Chapter 2: Love for Sale

Then I knocked on his car window, pasted on my sweetest smile, and waited for him to roll it down. My heart was hammering.

He rolled down the window, eyes scanning me from head to toe. I leaned in, letting my hair fall over my shoulder just so, my voice syrupy-sweet. “Hey, stranger.” He didn’t smile back.

That day, I traded my body for resources. It wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. I told myself it was just business. Just another transaction. Nothing more.

Nothing to fuss about, I told myself. I pressed my hands to my cheeks, willing myself not to cry. “Get it together, Marissa,” I muttered. “You knew what this was.”

If I wanted to climb my way up and grow the company, giving up some dignity was just part of the deal. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

I reminded myself of every ambitious woman I’d ever admired—how they made tough calls and did what it took to get ahead. I tried to channel their strength, even as I felt mine slipping away, piece by piece.

During this phase of getting back together, Julian didn’t say a single sweet word. He kept a straight face in the car, leaving me scrambling for conversation. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it.

The silence was heavy. I fiddled with my skirt, searching for something—anything—to say. He just stared out the window, jaw clenched. I gave up.

Then, in the heat of passion, he pinched my chin and gave me a cold, twisted smile. It made my skin crawl.

His fingers dug in, his eyes glittering with something dark. “I knew it. You’d come back to me.” I shivered, not sure if I should laugh or cry.

He stroked my hair, as carelessly as petting a puppy. His touch was possessive, almost lazy. I felt like a prop, something he could pick up or put down whenever he wanted. I hated how small it made me feel.

“Be good from now on. Don’t break up with me again, okay?” His words hung in the air, more command than request. I forced a laugh, pretending it didn’t sting. What a joke.

After that day, I moved into Julian’s place. The penthouse was just as I remembered—sleek, cold, expensive. I dragged my suitcase across the marble floor, the wheels echoing in the empty space. It didn’t feel like home.

I was a little shocked. After three years apart, the layout of his penthouse hadn’t changed at all. Not a single thing out of place.

It was like stepping into a time capsule. The same art on the walls, the same couch in the living room. Even the faint smell of his cologne lingered in the air, making my chest ache.

The lemon tree on the balcony—the one I bought back then—had just grown a bit bigger. I ran my fingers over the leaves. It was taller now, branches stretching toward the sky. A tiny reminder that something here had changed, even if I hadn’t.

The bookshelf still held the cheap little trinkets I’d picked out at random. They looked out of place now—like a kid’s souvenirs in a museum. I felt a pang of something I couldn’t name.

There was a plastic snow globe from Navy Pier, a mug with a cheesy Chicago skyline, a tiny stuffed bear in a Cubs jersey. I wondered if he even noticed them anymore, or if they just blended into the background.

There was still a note I’d written to him stuck on the fridge, yellowed and faded:

“Piggy babe, I love you so much! Breakfast is ready, remember to eat. Today I plan to miss you a hundred times [kiss]”

I pressed my hand to my mouth, mortified by my own handwriting. The sticky note was curling at the edges, but he’d never thrown it away. I didn’t know what that meant.

I shivered, shaking off a full-body wave of goosebumps. The memories hit me all at once—late nights cooking together, sleepy mornings, laughter echoing through the apartment. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold it all in.

The walk-in closet was almost empty. Julian’s clothes only took up one section, and the bags I’d left behind after the breakup were still there. It was like I’d never left. The sight made my stomach twist.

A strange, yet familiar feeling. It was unsettling, like seeing a ghost of my former self. I wanted to run, but I also wanted to stay—just to see if I could reclaim any of it.

“Don’t overthink it. I rarely come back here. Just forgot to toss some things,” Julian added. He sounded almost defensive, like he needed to justify why my stuff was still here. I just nodded, not trusting myself to say a word.

I remembered how, in the past, I loved to make a scene, always testing my place in his heart. Picking fights just to see if he’d fight back. I wanted proof that I mattered. It was childish, but it was all I knew.

That’s why Julian’s friends never liked me. They thought I was trouble—a drama queen, a gold digger, a liability. I could see it in their eyes every time I walked into a room. I wanted to scream at them, but I never did.

So much so that when we broke up, his childhood friend Savannah Monroe told me straight up I was too self-absorbed. She didn’t sugarcoat it. “You make everything about you,” she said, her voice cool and even. “Julian deserves better.” I wanted to slap her.

