Chapter 2My Metric Dropped He Dropped Dead

Footsteps thumped frantically against the bedroom floorboards.

"Nina! What's wrong? Nina!" Benson’s voice was tight with panic as he hammered his fists against the bathroom door.

Hearing the wood splinter, I reached up and unlocked it.

"I'm fine. I just dropped my phone," I said, my voice eerily flat.

Benson’s eyes were bloodshot. He grabbed my wrists, his gaze darting frantically over my body. "Are you hurt? Did the glass cut you?"

I slowly pulled my hands out of his grip. "No. It's late. Let's go back to sleep."

He bent down, carefully sweeping up the shattered remains of my phone, and popped the SIM card out, holding it between his fingers.

"It's fine. I’ll order you the newest model, it’ll be here by breakfast. We'll just throw this piece of junk away."

My eyes drifted to the stark white gauze wrapped around his hand. I forced the corners of my mouth to tilt upward.

"And what about people, Benson? When people are broken, should we just throw them away too?"

His breathing hitched. It was a microscopic pause, but I caught it.

Then, seamlessly, his expression melted back into his trademark, doting warmth. He pulled me into his chest, his chin resting on top of my head.

"What did the poor phone do to deserve this philosophical anger?" he chuckled softly. "Did you read some depressing article online again? You can't take it out on me, sweetheart. I'm innocent."

I didn't argue. I let him guide me back to bed. I laid perfectly still as he tucked the duvet around my shoulders, pressing a tender kiss to my temple.

I didn't close my eyes once. I watched the shadows stretch and fade until the sun broke over the horizon.

The next morning, we were sitting in the kitchen, nursing our coffee, when the doorbell chimed.

Benson stood up. "That should be the new phone. I'll grab it."

He opened the heavy oak door. From the kitchen island, I heard a bright, teasing female voice.

"Special delivery for Mr. Crawford! Sign here, please."

Benson froze.

A quiet hum of adrenaline settled in my veins. I pushed my stool back and walked purposefully down the hallway.

Just as I rounded the corner, Benson snatched a brown cardboard box from the girl and slammed the door shut in her face.

He moved fast, but not fast enough. I caught a glimpse of her face. It was the girl from the photos.

"Were you waiting long?" Benson asked, his voice a pitch higher than usual. He hastily ripped the cardboard packaging apart and kicked it under the console table. "The box is filthy. Go sit down, baby, I'll set it up for you."

He pulled a phone out of his pocket and snapped a fluffy, obnoxious pink case onto it, presenting it to me like a hard-won trophy.

"Look at this! I picked the case out myself." He pulled his own phone from his slacks. "It’s a matching set. Yours is pink, mine is—"

A barrage of notification pings erupted from his pocket, cutting him off.

He glanced at the screen, and a sudden, tense energy hijacked his posture.

"Nina, finish your breakfast. A fire just started at the firm, I have to go deal with it right now."

As he turned, I reached out and caught the fabric of his suit jacket.

"Benson. It's Saturday."

He blinked, a flicker of genuine panic crossing his eyes. "I know, I know. But it's the new tech merger. Something broke in the code, I need to be on-site."

His phone buzzed incessantly. He gently but firmly pried my fingers off his jacket.

"Look how panicked they are. I really have to go, Nina."

Before I could say another word, he was out the door. The latch clicked shut, echoing in the empty foyer.

A sharp, radiating pain spiked through my chest.

[Warning. Affection Metric has dropped to 70%.]