Oscar's question hangs in the night air like a death sentence waiting to be read. His hands shake violently as he clutches the check.
"What do you mean?" he repeats, his voice barely a whisper.
I study his face carefully. The desperation. The blind devotion. The willingness to destroy himself financially for a woman whose parents demand payment for her hand in marriage.
It's Chloe all over again. Different face, same poisonous heart.
"I mean exactly what I said." I keep my voice steady, controlled. "Have you considered that your fiancée might be using you?"
"That's ridiculous," Oscar protests, but his voice lacks conviction. "Amber loves me."
"Amber." I repeat the name slowly. Something tugs at my memory. "What's her full name?"
"Amber Ford. Why does that matter?"
The name hits me like a punch to the gut. Amber Ford. I know that name from somewhere, but I can't place it.