And Julian didn’t defend me. He just sat there, silent. That hurt more than anything Savannah could’ve said. I felt like I was disappearing.

Looking back now, I was the immature one. If you want money, don’t ask for love. We were never equals. Not even close.

It was a hard lesson to learn. Love and money don’t mix—not when the scales are so uneven. I learned that the hard way.

I nodded calmly and could still smile at Julian. I practiced the perfect, unbothered smile. “It’s already an honor that Mr. Hayes kept these things. I was immature before, please don’t mind.” Inside, I wanted to scream.

Julian’s face visibly darkened. He wanted to say something, but in the end said nothing. The silence between us grew heavier, pressing down on my chest.

I only brought a few outfits—all the same old business suits. The closet was empty, just like I felt inside. No room for frills or softness. I’d learned my lesson—never leave too much of yourself behind.

Looking back, that was a lesson I learned from the last breakup. I’d packed up everything I owned, sobbing as I stuffed clothes into suitcases. I promised myself I’d never be caught off guard again. Never.

That day, I found out Julian’s family was picking out a fiancée for him, and he didn’t say no. His mother paraded a string of eligible women through their country club, and Julian just stood there, letting it happen. He never once told them no. Not once.

My tears flowed like a fountain, nonstop. I couldn’t stop crying. The humiliation burned hotter than the heartbreak. I wiped my nose on my sleeve, desperate to hold onto any shred of dignity.

I cried so hard I kept sniffling, ridiculous and ugly, like keeping the snot from running was my last shred of dignity. I hated myself for it.

My makeup was ruined, my eyes swollen. I was a mess, and I knew it—but I couldn’t stop. Not then.

Julian and his friends sat in the living room, watching me squat on the floor, stuffing clothes into my suitcase one by one. I could feel their eyes on me, judging, pitying, mocking. It made my skin crawl.

Their eyes were full of silent pity and mockery. I wanted to scream at them, to wipe those looks off their faces. But I just kept packing, one sweater at a time. One foot in front of the other.

Savannah Monroe even took my hand. Her grip was cool, her voice gentle. “Even if Julian has a fiancée, it won’t affect your relationship. In this circle, everyone knows how things work. You should be more understanding.” Her words made me want to vomit.

I shouted, “That’s disgusting! You’re all out of your minds!” My voice echoed off the walls. For once, no one tried to shush me. They just stared, like I was putting on a show.

Then, under their gaze, I dragged my heavy suitcase step by step to the door. The wheels thumped over the threshold. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

That day, my love and dignity shattered into pieces. I swore I’d never let myself end up like that again. Never again.

I made a silent promise: never again would I beg for someone’s affection. Never again would I let myself be humiliated in front of people who thought I was less than them. I’d rather be alone.

“Tomorrow I’ll have someone come take your measurements and buy you more dresses.” Julian looked at the empty closet, frowning, like my lack of clothes was an inconvenience for him. I bit my tongue, weighing my options. Swallowing my pride.

I was about to refuse, then thought, at least this way I’d have more decent outfits for meeting clients. Business is business. If Julian wanted to play the generous boyfriend, I’d let him. I could use a wardrobe upgrade, anyway.

So I turned around, wrapped my arms sweetly around Julian’s neck, and kissed his cheek. I put on my best flirty voice. “Okay, thank you, Mr. Hayes.”

The smile on Julian’s face froze. He stared at me for a while, like he was trying to figure out if I was joking or just broken.

He didn’t say anything at first, just studied me like he was trying to figure out if I was serious. I met his gaze, refusing to blink.

“You didn’t used to call me Mr. Hayes. Don’t you think that’s a little distant?” His tone was sharp, almost hurt. I shrugged, pretending not to notice. He never liked being kept at arm’s length.

Before, I gave him all sorts of pet names: Piggy babe, honey, Jules—I was always coming up with new ones. I’d text him silly memes, leave sticky notes on his mirror, call him by every nickname I could think of. It made him laugh, once upon a time.

Now, just thinking about it makes me cringe. The old me was so naive, so eager to please. I didn’t want to be her anymore. Not ever again.

Later, I found out his family and friends all called him Jay. He never told me that. They’d call out “Jay!” at parties, at the country club, even in group chats. I was always the last to know, always on the outside looking in.