6. Stalker

Marissa POV

The house was too quiet now that Ethan’s presence had been scrubbed from the entryway, but the silence didn't last long. A few hours after the mysterious courier vanished, the front door swung open for the only person who could match my level of chaos.

Hailey burst in like a whirlwind, clutching a bottle of expensive red wine in one hand and her designer bag in the other. Her messy blonde hair was shoved into a hasty, top knot bun that looked like it was held together by sheer willpower and a single claw clip. Her piercing green eyes were lined with a thick, dramatic layer of mascara that made her look like she was ready for a gala or a street fight....possibly both.

"I came over as soon as I heard your call," she announced, kicking her heels off by the door and marching straight into the kitchen. "I have always known that there’s something off about those VVIP men. They think because they have a black card and a custom suit, they can treat the world like their personal playground."

She didn't even wait for me to find the corkscrew. She grabbed one from the drawer with practiced ease, popped the bottle, and poured me a generous glass before filling one for herself. She slid the glass across the marble island toward me. "Drink. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, and honestly, in this house, you probably have."

I took a long, cooling sip of the wine, feeling the burn settle my nerves just a fraction. "Thanks, Hails. I’m not seeing ghosts. I am seeing a future I didn't sign up for."

I leaned against the counter and nudged the matte black box toward her. "Look at this. This was delivered an hour ago."

Hailey pulled the lid back, her breath hitching as she saw the perfectly restored red gown and the heavy, silver velvet case. She picked up the matte black access card, turning it over to watch the gold chip catch the kitchen lights.

"Marissa, baby, it seems like you have got a serious stalker on your trail," she said, her expression shifting from curiosity to genuine alarm. "This isn't a 'thank you' note or some romantic gesture. This is a claim. Let’s report this to the cops. It’s better safe than sorry, and this guy clearly knows where you live. He knows your address, your name, and apparently, your dress size."

"No, Hailey, we can’t just do that, okay?" I snapped, the panic I'd been suppressing finally bubbling to the surface. I started pacing the length of the kitchen, my bare feet hitting the cold marble. "If the cops start circling the house, it will draw the attention of the public—including the paparazzi. Can you imagine the headlines? 'Multi-millonaire's Wife Targeted by Masked Lover.' What if they find out about the mess Ethan and I made of our lives? The open marriage, the debt, the fact that I spent the night in a stranger's bed just to feel something? I’d be ruined before the divorce papers are even filed. I want to leave Ethan with my dignity intact, not as a tabloid headline."

Hailey watched me for a moment, sipping her wine as she processed my breakdown. She dropped the black card back into the box with a sharp clack. She leaned back against the counter, her thick mascara making her gaze look even more intense.

"Okay, fine, girl. I hear you. No cops. We keep it ‘hush-hush’ for the sake of your reputation. Just ignore him then. Pretend the box doesn't exist. Shove it in the back of the pantry under the canned beans. Lock your doors, set the alarm, and if he tries to do anything funny... well, you can just blast his brains off in the name of self-defense. I will help you hide the body. I know a spot in Jersey."

I let out a shaky, genuine laugh, the first one I’d had in days. "Thanks, Hails. Your support is... violent, but deeply appreciated."

"I am serious!" she grinned, her green eyes sparkling. She reached over and grabbed my laptop from the breakfast nook, sliding it across the counter toward me. "But since we aren't calling the precinct, let's focus on your exit strategy. You need a life that doesn't involve Ethan’s bank account, his pathetic excuses, or mystery men with silver masks who send creepy-but-expensive gifts."

"You're right," I said, taking another deep breath and pulling the laptop closer. I felt a surge of adrenaline that had nothing to do with the wine. "Okay, cool... I need to start working on my CV, baby girl! I spent the last three years being a trophy wife, but I didn't let my brain rot. Here is my proposal for how I'm going to rebrand myself."

I began typing, the clicking of the keys filling the room. I laid out my academic achievements, my honors, and the complex skills I'd sharpened while managing the social and philanthropic side of Ethan’s empire. I wasn't just a hostess.... I was a strategist. I showed the screen to Hailey, my heart thumping against my ribs.

"Girl, this is actually cool!" Hailey squealed, leaning over my shoulder so close I could smell her perfume. She scrolled through the draft with an appreciative hum. "You've framed your 'housewife' years as 'Strategic Public Relations and High Value Asset Management.' That’s genius. You better start applying for jobs and start going for interviews tomorrow morning. Don't give yourself time to overthink it."

"I plan to start tomorrow, Hailey," I admitted, my shoulders slumping slightly as the reality of the job market hit me. "But I am quite worried. Because except for the internships I did during school, I don't have any actual, paid job experience on paper. I've been 'Mrs. Ethan' for so long that I've forgotten how to just be Marissa, the professional. Who is going to hire a woman who hasn't sat in an office since her graduation?"

Hailey slammed her wine glass down on the counter not enough to break it, but enough to make me jump. She grabbed my hands, her green eyes boring into mine with fierce, unyielding loyalty.

"Don't you dare worry about this, babe. Seriously. You literally have a great result—that GPA is high enough to make any recruiter feel inferior. You’re brilliant, you are articulate, and you have navigated rooms full of millionaire sharks and corporate vultures for three years without breaking a sweat. Any company in their right sentence would choose you, girllll. You aren't just an applicant, you are a catch. You are the secret weapon they didn't know they needed."

She poured us both another splash of wine, her messy bun swaying as she nodded emphatically. "You are going to walk into those offices and they’re going to realize they’ve been hiring mediocrity while you were sitting at home. Tomorrow, you start the takeover."

I looked at her, then back at the screen. For the first time since Nate...Ethan confessed his affair, the reflection in the laptop didn't look like a victim. The "Zaika" card was still in the box, and the divorce was still looming, but I felt a spark of the woman I used to be.

"You are right," I whispered, my finger hovering over the 'Save' button. "Let them see what I've got. Let them try to keep up."

"That's the spirit!" Hailey cheered, raising her glass. "To the new Marissa. May she be twice as successful and ten times as ruthless as the men who tried to hold her back."

I raised my glass against hers, the ring of the crystal sounding like a final bell for my old life. I was going to get a job. I was going to get a divorce. And I was going to forget all about the man in the silver mask.

I really believed it. I really thought I could just walk away.