I stare at Alistair across the yacht's deck, his threat hanging between us like a loaded weapon. The wind picks up, sending spray from the Hudson River across the pristine surface of this billion-dollar vessel.
"Take her from me?" I repeat slowly.
"It's not personal, Noah. It's just economics."
His casual tone makes my blood boil. Like Scarlett is a stock option he's discussing. A commodity to be traded.
"Economics," I echo.
"Simple supply and demand. I supply what she needs. You demand what you can't afford."
The yacht rocks gently beneath our feet. Manhattan's skyline glitters in the distance, each light representing someone's dreams, someone's struggles, someone's desperate attempts to matter in a world that values only wealth.
"You really believe that?" I ask. "That every relationship comes down to money?"
"Every successful relationship does."
"What about love?"
Alistair laughs, sharp and bitter. "Love is the consolation prize for people who can't afford better."
