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Chapter 4: The Peanut Butter Noodles

“Careful, Maya, don’t trip over your heels,” Nolan’s smooth voice echoed in the entryway.

“I know, Nolan, stop nagging!” Maya giggled brightly.

I took a sip of water and stepped out of the kitchen.

The recessed lighting illuminated me perfectly. When Nolan looked up from taking off his coat, the smile on his face instantly shattered. He was holding an expensive pastry box from a highly exclusive bakery downtown.

“Clara? Weren’t you upstate?” A sharp flash of genuine panic crossed his eyes, but he aggressively suppressed it behind a mask of calm.

Maya froze mid-step, her feet clad in the pink bunny slippers. “Clara! You’re back.”

“Yes,” I said smoothly, my eyes locking onto the pastry box in Nolan’s hand. “I finished my estate business early, so I changed my flight.”

I walked over and sat on the plush sofa, my posture relaxed.

Nolan placed the pastry box on the coffee table and hurried over to sit beside me. He reached out to wrap an arm around my shoulder, but I casually leaned forward to adjust my watch. His arm hovered awkwardly in the air before he pulled it back to his lap.

“You should have called,” Nolan said smoothly. “I would have sent a car to the airport.”

“A taxi was faster,” I replied. I nodded toward the box. “What’s that?”

“Oh, I passed by that bakery you love, so I grabbed a cake,” Nolan smiled, exuding practiced charm. “It’s Red Velvet with sea salt frosting. Your absolute favorite.”

I stared at him. I don’t like Red Velvet. I love Black Forest cake. The only person in our orbit who obsessed over Red Velvet with sea salt was Maya.

“Nolan, you’re mistaken,” Maya chimed in, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness and a subtle, venomous pride. “Clara likes Black Forest. I’m the one who loves Red Velvet.”

Nolan blinked, feigning a realization. He slapped his forehead. “Look at my memory! I’ve been so overwhelmed with finalizing the wedding vendors that my brain is fried.” He looked at me, his eyes swimming with manufactured apology. “I’m so sorry, Clara. I’ll get you the right one tomorrow.”

“It’s fine. I’m not hungry,” I said. I shifted my gaze toward the master bedroom. “Why has the apartment been rearranged?”

Nolan followed my gaze, clearing his throat. “Right. Well, Maya’s dorm lease ended, and she hasn’t found a safe apartment yet. I didn’t want her renting in a dangerous neighborhood, so I offered her the guest room for a few days.”

He leaned in, using his most persuasive, logical tone. “The master bedroom has better lighting for her to prep for job interviews. I figured since you were upstate anyway, I’d temporarily move your things to the guest room so she could study. You’re always so empathetic, Clara. I knew you’d understand.”

I knew you’d understand. It was his favorite psychological weapon. He would execute blatant disrespect, frame it as a noble sacrifice, and place me on a pedestal of “understanding.” If I got angry, I wasn’t just mad—I was being unreasonable, selfish, and difficult.

“I understand,” I said softly, standing up. “I’m exhausted from the flight. I’m going to bed.”

I walked into the guest room and quietly shut the door. No screaming. No accusations.

Through the drywall, I heard Nolan let out a massive sigh of relief.

“Nolan, is she mad at me?” Maya whispered loudly.

“No, she’s just tired. Clara is easygoing. She doesn’t care about stuff like this,” Nolan assured her. “Come here, eat your cake. I got your favorite.”

I sat on the edge of the stiff guest bed. The room was dark, save for the streetlights bleeding through the blinds. I opened the Notes app on my phone.

Cancel wedding planner. Check. Sell penthouse. Check. Book flight to Milan. Check.

The next morning, when I woke up, Nolan had already left for his corporate office. A brown paper takeout bag sat on the kitchen island, pinned with a sticky note.

“Clara, ordered you breakfast from that spot you love. Eat it while it’s hot. – Nolan.”

I opened the bag. The overwhelming scent of roasted peanuts hit my face. It was a container of spicy peanut noodles.

I am severely, deathly allergic to peanuts.

