Chapter 1

It was past midnight outside the bar when I got the Uber request from my ex-wife.

When she climbed into the front seat and saw my face, her jaw dropped.

"Ethan." Her voice cracked. "Ethan Cole — you're out. Why didn't you come find me?"

But Vivian had barely finished speaking before the drunk man beside her hauled her into his arms and pressed his mouth against hers.

She fumbled to steady him, and that was when I recognized him.

Derek Walsh. My best friend. The man who had accused me of sexual assault and put me behind bars.

I tugged my cap lower and opened the rear door on autopilot.

"Sir, let's get you in. Please leave a five-star review when we're done."

Vivian's control shattered. She slapped the keys out of my hand, tears already streaming, and grabbed my shoulder with both hands.

"Ethan, come home with me right now. Do you have any idea how much Mom, Dad, and I have missed you all these years?"

I quietly pulled her hand off me and turned to pick up the keys from the ground. My prosthetic knocked against the bumper.

Vivian stared at my leg. The tears came harder.

I couldn't understand what she was crying about.

After all, she was the one who had believed I assaulted her best friend — and as a lawyer, she had personally handed me over to the police.

———

"Ethan, what happened to your leg?"

Vivian's question broke through Derek's drunken haze.

He squinted at me, a sneer curling his lips.

"Well, well. If it isn't brother Ethan."

"When did you get out? You should've told me, I would've come to pick you up."

Derek leaned against Vivian's shoulder, eyes bleary with liquor.

Vivian wiped her face and shot him a reproachful look.

"Derek, you're drunk. Stop talking nonsense."

Derek just shrugged, then hooked his arm around Vivian's waist and pulled her against him.

"What nonsense? Ethan did wrong, went in, and I was praying every single day he'd turn himself around."

He swung a kick at my fold-up walking cane.

Vivian gasped and reflexively steadied Derek before he could topple over.

"Derek, you're drunk — stop moving around."

The tenderness in her voice was identical to how she used to speak to me.

Once Derek was settled, she looked back at my prosthetic.

"Your leg... Ethan, what did you go through in there?"

Her eyes were red-rimmed. I ignored her and bent to pick up the cane from the ground.

"Excuse me. Could you move?"

The movement was clumsy, and a gust of wind lifted my trouser leg, exposing the cheap metal brace.

Vivian pressed a hand over her mouth, tears falling freely.

"Ethan, please. Come back with me. We need to talk — we need to clear everything up..."

She reached for me.

I stepped aside.

"Ms. Grant, are we still doing this ride? If not, I'll cancel it."

I held up my phone, businesslike, and looked at her.

Derek let out a short, contemptuous laugh and yanked Vivian into his chest.

"Vivian, why are you wasting your breath on this rapist?"

"He couldn't even keep his hands off your best friend Sophie. He got what he deserved."

"If you ask me, losing a leg is getting off easy."

Derek spat the words reeking of alcohol, every one of them driving straight into my chest.

Five years ago, this man — my closest friend — had gotten me blackout drunk and left me in a hotel room.

By the time I woke up, Sophie had run out in tears, her clothes in disarray.

And Vivian had walked in with the police right behind her.

She hadn't let me say a single word. She slapped me right there in the doorway.

What made it truly absurd was that she — the sharpest attorney in the city — had personally served as Sophie's legal representative and put me away.

I pulled myself back to the present and looked at Vivian.

She was still pressed against Derek's side. She frowned, but she didn't push him away.

"Derek, enough."

A soft reprimand. Then she turned to me.

"Ethan. Let's just do the ride."

"You need the money."

I didn't say anything. She wasn't wrong — I was broke.

I adjusted the seat out of habit. By the time I finished, Vivian had already helped Derek into the back.

The car was silent the entire way.

Only Derek mumbled now and then.

"Vivian... my head hurts... can you rub it..."

Vivian murmured back to him, coaxing and gentle.

I stared at the road ahead, expression blank, keeping the accelerator perfectly steady.

Half an hour later, I pulled up in front of a gated luxury villa community.

It used to be Vivian's and my home.

"Here we are. One hundred and eighty dollars."

I held out the receipt toward the back seat.

Vivian handed me two hundred. "The twenty's a tip."

I took it without a word.

Derek pulled out a wad of hundred-dollar bills and flung them at my face.

"Thank your lucky stars. Someone like you still getting paid — consider this charity. Buy yourself a decent prosthetic."

"Stop dragging that leg around in public like you're begging for sympathy."

He smirked, then steered Vivian out of the car.

Vivian stood there staring at the money scattered across the ground, her brow creased.

"Ethan, don't take it personally. Derek's just like that when he's had too much."

"Take the money. Tomorrow, come by the firm. I'll find you something proper to do."

I stepped out and collected only my $180.

"I'm not worth much, Ms. Grant. But I'm not worth Derek Walsh's dirty money either."

"Don't forget to leave that five-star review."

Derek lunged forward to swing at me, but Vivian caught his arm.

And I started the engine, drove the car back to the rental company before dawn, and let the dark swallow me whole.