Chapter 3
In the sixth month, I realized something.
I was pregnant.
Not because of a test—Finn would never allow me to go out and buy one.
I knew it from my body.
Every morning, I woke up nauseous.
The moment I smelled coffee, I wanted to throw up.
Back when I worked at the café, I could drink eight espressos a day.
Marco.
I hadn’t contacted him for a month.
The old phone was hidden in the compartment of my nightstand. I didn’t dare turn it on.
Finn’s people searched my room.
Every few days.
They called it “cleaning.”
It was really a search.
That night, Finn was on a private island, celebrating Isabella’s birthday.
It was being broadcast live.
Drones formed a massive glowing heart in the sky, lighting up the entire night.
The reporters said the island was a gift from Finn—worth forty million dollars.
I sat on the couch, watching the screen, my hand resting on my lower abdomen.
“Your father,” I whispered,
“is spending money on someone else.”
On TV, Finn had his arm around Isabella’s waist.
She smiled in his arms as the sea breeze lifted her hair.
She stood on her toes and kissed the corner of his lips.
The reporters went wild.
The comments exploded:
“A perfect couple!”
I turned off the TV.
Picked up the phone.
Dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time.
“I want a divorce,” I said.
Silence.
Two seconds.
Then his voice came through—
“Fine. Pay back the five million. With interest.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
I hadn’t touched a single dollar of that money.
But Lucia had frozen my accounts.
Technically, it was “family assets.”
She had every right to do it.
“I didn’t spend it.”
“Didn’t spend it?” he laughed.
“Then why did you take it?”
“Your mother—”
“My mother says you’re a liar. You say you’re not. Who do you think I should believe?”
I opened my mouth.
But I already knew—
He didn’t want the truth.
He wanted a confession.
He wanted me to say:
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run from our wedding for the money.
But that wasn’t true.
I had never done it.
“If you can’t pay it back,” he said slowly,
“you’re never getting that divorce.”
The call ended.
I sat in the dark.
Outside the window, Long Island’s night stretched endlessly—no stars.
Finn once told me Manhattan’s lights were too bright to see the galaxy from here.
I remembered a trip to New Zealand.
He had pointed at the sky, full of stars.
“Stella,” he said, “see how big the world is? One day, you can go anywhere you want. I’ll make sure you’re the freest woman alive.”
How long ago was that?
Two years?
Three?
I couldn’t remember.
I only remembered his eyes back then.
There had been love in them.
Now—there was nothing.
The next morning, Finn came back.
Alone.
Isabella wasn’t with him.
I stood at the top of the stairs, watching him pour coffee in the kitchen.
His shirt was wrinkled.
Collar open.
A lipstick stain on his collarbone.
He saw me. Said nothing.
“Finn,” I said, walking down.
“I’ll pay back the five million.”
He lifted his eyes, coffee cup in hand.
“How?”
“Back to the café?” he scoffed.
“Two dollars a cup? How long will that take? Until you’re dead?”
“I can work,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Work?” He laughed.
“You think any company in New York would dare hire you?”
“You’re my wife. Finn Vitale’s wife.”
“I decide whether you live.”
“And if I decide you die—”
He didn’t finish.
But we both understood.
“What do you want?” I asked.
He set the cup down and walked toward me.
Too close.
Close enough that I could smell her perfume on him.
Isabella’s.
“I’ll give you three hours a day,” he said.
“You can go out. Find a job. Let me see how you plan to pay it back.”
“I’ll have people watching you.”
“Don’t even think about running.”
“Three hours?”
“Too little?” he said lightly.
“Then forget it.”
“No,” I said quickly.
“It’s enough.”
I couldn’t lose this chance.
After he left, I stood in the kitchen for a long time.
Then I went upstairs.
Opened the hidden compartment.
Took out the old phone.
Marco’s last message was still there.
From a month ago:
“I’m here. Tell me where you are.”
I typed a new message:
“I’m going back to the café. Tomorrow.”
