Card’s acting weird.
Then: Did you freeze it?
Then: Nora, don’t embarrass me in front of people.
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because humiliation only bothered him when it touched his own skin.
The restaurant called next. Elise’s voice came through low and careful.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Ms. Bennett. The gentleman at your table says you authorized the charges.”
“No,” I said. “I authorized dinner for two. Nothing else.”
In the background, Damon’s voice rose.
“Give me the phone.”
There was a scuffle, then his breath came harshly over the line.
“Nora,” he snapped. “Approve the payment.”
Rain ran down my temple.
“No.”
“You’re really going to do this over a joke?”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
“You are too sensitive.”
“I was too useful.”
Silence.
Then his voice changed. It dropped into the tone he used when he thought charm could still be sharpened into control.
“Come back inside. We’ll talk.”
“We’re done talking.”
“Nora, if you make me look broke in there—”
“You did that yourself.”
I ended the call.
The next thing I did was call the leasing company.
Damon’s black SUV was in my name because, two years earlier, his credit had been “temporarily complicated.” He told everyone it was his. He posted photos leaning against it, captioning them with quotes about discipline and ambition.
The woman on the phone confirmed that I was the sole account holder.
“I need to revoke permission for a listed driver,” I said.
“Effective immediately?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Is the vehicle currently with him?”
“It is parked in the valet lot at The Blue Lantern.”
“We can arrange collection.”
“Please do.”
When I turned, Damon was standing across the street.
He had just burst out of the restaurant, his jacket dark with rain, his expression stripped of its stage smile. A taxi honked as he stepped off the curb without looking.
“Nora!”
He crossed toward me fast.
I slipped my phone into my purse and faced him.
“What did you do?” he demanded.
“I stopped paying.”
His eyes flicked over my face, searching for softness. I had given him so much softness over the years that he must have expected it to reappear if he pressed the right bruise.
“You don’t get to punish me because your feelings are hurt,” he said.
“No. But I get to protect my money, my credit, my apartment, and my name.”
He laughed, but it was thin. “Our apartment.”
“My lease.”
“Our studio.”
“My account.”
“My car,” he said.
“My signature,” I answered.
That one landed.
His jaw tightened. The rain flattened his hair to his forehead. Without the warm dining room behind him and laughing friends around him, Damon looked less like a star and more like a man who had built a stage out of someone else’s floorboards.
“You think you can just cut me off?”
“I already have.”
His hand lifted, not quite reaching for me, but close enough that my body remembered all the times he had grabbed my wrist in public and called it affection.
I stepped back.
He noticed.
Something dark moved behind his eyes.
“Fine,” he said. “Leave. But you are not getting the ring back.”
The words hit a place I had not armored.
My engagement ring was not expensive because of
