Chapter 20: The Watcher

Alexander's POV

I sit in my darkened office at two AM, the city lights below blurring into streaks because I've had too much scotch.

My phone sits on the desk mocking me with its silence.

Seventeen calls to Elena tonight, seventeen times sent straight to voicemail or just ringing endlessly.

 I've texted her six times and every message shows as read but no response comes, just this deafening silence that makes me want to throw the phone through the window.

I pulled up the security app on my laptop, the one I had installed on Elena's phone when we first moved to Connecticut, told her it was for safety purposes, for tracking in case of emergency.

She never questioned it, never thought to turn it off.

The location history shows she left the Plaza at four PM, drove north into Connecticut but not to our estate, somewhere else.

I zoom in on the map and my jaw clenches, she was at an address I don't recognize for over four hours.

I run the address through the company database, my fingers typing too fast, making mistakes, having to backspace and try again, the results load and something cold and sharp twists in my chest.

Marcus Rivera's private residence.

She took my son to another man's house, spent four hours there doing what?... having dinner, playing happy family, letting Marcus act like Julian's father.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, pouring another scotch even though I know I shouldn't.

My hand shakes slightly as I lift the glass.

The office door opens without a knock.

 Daniel walks in and stops when he sees me, takes in the empty bottles, the laptop screen, the mess I've become.

"How long have you been sitting here obsessing?" he asks, not even bothering to hide his judgment.

"She took my son to his house," my voice comes out rougher than I intend…"four hours, Daniel, what the hell were they doing for four hours?"

"Maybe having dinner," Daniel says, settling into the chair across from my desk.

Like normal people do when they're friends.

"She's my wife," I snap, slamming the glass down harder than necessary.

She doesn't get to play house with Marcus Rivera, doesn't get to take Julian to another man's home.

Daniel sighs, that disappointed sound he makes when he thinks I'm being unreasonable.

 You kicked her out, Alex, what did you expect her to do, sit alone in a hotel room forever waiting for you to forgive her?

"I expected her to respect our marriage," I say, but even as the words leave my mouth they sound hollow.

"Respect goes both ways," Daniel leans forward, his voice getting that edge it gets when he's about to say something I don't want to hear.

 You've ignored her calls for weeks, sent her away, had your lawyer communicate like she's some business associate, and now you're surprised she found someone who actually treats her well?

"I was teaching her boundaries," I defend, knowing it sounds weak.

"You were punishing her for having lunch with a friend," Daniel says flatly, "and now she's moved on to dinner, and you're sitting here drunk and alone watching her location on a tracker like some obsessed stalker."

"Watch it," I warn, but there's no real heat behind it because he's right and we both know it.

Daniel stands up, walks to the window.

 "You know what your problem is? 

You think marriage is about control, about winning, about keeping someone in line, but that's not what Elena signed up for."

"She signed a contract," I say, pulling up the document on my laptop, the marriage agreement with all its clauses and conditions.

"A contract isn't a marriage," Daniel turns back to face me.

 "It's just paper, Alex, what Elena wanted was a partner, someone who saw her, who valued her, and you gave her nothing but cold shoulders and empty rooms."

I want to argue but the words stick in my throat.

I pull up the location tracker again, watch the dot that represents Elena, she's back at the Plaza now, has been for an hour, probably putting Julian to bed, probably thinking about Marcus.

"What was she doing there for four hours?" I ask again, quieter this time.

"Does it matter?" Daniel asks.

Would knowing make you feel better or worse?"

I don't answer because I don't know, I just know this feeling in my chest is unfamiliar and uncomfortable, like something's slipping through my fingers that I didn't know I was holding.

Daniel leaves after another ten minutes of lectures I don't want to hear, tells me to go home, to sleep it off, to stop torturing myself.

I ignore him and open my photo files instead.

Wedding photos I haven't looked at in years…

Elena in her white dress looking up at me like I hung the moon, like I was everything she'd ever wanted, her smile so genuine it hurts to look at now.

Photos from our honeymoon in Greece.

Elena laughing on a beach.

Elena holding my hand as we walked through ancient ruins.

 Elena looking at me with so much hope in her eyes.

When did that stop, when did she stop looking at me like that, when did I stop noticing she'd stopped.

I scroll through more photos, Julian's birth, Elena exhausted but glowing holding our son, family photos from holidays where Elena's smile gets progressively more forced, more fake, more like a mask she wears.

The last real smile I can find is from three years ago, at a charity gala…

 Elena laughing at something, but she's not looking at me in the photo, she's looking away, and I realize I can't remember what made her laugh.

My phone buzzes and for a pathetic moment I think it's Elena responding finally, but it's just a notification that my text was read.

She saw my demand to meet tomorrow, saw my words about ending this, but no response came.

Just silence.

I type out another message… you didn't reply to my text are you ignoring me ? 

I hit send and watch it deliver, watch it change to read within seconds.

The three dots appear showing she's typing, my heart does this stupid jump of anticipation, but then the dots disappear…

No message comes, she's chosen silence over fighting, and somehow that feels worse than anything else.

I close the laptop, drain the last of my scotch, think about Marcus's hands on my wife, about Julian calling another man's name, about how I'm losing control of everything and I don't know how to stop it.

The tracker shows Elena's dot still at the Plaza, stationary, probably asleep by now, probably dreaming about Marcus and his warm house and his homemade pasta, probably not thinking about me at all.

That thought sits heavy in my chest as I pour one more drink.  I don't need, wondering when exactly I lost my wife and why it's only now starting to matter.