Chapter 1The designated driver

My boyfriend of three years, Liam, always looked down on my job as an Uber driver. He said it was a dead-end gig.

That night, he told me he was hanging out with some guys from work. He said they'd probably be out late and he’d just grab a Lyft home, telling me not to wait up or pick him up.

Around 10:30 PM, the app pinged with a new ride request. I accepted it out of habit, pulled up to the pickup spot, and waited in the driver’s seat.

In the rearview mirror, I saw a man and a woman get in. The guy was hammered, slumping heavily against the woman.

She had her head down, her hand casually slipping under the waistband of his pants.

He tilted his head back, seeking a kiss, a deep flush spreading across his cheeks.

He didn't recognize me.

As he moved, the necklace around his neck slipped sideways against his collarbone.

It was the necklace I had personally clasped around his neck for our three-year anniversary. He had told me it was the best gift he had ever received in his entire life.

* * *

I pulled out my phone and deliberately dialed his number.

A ringtone went off in the backseat. His body went rigid for a second. He turned his head slightly to squint at the glowing screen of his phone, then immediately flipped it face-down onto the leather seat.

He buried his face back into the woman’s chest, not even bothering to look up.

The phone rang six times before it went to voicemail.

I called again. It rang out again.

The third time, he reached down and hit "Decline" with swift, practiced efficiency, as if he were hanging up on a telemarketer.

I slid my phone back into my pocket. Both my hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.

The woman in the backseat looked up and barked at me:

"Hey, Uber! What the fuck are you staring at? Keep your eyes on the road!"

"Three miles took you twenty minutes. Are you intentionally taking the long way to milk the meter?"

I didn't say a word.

Liam chuckled softly, patting her chest playfully.

"Come on, Sarah. You know how these gig apps are. They just give rides to anyone. She drives like a fucking snail."

He paused, not lowering his voice a single decibel.

"And she keeps staring at my abs in the mirror. It's disgusting."

He said it with a smile. It was a tone I had heard for three years.

It was the exact same flippant, dismissive tone he used when complaining about delivery drivers or sneering at waiters. Like he was talking about a stray dog blocking his path.

Sarah, apparently a senior exec at his firm, snapped at me again: "The AC. Set it to 72. Do you not know how to work a dial? Your hands are shaking. Did you buy your license off the internet?"

I adjusted the temperature to 72 degrees. I didn't say a word.

"I asked you a question. Are you deaf? Where is your customer service?"

Liam chimed in from the backseat, his voice lazy and drawling:

"What kind of class do you expect from an Uber driver? Don't let her ruin your mood, Sarah."

"These bottom-feeders... they just don't know any better. Let her drive. Don't expect her to understand what decency is."

Bottom-feeders.

The word slipped out of his mouth so casually, as flatly as if he were commenting on the weather.

Sarah smiled, clearly satisfied. Her arm tightened around his waist, her thumb slowly tracing circles against the skin under his dress shirt.

He didn't pull away. He leaned deeper into her embrace.

I kept my eyes locked on the road ahead. Without uttering a single syllable, I pulled the car smoothly up to the entrance of their luxury hotel.

Sarah stepped out first. She reached into her designer bag, pulled out a few crumpled dollar bills and a handful of loose change, and tossed it casually through my open window, aiming right at my face.

The paper bills hit my forehead and fluttered down. The coins slammed against the dashboard, bouncing loudly.

One quarter rolled and wedged itself deep into the crevice of the passenger seat.

"Take that and buy yourself a coffee. Maybe it'll wake up those few brain cells you have left. Think about how pathetic you are."

She clapped her hands together, as if dusting off something filthy.

"With your driving skills, you're only fit to deliver DoorDash. Letting you drive actual people is an insult to the profession."

Liam slowly got out of the car. As he walked past my window, he stopped.

He looked down and spat on me.

The spit landed on the sleeve of my jacket, seeping into the fabric and leaving a dark, wet stain.

Then, he linked his arm through Sarah’s.

The two of them pushed through the heavy glass doors of the hotel and disappeared inside.

I sat in the driver's seat, completely motionless.

I slowly bent down, picking up the crumpled bills from the floor mat, one by one.

I dug my fingers into the seat crevice, prying out that single quarter, and clenched it tightly in my fist.

I opened the dashcam app on my center console and replayed the interior footage from the very beginning.

The video quality wasn't cinematic, but it was more than enough.

His face, her hands, that specific necklace catching the light—it was all crystal clear.

I saved the video file directly to my phone.

Then, I sent a text to my company's legal department:

[Run a full forensic audit on Sarah Jenkins's accounts for the past two years. I want every single detail.]

Three years. From the first time he told me my Uber job was a dead-end embarrassment, to tonight, calling me a "bottom-feeder" in my own rearview mirror.

I had spent all this time waiting for him to say something different. To be someone different.

I waited for nothing.

The legal team replied the next day. Their tone was highly cautious.

Sarah Jenkins had authorized a massive transfer of funds from the corporate petty cash and expense accounts.

It was a substantial sum, signed off and wired directly into a private, external checking account.

The name on the receiving account... I stared at the line of text three times to make sure I was reading it right.

Liam Sterling.