed.

"High school," he'd said. "Stupid rebellious phase. Doesn't mean anything."

So I'd gone and gotten a matching one. A secret just for us. Something that meant I was more than just a body he called at 2 AM.

Except it wasn't a secret. It was never ours. It was theirs.

And I'd been walking around for four years with another woman's love story permanently inked on my skin.

Five years. Five years of thinking that tattoo meant something. That I meant something. And the whole time, I was just living in a story someone else had already written.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

Sienna Kensington has invited you to celebrate her engagement to Callum Ashford. Tomorrow, 8 PM. The Carlyle.

I stared at it for a long time.

Then I texted back: I'll be there.

At the party, I wore my best dress—a black midi I'd bought on sale two years ago. It was fine. Nice, even.

But the moment I walked in, I knew I didn't belong.

Sienna found me within five minutes. She floated over with a glass of red wine, smiling like we were old friends.

"Wren! So glad you could make it." Her eyes slid down my dress. "That's... cute. Target?"

"Thanks for the invite."

"Of course. Callum's told me so much about you." She sipped her wine, watching me over the rim. "His little charity case from West Virginia. The girl he felt sorry for."

My face burned.

"He has such a soft heart, you know? Always picking up strays." She gestured around the room with her glass. "But look at you, trying so hard to fit in. It's almost sweet."

A woman nearby snickered. I didn't turn to look.

"I just wanted to thank you, actually," Sienna continued. "For keeping him warm while I was away. It must've been nice, pretending to be me for a few years."

Her hand tilted. The wine splashed down my chest—not an accident, not even close. Slow. Deliberate. Soaking through to my skin.

I gasped. The room went quiet.

"Oh no." Sienna's voice rang out, dripping with fake concern. "Someone get her a napkin? I'm so clumsy."

A few people laughed. No one moved to help.

She stepped closer, her perfume overwhelming, and pressed her lips to my ear.

"I found one of your hairs on his couch," she whispered. "Brown. Cheap dye job. Took me three days to figure out which nobody it belonged to."

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

"You know what's funny? He never even mentioned your name. I had to dig through HR files." She pulled back, still smiling. "That's how little you mattered."

She smoothed down her dress, not a wrinkle in sight.

"You should go. Before security mistakes you for the help."

I stood there, wine dripping down my dress, while she walked away like nothing had happened.

That's when Callum appeared.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the hallway, away from the staring guests. His grip was tight. Angry.

"I told you to stay away from her."

I yanked my arm free. "She invited me. Check your phone."

"I don't care who invited who. You weren't supposed to be here."

I wiped the wine off my face with the back of my hand. "Relax. I'm not here to make a scene. I'm here to meet Harrison, remember? The guy you set me up with?"

He stared at me.

"You forgot." I laughed. "Of course you did."

Outside the window, a black car pulled up to the curb.

"That's probably him now," I said. "My new sugar daddy. The one you picked out for me."