‘I’m sure she would believe me. Especially given that I have evidence.’ She showed him the pictures, flicking through a little slideshow on her phone. She paused, trying to read his expression. ‘And then there’s the text you sent me that night.’

Max raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t text you.’

She showed him the text. ‘You did. Or rather, I did, from your phone. While you were sleeping. But there’s really no way to prove that, is there?’

Chloe held up her phone, close enough to Max’s face that he could read what she had written. But still, he didn’t look scared. He met her stare with a cool, detached, almost amused expression. ‘Okay,’ he said.

Chloe waited for him to say more, but nothing came. ‘Okay?’

‘Tell her.’

She choked on her water. The indignity of it burned. ‘You don’t care if your fiancée leaves you?’

Another infuriating, gut-twisting smirk from Max. ‘She won’t leave. She’s French. She doesn’t care about little side flings. Besides, we’re not even married yet.’

Anger had made Chloe’s blood so thick she could feel it moving around her body. His smile, his face, his whole demeanour. All she wanted was to take the fork on the table and sink it straight into the back of the hand he was so casually resting there. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to panic. He was supposed to see his engagement breaking up, Verity leaving him and his life crashing down, and fall to pieces. But, of course, he wasn’t. How could she have been so stupid? That might be what a normal person would do, but Max wasn’t normal. Max never lost anything. Max always had exactly what he wanted, whenever he wanted it. He had an unshakeable sense that things would work out his way, because they always did. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to see him bleed.

‘Fine,’ she said, forcing her voice to sound calm. ‘You’re probably right.’

‘Does that mean that this ridiculous charade is over? Because I meant what I said earlier. I really do have a busy day.’

‘No,’ said Chloe, rearranging the cutlery on the table. She wasn’t sure who was speaking now. It didn’t feel like her. It felt like the kind of person who knew how to make a threat. Like the kind of person who knew how to scare someone so privileged, so perfect, they had never felt fear in their life before. ‘It means that I won’t tell Verity. I think, rather than doing that, I’ll tell the police.’

There it was. A sunrise of horror etched across his face.