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I search her face. “What do you mean?”

“He’s just … he’s been acting strange. Phone calls in the night. Not sleeping. And I think he’s avoiding me, too. We’ve hardly seen each other.” Her lip trembles, and she chews it frantically. “I think he’s cheating.”

My chest almost caves in at the thought. “Mon, no. Grant adores you. It’s probably just work.”

“What tech guy needs to take calls at one in the morning?”

Shit. This is why I hate knowing what I do. Monica is my closest friend, and the last thing I want to do is lie to her, but I know the heartache that follows a truth like this one.

“I’ll keep an eye on him. But I’m telling you, he would rather die than hurt you.”

Monica nods, forcing a smile. “You’re right. I love you. Have a good birthday, okay?”

“I love you, too. Call me if you need me.”

Monica’s darkened demeanor is on my mind as I drive home, but I’m certain Grant isn’t cheating. Sometimes Z leaves in the night, and there are even times he’s gone for two or three days. It’s awful, and I hate it, but I never once doubt his fidelity, especially when I see the weight he carries when he comes back to me.

Zayden is on the phone when I get home, and I blow him a kiss before going upstairs and getting in the shower.

Once I’m showered and my hair is washed, I wrap myself in a towel and head to the walk-in. Zayden has hung up my black silk dress with the cowl neckline, strappy shoes to match. No underwear, which isn’t a surprise.

I’m applying makeup at the vanity by the time Zayden joins me. “How was work?”

“Same as always.” I drop my head back so he can kiss me. “How was your day?”

“Same as always.” Identical answers with very different meanings, but I try not to dwell on it.

I apply my mascara in slow, careful sweeps. Monica’s concern comes back to me. “Is Grant okay?”

“What do you mean?”

I sigh heavily. “Monica thinks he’s cheating. She said he’s acting strange, avoiding her⁠—”

“He’s proposing.”

My eyes lock on his in the mirror. “Really?”

“Yep. And he seems nervous, so that’s probably it. He also said he wants out.”

My intrigue piqued, I turn on my small velvet stool to face him. “Seriously? He’s quitting, just like that?”

Zayden nods, and I focus on my dress hanging on the walk-in door.

Grant will have thought long and hard about leaving this line of work, but to hear that he’s made that decision leaves something aching and hollow in my chest.

Monica’s worries over late-night disappearances and phone calls will vanish almost overnight.

Will I ever get that?

“You know it’s not that simple for me, right, Q?” Zayden says softly, and I look up at him. He touches my cheek, and his brows pull together. “I can’t just up and leave like he can.”

Why not?

Words I don’t bother saying, because I know the answer. We’ve had this conversation a dozen times—he isn’t an employee, he’s a part-owner, and his responsibilities can’t be easily replaced.

Still, I have to bury my frustration, because as childish as it sounds, the same three words reverberate in my head: it isn’t fair.

“Knock, knock.”