CHAPTER ONE: Happy Anniversary

VALERIE

All my life I had been good at making myself small enough to fit into other people’s lives.

I learned it early. After my father died. After my mother stopped being able to get out of bed most days. I learned how to take up less space, ask for less, expect less. It became the only way I knew how to survive. So when Roman Ashford looked at me in college like I was worth something, I held on to that feeling with both hands and never asked for more than he was willing to give.

Three years of marriage later, I was still doing the same thing.

I stood in front of the mirror in our bedroom, robe tied loosely around my waist, when he came up behind me. His reflection appeared over my shoulder before I felt his hands. He didn’t say anything at first. Just reached around and settled the necklace against my collarbone. The chain was cool and light. His fingers brushed the back of my neck as he fastened the clasp, careful and precise, the way he handled everything that belonged to him.

“Happy anniversary,” he said.

His voice was even…almost gentle. The kind of voice that used to make something flutter low in my stomach. Now it just settled somewhere in my chest and stayed there, heavy.

I watched him in the glass. Dark hair still damp from the shower, blue eyes already distant, the faint shadow of stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave completely. He looked perfect. He always did.

The heir to Ashford Industries, the man who never arrived anywhere looking anything less than controlled.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of my head. “I’ll be home by 7pm. For the anniversary.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

That was all I said.

He didn’t wait for more.

He checked his watch, adjusted the cuff of his shirt, and walked out.

The door closed with a soft click. His footsteps faded down the hallway, then the front door opened and shut. The apartment went quiet again.

I stayed in front of the mirror, staring at the necklace.

It was beautiful and delicate.

The kind of piece that cost more than most people made in a month. Roman had always been good at choosing things like that.

Jewelry.

Apartments.

Cars.

Lives.

He knew exactly what looked right. What the world expected. What would make someone feel taken care of on paper.

But standing there with the new weight against my skin, I felt nothing.

There was a time when a gift from him would have undone me. Back when we were still in college and he used to look at me like I was the only person who existed. Like the rest of the room, the rest of the city, the rest of his family’s expectations could wait.

That look had disappeared so slowly I almost didn’t notice it leaving.

One missed dinner turned into three. One late night at the office turned into weeks.

The way his eyes used to soften when they found mine became something polite.

Something distracted. Something that already had somewhere more important to be.

Work had swallowed him whole.

Ashford Industries was never just a company to him. It was the thing he was born for. The thing his father had spent a lifetime shaping him to take. Meetings, acquisitions, late-night calls from Tokyo or London.

I used to wait up for him. I used to leave the light on in the living room and pretend I wasn’t counting the hours. Eventually I stopped. The silence in this place was too loud when you kept expecting someone who never came.

And then there was the miscarriage.

I had thought a baby might finally bring us back to each other. That it would force him to slow down, to look at me the way he used to. For a few weeks I let myself believe it.

I imagined the three of us in this apartment, Roman coming home earlier, the distance between us shrinking because something smaller and more fragile needed us both. Instead, after we lost it, he disappeared even further.

Longer hours.

More closed doors.

More nights where I woke up alone and stared at the empty side of the bed until the sky started to lighten.

I needed him.

He needed control.

We never sat down and talked about what it did to us. We just kept moving forward like the crack that opened that day wasn’t still widening under our feet.

While I waited for Roman, I did the only thing I knew how to do when the quiet got too loud. I picked up a book.

Time slipped past me in pages. When I finally looked up, the clock on the nightstand read 8:02.

He had promised seven.

I sat on the edge of the bed in the deep green dress he had bought me for tonight, the necklace still cold against my skin, and stared at the numbers until they blurred.

Something inside me finally snapped.

I stood up, grabbed my bag, and left.

If he wouldn’t come home for our anniversary, then I would bring the anniversary to him. And maybe, while I was there, we could finally talk about the fact that I no longer recognized the man I was married to.

Ashford Industries was still brightly lit when I arrived. The lobby felt colder than usual. A receptionist I didn’t recognize sat behind the desk… new, or just new to me. The last time I’d been here, a month ago, someone else had been sitting in that chair.

She looked up with a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m here to see Roman Ashford,” I said.

She blinked. “Do you have an appointment?”

I let out a slow breath, realizing she had no idea who I was. “I’m his wife. I never need an appointment.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh… I’m so sorry, ma’am.” She checked something on her screen, then pointed toward the elevators. “He’s in the east conference room, thirty-second floor. Go on up.”

The hallway on the thirty-second floor stretched long and silent, carpet swallowing my footsteps.

That conference room was rarely used, which made me wonder, just for a second, why he’d be in it now.

I stopped in front of the door and drew a deep breath. I hadn’t confronted Roman in a long time.

The last time ended with his clipped I’m sorry, I’ll be better. His “better” had only ever meant more distance.

Tonight I was done accepting it.

My hand was already on the handle when I heard it…

A low, broken moan.

A woman’s voice, soft and breathless.

My fingers froze and for a second, the entire world went completely still.

The sounds grew clearer…heavy breathing, the quiet drag of fabric, another soft cry that made my ears ring.

No. No, no, no.

Roman might be distant.

He might choose work over me every single day.

But he was no cheat. He couldn’t be.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t open the door. I just stood there, rooted to the carpet, until the sounds finally stopped.

I was turning to leave when the door flew open on its own.

I wasn’t ready for what the universe had planned for me tonight.

First: my husband was cheating on me.

Second… who he was with dried the air right out of my lungs.

Zoey stood in the doorway.

My best friend since high school.

Her green eyes went wide with shock, then panic. Her dark hair was messy, lipstick smudged across her mouth, the top buttons of her blouse undone.

Everything inside me went quiet.

Roman.

Zoey.

I didn’t hear a single word she said. Something about wait and I can explain. The words bounced off me like they belonged to another life. My legs moved on their own. I turned and walked…then ran—back toward the elevators, the anniversary card still crushed in my fist.

Behind me Zoey’s voice rose, sharp with panic.

“Valerie, stop—!”

I didn’t stop.

I didn’t look back.

I just needed to reach the car before the floor under my feet disappeared completely.