He Gave Me Fake Bags and a Fake Future Chapter 03
My legs had gone numb. I had to brace myself against the wall just to stand.
“Adrian.” I called his name.
He shifted on the couch, frowning in annoyance.
“…What now?”
“You gave Sloane my mother’s scarf?”
He paused, propped himself halfway up, and gave a dismissive scoff.
“That old scarf? If she tossed it, she tossed it. It wasn’t even worth fifty bucks.”
He yanked a wad of cash from his wallet and threw it at me.
The bills hit me in the face and scattered at my feet.
“Go buy another one. Stop bothering me.”
“Not enough? I’ve got more.”
Sloane hid a laugh behind her hand and bent to steady him by the arm.
“Come on, Adrian. I’ll help you to bed.”
He gave a vague grunt and let his full weight sag against her.
I thought of my mother’s final days, when he’d held my hand and promised her, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Bennett. I’ll take care of Clary for the rest of my life.”
So that promise had been a lie too.
“Adrian.”
I spoke to his back.
“If anyone’s leaving, it’s the two of you. This is my home.”
Adrian turned, his gaze blurred by alcohol.
“Yours?”
“Claire, you sure about that?”
I opened my mouth, but the words caught in my throat.
Three years earlier, a patient’s relative had attacked me at the hospital. The nerves in my right wrist were badly damaged, leaving me unable to hold a scalpel steady.
It was the darkest time of my life.
Adrian had shown up when I was at my lowest and put down the money for this condo.
He’d wrapped me in his arms and said softly, “Clary, don’t be scared. I’ll take care of you.”
“From now on, just cook for me. That’s all I want. Make me something every day, okay?”
For three years, I’d gotten up at six every morning, studied recipes, worked until my left hand was callused, and found new things to cook for him day after day.
I cut every expense I could and saved every dollar I earned, determined to repay what he’d done for me.
I’d thought that debt was long since paid.
“What, you forgot?”
Adrian stepped closer and looked down at me.
“Without me, you’d still be a useless surgeon who couldn’t even hold a scalpel.”
“Without me putting money down on this place, you’d still be scraping by in some tiny rental.”
“I’ve paid for your food, your home, your whole life for years. Call yourself my girlfriend if it makes you feel better. Mistress would be more honest.”
Sloane covered her mouth as she laughed.
“Claire, you really had no idea? Adrian already signed the condo over to me.”
My head snapped up.
“The last time Adrian lost one of our games, I got to pick my prize. I picked this place.”
Adrian added calmly, “Sloane wanted it, so I gave it to her.”
“Oh, and one more thing.”
As Sloane helped him toward the bedroom, she tossed one last remark over her shoulder.
“All those meals you made? Adrian never touched them. He sent every one to my place.”
“Throwing them out would’ve been such a waste. Good thing my dog loved them.”
I stood frozen as cold seeped through my arms and legs.
All those meals I’d thought he’d eaten. Every flavor I’d adjusted so carefully. Every detail I’d memorized, from how much he hated cilantro to how he wouldn’t touch carrots. Every pot of soup I’d watched over for hours…
All of it had been thrown away.
I turned and pulled open the drawer.
I pulled out the deed and turned to the ownership line.
SLOANE PARKER.
Two words. Plain as day.
I stared at the name for a long time, my fingers beginning to tremble.
Next to the deed was a thick photo album.
It held every photo Adrian and I had taken together over eight years.
