I blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”

“The sports car,” he snapped. “Your parents gave it to us. That car belongs to me too.”

“It’s titled to me,” I said evenly. “And it’s not even at the house.”

His eyes narrowed. “So you’re hiding it.”

“I’m keeping it safe at the dealership.”

He scoffed loudly. “Do you have any idea how this makes me look? My coworkers are going to see you driving a supercar while I’m stuck in my Audi. People talk.”

“I’m not structuring my life around your coworkers,” I replied.

His face flushed red. He grabbed the anniversary box from my desk and shook it as if something else might fall out. When he realized the fob was the only thing inside, he leaned closer and hissed,

“You’ll regret embarrassing me.”

Then he turned and stormed out.

I forced myself to continue my meetings, but my stomach stayed twisted all afternoon.

A few hours later, my phone rang.

Derek.

I answered, expecting more yelling.

Instead, he laughed—loud, triumphant.

“I burned your dream sports car, Sam.”

My blood turned cold.

“What did you just say?”

“I’m at the house,” he continued, laughing again. “You wanted to keep it from me? Now nobody gets it.”

continue to the next page.”