002

The next morning, Ethan was gone before I woke up.

I knew because his side of the bed was cold.

Not warm-cold, like he’d just stepped out for coffee or a shower.

Completely cold.

Like he’d been gone for hours.

I lay there staring at the ceiling for a while before finally sitting up. The bedroom curtains were still half open from the night before, sunlight pouring across the sheets in long golden streaks.

The room was beautiful.

Everything in Ethan’s world was beautiful.

The penthouse, the furniture, the expensive silk sheets. And especially the view. 

Sometimes I thought Ethan built gorgeous things so people wouldn’t notice how empty they felt inside. 

Like how we looked like the perfect couple to the world but our marriage was rotting away on the inside. 

I pushed that thought away immediately.

That wasn’t fair. 

Or maybe it was.

I didn’t know anymore.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

For one embarrassing second, my heart jumped, but then I saw Mia, my best friend's name.

If you asked me, I couldn't explain why I still felt excited about Ethan's texts—which never came, anyway—but I did. 

Mia: Did he survive the anniversary dinner or should I wear black to the funeral?

Despite myself, I smiled a little.

Me: You should be asking if I survived. 

Mia: Ooh, did you guys finally have that make up sex?

I snorted. 

Me: He forgot, Mi. He forgot our fucking anniversary. 

As I typed the words, tears blurred my vision. 

The typing bubble appeared instantly.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

Finally:

Mia: Camille…

I tossed my phone back onto the bed before she could start pitying me again.

Because I couldn’t stand pity right now, I'd had enough of that this past year.

I dragged myself out of bed and headed downstairs, pulling Ethan’s old Harvard sweatshirt over my sleep shorts on the way.

The apartment was unusually quiet.

Mrs. Lewis must’ve already finished breakfast because the kitchen was spotless except for a covered plate sitting on the island.

A sticky note rested on top.

You didn’t eat dinner. At least eat this. — Mrs. Lewis.

My chest tightened a little.

I really needed everyone to stop treating me like I was fragile. Because my marriage was failing didn't mean I was suddenly going to suffer a break down. 

...I was, but they didn't need to make it more obvious than it was. 

I pulled the cover off the plate anyway.

French toast.

My favorite.

The simple gesture almost made me emotional, which honestly felt ridiculous.

I poured myself coffee before wandering toward the living room with my phone in hand.

And I soon realized that was my mistake, because the second I unlocked it, the headline appeared.

STONE GLOBAL CEO SPOTTED LEAVING PRIVATE DINNER WITH EXECUTIVE CONSULTANT

My stomach dropped immediately.

There was a picture beneath the article.

When I clicked on it, it was Ethan stepping out of some restaurant downtown with Vivian beside him. She was laughing, probably at something he’d said, and his hand rested against her back.

It wasn't technically an inappropriate picture, but it was intimate enough to make my chest ache.

I stared at the image for too long, analyzing every detail. His face was still as emotionless as it was around me, which was something I was thankful for, as pathetic as it sounded, but at the same time, his features looked relaxed. 

Was I the reason for his stress?

The next mistake I made was opening the comments.

“They look so good together.”

“Isn’t he married?”

“Not for long if he has eyes.”

“She’s way more his type.”

I locked my phone instantly, heat flooding my face.

God.

People were cruel.

I set my coffee down too hard on the table and stood abruptly, pacing toward the windows.

Maybe I was overreacting.

Maybe Ethan really was just working with Vivian.

But then why did it feel like she was everywhere lately?

Business dinners.

Late-night meetings.

Phone calls during weekends.

Her name constantly appearing in conversations.

Even the staff had started mentioning her casually.

And Ethan…

Ethan never explained anything anymore, and that was the part slowly killing me.

Not even the rumors themselves, but the silence.

The distance.

The feeling that I was standing outside my own marriage knocking politely while my husband pretended not to hear me.

The sound of footsteps behind me pulled me out of my thoughts.

I turned just as Ethan walked into the living room.

His eyes landed on me immediately. “You’re awake.”

