Chapter three

Evelyn’s POV

I kept my arm linked with Claire’s as we walked back into the warm glow of the country club, but something felt off. Her skin was too warm, her smile too tight. She smelled faintly of cologne—Marcus’s cologne. I pushed the thought away. Paranoia. That’s all it was.

      “You sure you’re okay?” I asked again, squeezing her arm. “You look flushed.”

Claire laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. 

     “Just the wine. You know me.”

I wanted to believe her. God, I did. Claire had always been the wild middle sister, the one who danced on edges I never dared touch. But she was still my sister. The one who showed up when my marriage felt coldest. 

Marcus appeared at the edge of the ballroom, looking every bit the devoted husband in his tailored suit. His eyes flicked to Claire for a fraction of a second—too quick for most people to notice. But I did. My stomach tightened.

     “Everything alright, ladies?” he asked, sliding an arm around my waist. His touch was light, practiced, comfortable, but never warm anymore. Not like it used to be.

     “Fine,” I said, leaning into him for the benefit of watching eyes. 

The perfect couple. Everyone envied us. The house, the vacations, the way he still opened doors for me in public. Behind closed doors, though? Conversations that lasted five minutes. Touches that felt obligatory. Sex that had become rare and mechanical. Claire excused herself quickly, muttering something about checking on Mom. As she walked away, I caught Marcus watching her again. Longer this time.

     “Marcus,” I said quietly, turning to face him. “Is something going on with Claire?”

He blinked, the picture of innocence. “What do you mean?”

     “She seems… distracted lately. And you two have been acting strange around each other.”

For a split second, something dark flashed in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by that charming smile he gave the world. 

     “You’re imagining things, Evelyn. Claire’s probably just stressed about work. You know how she gets.”

He kissed my forehead—the same way he had for years. It should have comforted me. Instead, it left me cold.

Later that night, after the party ended and we drove home in silence, I lay in our king-sized bed staring at the ceiling. Marcus was already asleep beside me, breathing steady. I slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My phone buzzed on the counter. A text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Ask your husband where he was twenty minutes before the party ended. Ask your sister why she smelled like him.

My hands started shaking. The message included a photo—grainy, but unmistakable. Two silhouettes in a dimly lit hallway. One was Marcus. The other… Claire? No. It couldn’t be. I deleted the message quickly, heart pounding. It had to be a cruel prank. Someone jealous of our life. But as I crawled back into bed, Marcus stirred and pulled me close in his sleep, murmuring something I couldn’t make out. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel safe in his arms. I closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. Somewhere in the city, secrets were unraveling. And I had the terrible feeling mine would be next.