Chapter 8: Temptation and Betrayal

Thinking about the past, I gripped my phone tighter and tighter.

The cool glass pressed into my palm, grounding me as memories swirled. My thumb hovered over Derek’s name, almost afraid to see what he’d say next.

Until Derek messaged again.

Only then did I snap out of it.

[Why aren’t you replying? What are you doing?]

His impatience came through even in text—Derek was never one for subtlety.

I replied: [Looking at clothes.]

I added a little smiley face, just to keep things light. Old habits die hard.

[Oh right, I just realized—you haven’t bought clothes in a while.]

His observation skills were almost unsettling. He noticed every little thing, always two steps ahead.

The next second, another $300,000 was deposited into my account.

[A lot of new spring and fall styles just came out—pick some you like. I think you’d look great in them.]

His confidence in his own taste was almost as overwhelming as his generosity. I wondered if he shopped for every woman in his life this way.

Looking at the extra $600,000 in my bank account, I couldn’t help but smile.

It was a small, secret smile—the kind you only let yourself have when no one’s watching.

[I can’t shop anymore for now. I ran into Marcus when I got back from shopping—he’s getting suspicious.]

[He looked really angry and asked where my money came from.]

The memory of his furrowed brow, the sharpness in his voice, flashed through my mind. I didn’t want to deal with another interrogation.

He was silent for a moment.

The typing bubbles blinked and disappeared. I could almost see him frowning, plotting his next move.

[Then I’ll have my sister buy them and send them to you. If he asks, just say my sister gave them to you.]

[But Natalie, when are you going to divorce Marcus?]

[Is the eldest son of the Carter family going to be a third wheel forever?]

I just replied: [Don’t rush.]

It was the truth, in a way. Divorce was a tangled knot, and I wasn’t ready to cut it—yet.

After all, Derek isn’t the only one waiting in line.

Ahead of him, there are still two others.

Just then, Jonathan messaged me.

[There’s an auction in a few days—will you come with me?]

[Of course, pick anything you like.]

The promise was always the same: anything you want, just say the word. His confidence was intoxicating.

This generosity was a far cry from the caution he’d shown warning Marcus about me.

Money talks, but sometimes it says the opposite of what you expect.

Speaking of which, the first time I met Jonathan face to face was at the children’s center.

I remember it like it was yesterday—the playroom smelled like Crayola and Lysol, the walls plastered with finger-painted turkeys and handprint trees, and the sound of children’s laughter filled the halls.