Daphne sat in the back of the SUV. The leather was soft, the air conditioning was cool, and the windows were tinted dark enough to block out the world.
She was safe. But she was shaking.
She pulled out her phone and dialed the one person she knew would answer.
Dr. Fiona Fu. Her best friend. Her psychiatrist.
Fiona picked up on the first ring.
"Where are you?" Fiona's voice was sharp. "I'm coming with a bat. I don't care who I have to hit."
Daphne let out a laugh. It was a choked, wet sound.
"I'm safe, Fi. I'm... with Charlton."
Silence on the line. Heavy, pregnant silence.
"The Charlton Bernard?" Fiona asked slowly.
"I slept with him, Fi," Daphne blurted out. "And he proposed."
Fiona screamed. It was so loud Daphne had to pull the phone away from her ear.
"Proposed marriage? Or proposed a round two?"
"Marriage. A contract. To save my reputation."
Daphne quickly explained the deal. The trust fund. The one year. The reality show.
Fiona hummed. The sound of her switching into doctor mode.
"Let's diagnose Campbell first," Fiona said clinically.
"Campbell is a classic Narcissist. Textbook. He discarded you because you ran out of 'supply'. You were too stable, too boring for his ego."
"He expects you to crawl back," Fiona continued. "He expects you to be destroyed. Marrying Charlton? That destroys his narrative. It destroys his ego."
"So you think I should do it?" Daphne asked. "Is it crazy?"
"Charlton has been orbiting you for years, Daph," Fiona said, her voice softer now. "He's a playboy, yes. He sleeps around. But has he ever hurt you?"
"No," Daphne whispered. "Never."
"Campbell hurt you deliberately. He planned it. Charlton is offering a nuclear weapon."
Fiona paused.
"Use the weapon, Daphne."
"But is it fair to Charlton?" Daphne asked, looking at the partition between her and the driver. "I don't love him. Not like that."
"He's a big boy with a two billion dollar trust fund. He'll survive," Fiona deadpanned.
Daphne felt a weight lift off her chest. The sadness that had been drowning her began to recede, replaced by a cold, hard anger.
The car slowed down. They pulled up to a nondescript building in SoHo.
"Where are you?" Fiona asked.
"A boutique. Charlton sent me."
"Go get your armor, honey," Fiona said. "And delete Campbell's number."
Daphne hung up. She felt validated.
She looked at the boutique. There was no sign. The windows were frosted. It was closed to the public.
The door opened. A woman in all black stepped out.
"Ms. Flynn? Mr. Bernard called ahead."
Daphne stepped out of the car. The decision was forming in her gut, solidifying like concrete.
She checked her phone one last time.
A text from Campbell.
Stop making a fool of yourself. Come to the apartment. We can talk.
The audacity. He thought he could snap his fingers and she would come running. He thought he still owned her.
Daphne stared at the name on the screen.
She swiped left.
Delete Conversation.
She walked into the boutique, her chin held high.
