Chapter 3

Harrison’s POV

I was on my third whiskey when I spotted him across the bar.

Michael.

Lyndsey had been talking for the past twenty minutes but I hadn’t heard a single word. I just kept seeing Estelle’s face when I’d knocked the cake out of her hands, the way she’d looked at me when I said I didn’t love her anymore.

“Harrison?” Lyndsey leaned forward. “Are you even listening to me?”

I didn’t respond, standing up so fast my chair scraped backwards. “That son of a bitch.”

Michael sat in a booth across the room with a whole group of people around him. They were laughing, raising their glasses, celebrating something. And pressed right up against his side was a woman with long dark hair and olive skin, her hand on his chest while she whispered something in his ear that made him grin.

I wanted to smash something. My jaw locked and I shoved my glass aside hard enough that whiskey sloshed over the rim.

“Harrison, what—” Lyndsey grabbed my arm but I shook her off.

I was already moving, pushing past people, my hands curling into fists at my sides. Michael was laughing at something the woman said, completely relaxed, his arm draped around her shoulders. He didn’t even notice me coming until I was right there at his table.

“You bastard,” I snarled.

Michael’s head snapped up and his eyes went wide. “Harrison? What the hell—”

“You and Estelle,” I said roughly. “How long? How long were you screwing my wife?”

The whole table went silent. Michael’s mouth dropped open and he stared at me like I’d grown a second head.

“What are you talking about?” he asked slowly.

“Don’t play stupid with me.” I stepped closer and someone’s hand grabbed my shoulder, trying to pull me back. I shoved them off. “I saw the photo. You and her at that café, holding hands, all cozy together.”

“Harrison, man, calm down—” That was James, one of our mutual friends, trying to get between us.

“I am calm!” I shouted, which was obviously a lie because my whole body was shaking.

Michael stood up carefully, his hands raised like he was approaching a wild animal. The woman beside him looked terrified and scooted further into the booth.

“Harrison, I don’t know what photo you’re talking about,” Michael said evenly, “but I just got back to the country yesterday. I’ve been working overseas for the past year.”

I blinked. “What?”

“A year,” he repeated, speaking slowly like I was stupid. “In Italy. I literally flew in yesterday morning.” He gestured to the woman in the booth. “This is Vanessa. My girlfriend. We met in Naples eight months ago and she came back here with me.”

The woman—Vanessa—gave me a small, nervous wave.

My brain felt sluggish, like I was trying to think through mud. “You’ve been overseas?”

“Yes,” Michael said firmly. “For a year. I haven’t even seen Estelle in over a year, Harrison. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about with some photo, but whatever you saw, it wasn’t real.”

The anger drained out of me all at once and I just felt cold instead. “That’s impossible. The photo was clear. It was you and her, I saw—”

“It wasn’t real,” Michael said again, louder this time. “I would never do that to you or Vanessa. Estelle would never do that to you. She’s a good woman, Harrison. She loves you.”

Loved. Past tense now. Because I’d just divorced her.

I took a step back and my legs felt unsteady underneath me. “But the photo…”

“Someone faked it,” James said from beside me, his hand still on my shoulder but gentler now. “Jesus, Harrison, there are apps for that kind of thing. Anyone could’ve made that photo.”

“But why would someone—” I stopped talking because my throat had closed up.

Why would someone fake a photo of Estelle cheating? Who would do that? Who would want to destroy my marriage?

“This is so wicked,” Lyndsey said from behind me, and I turned to see her there with her hand pressed to her chest, her eyes wide and shocked. “Who would do something that terrible? Making Harrison think his wife was unfaithful?”

Her face looked genuinely horrified and confused. She reached out and touched my arm sympathetically.

“I can’t believe someone would be so cruel,” she added softly.

I pulled away from her and James both, stumbling backwards. Michael was watching Lindsay now, his jaw tight, and I could see the anger in his eyes now that the shock had worn off.

“You left her, didn’t you?” he asked quietly. “Over a fake photo.”

I couldn’t answer. My mouth wouldn’t work. The bar was spinning around me and I couldn’t seem to get enough air into my lungs, each breath too shallow.

“I have to go,” I said hoarsely.

I turned and pushed my way back through the crowd, ignoring Lyndsey calling my name behind me. My hands were shaking when I got to my car and I had to try three times before I got the key in the ignition.

The whole drive home I kept seeing Estelle’s face. The way she’d cried when I accused her. The way she’d begged me to believe her, to give her time to figure out who took the photo.

That photo isn’t real, she’d said. Someone made this.

And I hadn’t even tried to believe her. I’d just assumed—what? That my wife of three years would throw everything away for Michael? That she’d cheat on me and then make a birthday cake and smile at me like nothing was wrong?

I pulled into the driveway too fast and the tires squealed. The house was dark when I got out of the car, all the lights off, and my stomach dropped when I saw that..

“Estelle?” I called out as I unlocked the front door.

No answer. The house was completely silent, not even the sound of the TV or water running or anything.

“Estelle?” I said again, louder this time, flipping on the lights as I walked inside.

The living room was empty. The kitchen was empty. I took the stairs two at a time up to our bedroom and pushed the door open.

The closet door was hanging open and I could see the empty hangers inside, all her clothes gone. I crossed the room in three strides and yanked open the drawers in her dresser—empty. Every single one.

The bathroom was the same. Her toothbrush was gone, her shampoo, all her makeup and skin care products, everything. The counter was completely bare except for the expensive face creams I’d bought her, the ones she’d never really liked but used anyway because I’d given them to her.

She’d left those behind.

I went back into the bedroom and stood there in the middle of it, my chest heaving. She was really gone. She’d packed up everything and left and I had no idea where she’d gone.

My phone was in my pocket. I pulled it out, my fingers fumbling with the screen, and scrolled through my contacts until I found Eric, my assistant.

He answered on the third ring, sounding groggy. “Mr. Harrison? It’s almost midnight, is everything—”

“Find her,” I said roughly, cutting him off. “Find Estelle. I don’t care what you have to do or who you have to call. Find my wife and do it now!”