Chapter 3The designated driver

A week before the gala, Liam suddenly became incredibly, suffocatingly attentive.

Before I even woke up in the morning, a hot matcha latte and fresh pastries from my favorite bakery were waiting on the nightstand.

When I got home from "driving," the apartment was spotless.

My clothes were neatly folded on the bed, and my house slippers were perfectly aligned, pointing toward the door.

At night, he would actively pull me against his shoulder while we watched TV, his fingers lightly tracing circles on my waist.

He would look down at me and smile randomly, looking exactly like the sweet, devoted guy I met three years ago.

I knew exactly what he was doing.

He needed to bring me to the corporate gala. He needed my cooperation.

He needed me to look stable, compliant, and supportive, so I wouldn't cause any drama.

He needed me to continue playing the role of the oblivious, devoted girlfriend, just like I had for the past three years.

I played along perfectly.

I smiled as I took the water he offered, asking him, "Why are you being so sweet lately?"

He wrapped his arms around my neck, pressed his cheek against mine, and whispered, "Because I love you, obviously."

The necklace hung from his neck, catching the light and sparkling brightly.

Over the weekend, he dragged me to a high-end mall.

In a designer boutique, he picked out a silk blouse for me. It cost over eight hundred dollars.

While paying at the register, he casually mentioned to the sales associate:

"She doesn't really care about fashion. If I don't force her, she'll just wear the same old faded t-shirts everywhere."

The sales associate offered a polite, professional smile but didn't respond. Her eyes flicked over my casual clothes for a split second.

I understood that look. It was the look of someone wondering why a guy like him was wasting his money on someone like me.

On the drive home, he kept his eyes on the road and delivered a steady stream of instructions:

"At the gala, just keep a low profile. Don't mention the Uber driving. If anyone asks, just say you're 'transitioning careers'."

"Don't try to make conversation with anyone at Sarah's table. They operate on a different level; you won't be able to keep up."

"Don't go around offering toasts, don't wander off. Just sit quietly and look nice."

He delivered these instructions with a casual, natural authority. It wasn't a discussion; it was a mandate.

Like he was instructing a slightly slow-witted child on how to behave in public so they wouldn't embarrass the family.

Patient, but overwhelmingly condescending.

I sat in the passenger seat and nodded. "Understood."

He patted my hand approvingly, a satisfied smile on his lips. Then, he looked down to reply to a text.

He tilted the screen slightly away from me so I couldn't see it.

But in the reflection of the passenger window, I caught a glimpse of the contact name.

Sarah, followed by a red heart emoji.

The night before the gala, he told me he had to go to the venue early to coordinate logistics.

I didn't follow him this time. I had enough evidence; I didn't need any more.

I called Chloe and told her to double-check the master file we had prepared:

The dashcam footage, the hour-long Audi video, the forensic accounting breakdowns, and the petty cash transfer agreement bearing Liam's signature.

I told her to compress it all into a single file and have the broadcasting equipment ready to go.

Chloe asked, "Boss, are you absolutely sure you want to drop this at the gala?"

I said, "I'm sure."

She was quiet for two seconds. "Alright. Consider it done."

Liam came home past midnight. As usual, he walked through the door complaining, "I'm exhausted."

He took a shower, slid into bed, and just before falling asleep, rolled over to look at me.

His tone was purely instructional: "Make sure you wear that blazer I bought you tomorrow. No sneakers. Stay close to me."

"I've already given Sarah a heads-up about you. Just don't say anything stupid."

I said, "Okay."

He turned off the lamp and lay back down. His breathing leveled out almost instantly.

The morning of the gala, he woke up early, styled his hair meticulously with pomade, and put on a brand-new, tailored casual suit. He stood by the door, waiting for me.

I walked over. He picked up a delicate brooch and pinned it carefully to the lapel of my blazer.

His fingers adjusted it a few times, pressing it flat. He looked at it, then adjusted it again.

"Perfect." He patted my chest lightly, smiling. "Don't embarrass me today, okay?"

I looked down at him.

I wanted to say, "I won't."

But instead, I just nodded.

Because today, I wasn't going to be the one getting embarrassed.

As we walked into the grand ballroom, Liam linked his arm through mine and walked quickly, almost as if he were afraid of being seen.

A female coworker walked toward us. Her gaze swept over me from head to toe.

She didn't bother lowering her voice as she said to Liam:

"Is this your girlfriend? The Uber driver?"

She wrinkled her nose, not even trying to hide her disdain. "She reeks of cheap gas station coffee."

Before Liam could respond, a guy next to her laughed and chimed in:

"Liam, seriously man, Sarah thinks so highly of you. Bringing an Uber driver to a corporate event? You're dragging your own brand through the mud. And here I thought you were a smart guy."

A few people standing nearby snickered quietly.

Liam kept pulling me forward. He didn't defend me. He didn't say a word. He just walked faster, his fingers digging painfully into my arm.

He wasn't holding me tight because he felt protective; he was holding me tight because he was terrified I was going to open my mouth and ruin his image.