Chapter 4

Philip looked at the open album.

The color left his face.

What Winona had mistaken for photographs were old railway logos printed above rows of dates and destinations. There were no pictures of another man.

Only train tickets.

Dozens of them, carefully flattened beneath protective sleeves.

I watched recognition settle over him.

We'd met at the national collegiate computing championships. I was competing. Philip was on his university's volunteer logistics team, handing out badges and directing people toward the lecture halls.

He found me outside the final presentation room and asked me to dinner before he'd even introduced himself.

Later, he told me he'd watched my demonstration without understanding a word of it.

He'd only known he wanted to see me again.

By then, recruiters were already approaching me. My professors called me the most promising software engineer they'd taught in years.

Philip was charming, popular, and failing most of his classes. He could talk his way into a private club, but he couldn't pass an introductory programming exam.

He also carried the Delgado name.

On campus, people lowered their voices when they mentioned his family. I wanted a life built on work I could be proud of, far from men whose influence depended on fear.

I turned him down.

He came back the following weekend.

Then the weekend after that.

His family controlled his allowance, and he was too proud to ask them to finance his pursuit of a woman who kept refusing him. He bought the cheapest tickets he could find, traveling for hours, sometimes standing in crowded carriages because he had no reserved seat.

He'd arrive with aching legs and terrible coffee, smiling as though the trip had been nothing.

Eventually, I started meeting him at the station.

On our wedding day, he gave me the album.

His hands shook when he placed it in mine. Every ticket was there, arranged by date, the earliest ones so faded I could barely read them.

He pulled me against him and cried into my hair.

“Ten thousand miles to convince you to take a chance on me,” he'd whispered. “You think I'd ever stop being grateful?”

I'd kept it in my office because, on the worst days, it reminded me why I'd come.

Now Winona held it up while his employees laughed.

Philip said nothing.

My silence encouraged them.

“Look at her. She can't even deny it.”

A phone appeared inches from my face.

Then another.

Someone started a livestream.

“You need to see this,” a woman announced to her screen. “She harasses the boss, bullies his girlfriend, and now we've caught her chasing another man.”

I turned away from the camera. Its owner followed.

“No, don't hide now. You were happy throwing your weight around five minutes ago.”

Behind Philip, one of the security men shifted uneasily. Filming inside the Delgado offices normally required permission.

Philip didn't tell them to stop.

That was permission enough.

On the nearest screen, I saw my own face beneath the office lights. My cheek was swollen. Dried blood marked the cut beside my mouth.

Above it, the employee had typed:

TOO OLD TO PLAY INNOCENT. STILL TRYING TO STEAL SOMEONE'S MAN.

Comments began appearing beneath the video.

She looks desperate.

Guess getting a real job was too much work.

These women always think they're special.

The employee read the worst ones aloud.

Then a different comment appeared.

Wait. Is that Cora Maxwell? The engineer?

Another followed.

She's won major awards. Why are we assuming any of this is true?

For a moment, nobody read those out.

I looked at Philip.

He stood close enough to stop this with a word. Every person filming me would lower their phone if he asked.

I caught the front of his jacket.

“Tell them.”

His eyes met mine.

“You know who I am. You know whose tickets those are.”

My voice shook despite my effort to steady it.

“Tell them whether I'm someone's mistress.”

His gaze dropped to the album.

Something moved across his face. Shame, perhaps. Or the realization that there were witnesses now, people beyond this building whom he couldn't simply order to forget.

“Cora,” he began.

My phone chimed.

I was still holding it beside his shoulder. The screen lit up with a message preview.

Winona saw it before I could lower my hand.

She snatched it away.

“Well, this should be interesting.”

“Give it back.”

She stepped out of reach and turned the screen toward the cameras.

Craig's message filled the notification.

I'll pick you up at your place tomorrow morning. I'll bring breakfast.

He'd contacted me through a secondary account, separate from the number his staff handled. There was no surname, no company logo, nothing the people around me recognized.

Just a man offering to collect me in the morning.

Winona's smile widened.

“Breakfast?”

She looked at Philip with an expression of carefully arranged sympathy.

“I suppose that explains why she was so eager to leave.”

The woman filming leaned closer.

“Get that on camera.”

Someone laughed.

“Already has tomorrow morning planned.”

“Probably thought she could keep using Mr. Delgado until the next one came along.”

The comments moved faster.

The people who'd recognized my name were drowned out. One who'd defended me posted again.

Never mind. Apparently talent doesn't buy self-respect.

I reached for my phone.

“It's a business meeting.”

Philip caught my wrist.

He was no longer looking at the album.

“Who is he?”

“Let go.”

“Who is he, Cora?”

I stared at him.

He had stood beside another woman while she called herself his girlfriend. He'd let his employees humiliate me for wanting flowers.

Now he looked at a breakfast invitation as though I'd committed an unforgivable betrayal.

“You don't get to do this,” I said.

His hand struck my face.

I stumbled into the edge of a desk and fell. Pain spread through my jaw. For several seconds, all I could hear was a dull ringing.

Philip stood over me.

“I was about to defend you.”

His voice shook.

“After everything you've done today, I was still going to give you a chance.”

I pressed a hand to the floor.

“And all this time, you've had someone waiting?”

He glanced at the phone in Winona's hand.

“That's why you want out. Not the flowers. Not the job. Him.”

“No.”

The word came out thick and unsteady.

He didn't listen.

“You couldn't wait to get into another man's bed.”

Someone behind him murmured in agreement.

“We don't need someone like you here,” he said.

The employees moved closer.

One blocked the aisle between the desks. Another stood in front of my box.

“You're not leaving without apologizing.”

“To Winona and everyone else.”

“You've humiliated this company in front of thousands of people.”

They were the ones holding the cameras.

I tried to stand.

A foot struck the back of my knee, and I went down again. Before I could raise my hands, someone grabbed my hair.

“Kneel properly.”

My head was forced toward the tile.

There was a burst of pain. Then warmth slid down my forehead.

For a moment, the floor wouldn't stay still beneath me.

I heard voices, but couldn't separate them.

Winona crouched in front of me.

She took my chin between her fingers and tilted my face up, inspecting what they'd done.

Then she leaned close enough that only I could hear.

“You really thought you could take him from me?”

Her perfume turned my stomach.

“Look at yourself. Learn when to give up.”

I searched past her for Philip.

He was watching the blood reach my eyebrow.

His expression changed.

“Enough.”

The word cut through the noise.

Hands withdrew from me at once.

He pushed past Winona, caught my arm, and pulled me upright. My knees nearly gave way. He tightened his grip and marched me toward the private elevator.

Nobody blocked him.

One of his men pressed the call button.

I looked back once.

My things were still on the floor. The album lay open beside my broken mug, its tickets exposed beneath the shoes of people who had never known the man who bought them.

The elevator arrived.

Philip shoved me inside.

I struck the back wall and caught the rail.

“Go home.”

He stood across the threshold, shielding me from the cameras at last.

“Wait there.”

I looked at him through the blood blurring one eye.

He leaned closer.

“And don't ever put divorce papers in my hands again. You know what happens when someone tries to walk away from this family.”

The warning was quiet enough for no one else to hear.

Then he stepped back and pressed the lobby button.

As the doors began to close, Winona slipped her hand around his arm.

“Philip,” she said softly. “You promised tonight was mine.”

Her voice was playful again.

“You're not going to leave me waiting, are you?”

The doors closed before he answered.