Chapter 2

Day three since the drug took effect.

Morning. I woke up to the low hum of the coffee maker. Looking in the mirror, I noticed a subtle shift in my eyes.

It used to be that just thinking about Arthur would send a hidden flutter or a pang of ache through my chest. But now? Trying to picture his face felt like staring at a dry financial report. Zero reaction.

NZ-48 was surgically severing the neural pathways in my brain that released dopamine and oxytocin whenever he crossed my mind. This physical stripping away of emotion brought an unprecedented sense of clarity and freedom.

At 10:00 AM, the apartment’s smart lock beeped. Arthur pushed the door open, followed by a frail woman wrapped in a white cashmere coat.

Chloe.

"Evelyn, Chloe’s been feeling really weak lately and can’t stand the AC in Manhattan hotels. She’ll be taking the master bedroom here for the next three weeks," Arthur ordered, helping her slip out of her coat.

Leaning into Arthur’s chest, Chloe flashed a timid, sickly-sweet smile. "Evelyn, I feel awful crashing here. But Arthur said you get scared living in such a huge place all by yourself, so he wanted me to keep you company. You... don't mind, do you?"

Holding my black coffee, I leaned against the marble counter of the open kitchen, quietly watching their little performance.

"Arthur, didn't you explain who I am to her?" I took a sip of the bitter coffee, my voice deadpan.

Arthur froze for a second, then cleared his throat and spoke softly to Chloe. "Honey, I mentioned this to you. Evelyn is my distant cousin. She's job hunting in New York right now and is just crashing here for a bit."

Cousin. I raised an eyebrow, not bothering to correct this new title.

"Oh, just a cousin." The caution in Chloe’s eyes vanished instantly. She looked me up and down in my simple silk slip, then glanced around the luxurious apartment. "Well, since we're basically family, I'll need you to take care of my daily needs for a bit. My doctor says my diet has to be strictly managed."

"Walk out the door, take a right, and three blocks down is a three-Michelin-star private chef delivery service. If you don't even have the strength to order takeout, I suggest you call 911." I set my mug down, not sparing her a second glance, and turned toward the guest room to get back to my research.

"Evelyn! What kind of attitude is that?!" Arthur snapped. He closed the distance and grabbed my wrist. "Chloe is sick. Can you drop the bitchy act for one minute? Hasn't the drug kicked in yet? Why are you still acting like this?"

I glanced down at his hand gripping my wrist and frowned slightly. "Let go. You're wrinkling my shirt."

My gaze was so icy that Arthur instinctively let go. He stared at me in disbelief, as if trying to figure out if I was just playing hard to get.

"Oh, right, Arthur," Chloe interjected, walking over to cling affectionately onto his arm. But her eyes were locked onto my right ring finger. "You promised me the perfect wedding, but I've looked through all of Tiffany and Harry Winston and just can't find a ring I love. I remember you mentioning once that your grandmother left behind an antique Cartier diamond ring from the last century..."

That very ring was currently sitting on my finger. It was the same one Arthur had slipped onto my hand five years ago when he got down on one knee on a Long Island beach. He had sworn it was an heirloom passed down to the ladies of his family, a symbol of his absolute devotion.

Arthur’s face shifted slightly. He looked at the ring on my hand, then at the eager anticipation in Chloe’s eyes. Finally, he gritted his teeth and turned back to me. "Evelyn, take the ring off and give it to Chloe. It belongs to my family anyway. Just let her borrow it for a few days, and I’ll give it back to you after the wedding."

He was dead certain I would refuse. He was absolutely sure I would guard that ring with my life, and he was already bracing himself for a screaming match. His muscles were tense, his eyes carrying that specific, condescending superiority of someone handing out charity.

I looked at him and let out a soft sigh.

Then, without a second of hesitation, I slid the antique Cartier diamond ring off my finger. I had worn it for so long that the band left a faint indentation on my skin.

"Take it." I casually tossed the ring onto the counter, the metal clinking sharply against the marble. "Just a heads-up, the band runs small. If she forces it on and cuts off her circulation until her finger goes necrotic, I won't be providing first aid."

Arthur stared at the ring lying solitary on the counter, freezing in his tracks. His much-prided sense of control seemed to crack in real time. He stared dead into my eyes, desperately searching for even a sliver of anger, heartbreak, or fake bravery.

Too bad for him, there was nothing. In my eyes, there was only the cold detachment and slight annoyance you’d give a total stranger.

"You..." Arthur opened his mouth, but found he had absolutely nothing to say.

"Are we done here? If so, excuse me. You're blocking my way back to my room." I stepped around them, walked straight to the guest room, and locked the door behind me. Outside, Arthur's breathing grew heavy and ragged, but I was already slipping on my noise-canceling headphones and flipping open the latest issue of the Journal of Neuroscience.