Nolan had known this since our second month of dating. Early in our relationship, he had taken me to a Thai restaurant, and cross-contamination had landed me in the ER. He had sat by my hospital bed for three days, weeping, vowing he would protect me from ever touching a peanut again.

I stared at the noodles. I picked up the wooden chopsticks, grabbed a small clump of noodles, and placed them in my mouth.

The rich, heavy taste of peanut butter coated my tongue.

I swallowed.

Then, I threw the entire container, bag and all, into the trash.

Ten minutes later, the hives started blooming across my neck. My throat began to tighten, my breathing growing shallow and ragged. I didn’t panic. I calmly walked to my purse, pulled out my prescription antihistamines, swallowed two dry, and drank a massive glass of water.

My phone buzzed. A text from Nolan.

“Did you eat the noodles? Maya said the line for that place is always crazy.”

I stared at the screen, my vision slightly blurred as the anaphylaxis fought the medication. I held down the audio record button. My voice was hoarse, thick, and genuinely struggling for air.

“I ate them. They were delicious.”

I hit send.

Nolan didn’t reply. He didn’t call to ask why I sounded like I was choking. He didn’t care.

I leaned back against the kitchen counter, closing my eyes, and waited for the swelling in my throat to subside.

Chapter 5: The Gift Agreement

That evening, Nolan returned from work exactly at 7:00 PM. Maya practically skipped to the door to take his coat.

“How was the job interview, Maya?” he asked warmly.

“Amazing! The HR director said I can start next week!” she beamed, hanging his coat in my closet.

Nolan walked into the living room, pulling a thick stack of legal documents from his leather briefcase. He set them on the coffee table and sat across from me.

“Clara, we need to discuss something important,” he said, shifting into his serious, business-negotiator posture. “Maya’s new boyfriend comes from a very wealthy family. They are incredibly traditional, and they look down on Maya because she doesn’t own property.”

He paused, monitoring my face. I gave him absolutely nothing.

“I was thinking,” Nolan continued smoothly, “that small, vacant apartment you own in Brooklyn… we should transfer the deed to Maya. As a dowry of sorts. She needs assets to secure this marriage.”

The small apartment in Brooklyn was the only thing my mother had left me before she died of cancer. Nolan knew that apartment was sacred to me.

“That apartment belonged to my mother,” I said, my voice dead flat.

“I know, Clara,” Nolan said, leaning forward, his voice dripping with condescending patience. “But it’s old and cramped. Maya desperately needs a deed to show her fiancé’s family. Once we are married, we combine our incomes, and we can buy a dozen better apartments. You’ve always been so rational about assets. It’s just an old building. Consider it our final charity to help Maya secure her future.”

He stared into my eyes, absolutely confident in his manipulation. He genuinely believed that if he framed it as a logical, noble sacrifice, I would cave.

Maya stood behind him, squeezing out crocodile tears. “Clara, I know it’s a huge favor. But I love him so much! If his family forces us to break up because I’m poor, I’ll die!” She buried her face in her hands, sobbing loudly.

Nolan shot her a look of profound pity, then turned back to me, waiting for my inevitable surrender.

I looked down at the table. It was a Property Gift Agreement. Maya’s legal name was already typed on the beneficiary line.

He wasn’t asking me. He was demanding I fund his mistress’s legitimacy.

I reached forward, picked up the expensive fountain pen resting on the contract, and pulled the cap off.

“Okay,” I said. One single word.

I flipped to the signature page and signed my name.

Nolan physically flinched. He was stunned. He had prepared a twenty-minute speech to guilt-trip me into submission, and the words died in his throat.

“Clara…” He stared at my signature, a flash of utter confusion crossing his face, followed quickly by a wave of relieved triumph.

He stood up, walked around the table, and affectionately patted my head like a golden retriever. “Good girl. I knew you were the most reasonable woman in the world.”

He smiled down at me. “Tomorrow, I am taking you back to the bridal boutique. We are going to pick out an even more expensive dress. Whatever you want.”

I didn’t push his hand away. I just looked at him. Resting on the pristine collar of his white dress shirt was a long, chestnut-brown hair. Maya’s hair color. And smudged faintly on his cuff was a streak of pink lip gloss.

I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

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