4. My husband's fiancee

Ella POV

At night, Marcus and I were in the living room watching TV. Sitting side by side on the couch, like a normal couple.

As if everything was fine. But of course, it wasn’t. Not even close. He slowly reached out, trying to sneak some of my popcorn without me noticing.

“Hey,” I murmured, pulling the bowl away. “Ask, at least.”

“Oh, but stealing’s more fun,” he said with that usual smile. A smile that, until a few days ago, could still make me laugh.

Not today. Today, his smile only carved a deep sadness into my heart. This man I loved so much, who had vowed his love to me, who I thought was my forever… today, he only brought pain and sorrow.

I stayed quiet. My eyes drifted back to the TV. The sound of the show filled the room, but I didn’t register a single word. My thoughts screamed over everything.

How do you do it? How do you look at me and pretend nothing’s happened? That nothing’s happening? Do you really think I don’t know?

“You’re acting a bit off,” he commented after a while. “Is it that issue at the hospital? Still all that stress?”

I almost spoke. Almost let it all spill out. Almost said, “My issue is your betrayal, you bastard. And you still ask?”

But the words died in my throat, as always.

“Yeah. Some patients… but it’s no big deal,” I replied, pretending to be tired. And I was tired, but inside.

He scooted closer and draped his arm over my shoulders. “No matter what, you know I’m here for you, right?” I lowered my head but didn’t answer, so he gently pulled me closer and kissed me.

His eyes closed. Mine? Open and cold.

That mouth… that same mouth. I saw it, I read it.

“I love the work you do with your tongue,” she wrote.

And you replied with a heart. I swallowed hard, my stomach churning, and for a second, I stopped breathing.

“I’m gonna pop more popcorn,” he said, smiling as if nothing had happened, as if we were a happy couple.

“Okay,” I murmured, forcing a smile. My cheeks ached from the effort, like wearing a mask that was too tight.

As soon as he left the room, I grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels: music, news, a rerun movie, nature. I paused on a documentary about animals—hyenas, curiously. I stared at it, my mind both empty and overflowing.

Betrayal, lies, pretense… how many people live with someone who destroys them from the inside and don’t even realize it? Or worse, they notice, feel every detail, but swallow the pain in silence and stay, maybe out of fear, maybe out of habit, maybe out of love… is that what I’m doing? Am I a coward, or am I just gathering strength to keep from collapsing completely?

“Back,” he said, walking into the room with a bowl of crackling popcorn. “Mhm,” I mumbled. He sat next to me, closer than before. “What’re you watching?”

“Dunno, just looking for something. The last channel was boring,” I replied without looking at him.

The remote was still in my hand. I’d landed on a fashion channel, something I usually didn’t care about, but for some reason, I stayed there—maybe out of inertia, maybe for the noise. A colorful, over-the-top jingle burst onto the screen, grabbing attention even though I pretended not to care.

“Gossip of the Week!” the TV announced, and Marcus chuckled softly beside me, as if he found it all amusing. “These shows are pure drama, huh? Just nonsense.”

Nonsense. The word rang bitter in my head, sharp, almost offensive. My spine chilled, as if someone had pressed ice between my vertebrae.

And then, there she was. Vanessa Monroe. She appeared on the screen with perfectly styled hair, her face made up with almost cruel precision, and that arrogant glint in her eyes.

She crossed her legs with studied elegance, as if she knew exactly where the camera was. Her dress was tight, expensive, provocative—the kind of outfit that doesn’t ask for attention, it demands it.

My heart tightened in my chest, but I kept my face impassive. I couldn’t let Mark notice anything. “Today, we’re chatting with influencer, model, and entrepreneur Vanessa Monroe,” the host announced with that usual fake enthusiasm. “She’s going through a special moment and is here to share some news with us.”

“Well…” she said, flashing her left hand with overly rehearsed nonchalance. A ring gleamed under the studio lights. “I’m engaged. He’s amazing, supports me in everything. We’re so happy.” My stomach lurched. And Mark’s face froze for a second. Almost imperceptible, but I saw it. I felt it. He stopped chewing and went rigid beside me.

And she went on, as if the whole world needed to hear. “He’s private, doesn’t like cameras. But he’s the sweetest, most protective, and intense man I’ve ever met.” I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from letting out a cynical laugh. I pretended to shift on the couch, but it was just to put some distance between us.

The close-up of the engagement ring made me clench my fists. It was expensive. Far from a fake band. “Look at that…” I commented, my voice light, as if distracted. “Lucky woman. She seems in love.”

“Yeah…” he replied, too quickly. “They say anything for attention. Might not even be true.”

“You think she made up the engagement too?”

“Dunno. These things are full of marketing. Could be a campaign for some brand.”

I nodded, glancing at his face from the side. “You got tense. My imagination?”

He shifted on the couch. “Nah, I’m good. Just… caught me off guard. Didn’t expect to see that.”

“Pretty curious.” I smiled. A colorless smile, the kind you practice in the mirror to look convincing. Inside, my mind was spinning. So, you proposed to your mistress… and I find out along with the rest of the country, on TV.

Mark cleared his throat. “Wanna change the channel?”

“Nah, it’s fun. I like keeping up with the… celebrity world.”

Vanessa winked at the camera and said, “We’ve got plans for the future. We get each other without needing to say much. When a man’s experienced, he knows exactly how to touch a woman…”

I forced a smile. “Sounds like she found quite a guy.”

Marcus huffed. “Alright, enough, yeah? This is trashy. Let’s watch something else.” He grabbed the remote and switched channels. A documentary about lions appeared.

“Lions,” he commented, trying to sound casual. “At least they’re true to their nature, right?”

“Some animals are,” I murmured. “Others… well, others bite the hand that feeds them.”

He glanced at me sideways. “What’s that mean?”

“You never heard of hyenas?” I replied, eyes fixed on the TV. “They live in packs, communicate constantly, but they don’t hesitate to betray a mate for food, power… or pleasure.”

He went quiet. “Interesting animals,” I continued. “Deceptive. Always laughing. Ever notice? They laugh while they attack.”

“You’re philosophical tonight,” he said, forcing a smile, trying to shift the mood.

“Just a stray thought.” I shrugged. “Sometimes I observe… and learn.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You got a shift at the clinic tomorrow?” Marcus asked, trying to sound casual as he settled on the couch with the popcorn bowl.

“Apparently not. Why?” I replied, eyes still on the TV, though my mind echoed with Vanessa’s voice announcing her engagement.

“‘Cause tomorrow’s that party and camping trip with our friends, remember? Everyone’s gonna be there.”

Oh, right. The party. I sighed. Maybe it’d be good… or maybe it’d be another stage.

“True.” I forced a small smile. “I’ve been missing them. And the kids too. Milla must be huge by now, huh?”

“She is! Theo sent a pic of her the other day—she’s reading on her own already! And Ben? Doesn’t stop for a second, little tornado.”

I let out a short, almost genuine laugh. “Then we’re going, yeah. It’ll be nice to see everyone.”

“It will.” He leaned over and touched my hand, as if that simple gesture could fix what was broken. “We need some chill time… together.”

I smiled. Or tried to. My gaze drifted from his, stuck on the image of the ring sparkling on his mistress’s hand. “Engagement,” she’d said. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

But it’s fine. I still knew how to play the part. And tomorrow, in front of all our friends, it might be the last time I’d see them before leaving without a trace.