Nova’s fingers twist together. “I work as a personal assistant,” she says, like she’s offering a safe fact. “In a marketing office.”
She looks down at the table, then back up, and I can see the moment she decides whether to lie.
She doesn’t.
“I was… engaged,” she says, quiet.
My body goes still.
Engaged.
Her voice gets tighter. “We took a loan together.”
My jaw clenches.
“In my name,” she adds, like it tastes bad.
I feel heat rise up my spine, slow and violent.
She swallows. “He convinced me it was for a house. For us. We put it into a shared account.”
My hands curl around my fork.
“And then,” she continues, eyes shiny but not crying, “I heard him on the phone. Talking about using it to cover his gambling debt.”
My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
“He said…” Her voice wobbles once, then steadies. “He said I wouldn’t do anything. That I never push back.”
My teeth grind.
“And he…” She hesitates, shame flickering over her face. “He said something about my body. Like I should be grateful he proposed.”
My vision narrows.
The room feels smaller.
Nova looks down like she expects me to agree with him.
Like she expects disgust.
Something in me snaps hot and sharp.
“No,” I say.
Her eyes lift.
“That,” I repeat, voice rougher now, “was not about you. That was about him.”
Nova’s throat works. “I took the money.”
My gaze locks on her.
“From the account,” she says quickly. “Before he could. I withdrew it. All of it.”
Good, I think. Good.
She flinches like she can hear the thought anyway.