Something about that irritated me instantly.

Like I was supposed to congratulate him for noticing my existence. 

What else was i supposed to be? Dead? 

Though I was pretty sure it'd have been a convenience to him if I'd died in my sleep. He could finally marry his job—or Vivian—without me in the way. 

“Clearly.”

Ethan loosened his cufflinks while walking toward the kitchen. “I had an early meeting.”

I folded my arms. “You could’ve let me know when you were leaving.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

A humorless laugh escaped me.

Because Ethan suddenly cared about disturbing me.

He opened the fridge and reached for water while I watched him carefully.

There was a time I could read him effortlessly, but now he felt impossible. Cold in ways he’d never been before. Not cruel exactly, just… unreachable. Like he’d slowly locked every door inside himself and forgotten to leave me a key.

“Did you see the article?” I asked finally.

His movements paused for barely a second. “What article?”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“Seriously?”

Ethan shut the fridge and looked at me properly then.

And annoyingly, my chest still tightened a little at the sight of him.

That was the problem with loving someone for years. Your heart didn’t just stop because things got hard. It kept choosing them anyway, even when it shouldn’t.

I held up my phone. “The one about you and Vivian.”

His expression flattened almost immediately, like he was annoyed. “It’s gossip.”

“You’re trending on T*****r.”

“I don’t care. And neither should you”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Ethan's brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I laughed softly, mostly because I was too frustrated not to.

“People aren’t tearing you apart online, Ethan.”

His jaw tightened. “I told you before, Camille. I’m not responding to tabloid nonsense.” “So you wouldn't even try to deny it? Not even for my sake?”

He pinched his eyebrows, exhaling heavily. “Don't do this right now, Camille. It's too early.”

I looked at him for a long moment, disbelief making way for that familiar pang of hurt.

“I’m your wife, Ethan,” I whispered. 

His eyes snapped to my face. “Do you think I’m cheating on you?”

I opened my mouth, but then closed it again without letting any words out.

If I was being truthful, I didn't even know anymore. 

He didn't necessarily give me reason to think he was cheating, but he didn't reassure me enough to believe he wasn't, either. 

Ethan studied me for a moment before sighing quietly.

Then, unexpectedly, he walked toward me, only stopping when he was directly in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne.

Warm cedarwood. 

I could smell it faintly on his sweatshirt I was wearing, but now that he was so close, it gave me a heady feeling. It made me want to hold him and beg him to never let me go. 

“You’re letting strangers get into your head,” he said more softly this time.

I looked up at him.

And suddenly my eyes burned.

“Then help me,” I replied lowly.

Something shifted in his expression for a second, giving me reason to think the words hit somewhere deeper than he expected.

But then his phone rang.

And the moment shattered instantly.

Ethan stepped back already reaching for it.

Work again. Always work.

A selfish part of me wished we could go back to wen we were just simple college students and we didn't have as much as we did now. Maybe I wouldn't have been replaced. 

I watched his face change while reading whatever message appeared on the screen.

Focus replacing emotion immediately. “I have to go.”

Of course you do, I almost said. Instead I asked quietly, “Is it Vivian?”

His eyes snapped back to mine.

It took a long pause before he replied, “It’s work.”

The fact that he avoided answering told me everything.

Or maybe nothing.

I honestly couldn’t tell anymore.

Ethan grabbed his jacket from the chair beside him. “Don’t read the comments anymore.”

Somehow, that still hurt worse than if he’d yelled at me. Because it sounded like he already knew exactly what people were saying. Like he knew I was hurting.

But he still wasn’t willing to fix it.

The front door shut behind him a few seconds later.

I stood there alone in the silence afterward, staring at the space where he’d been.

Then slowly, I looked back down at the article on my phone.

At Vivian smiling beside my husband.

And in the next minute, I deleted the article and pulled up the number I'd been postponing calling since I got it a year ago. 

A divorce attorney. 

She picked up on the second ring. 

"It's about time, Mrs. Bennett.”

I wished she could be more discreet about knowing why is called. 

“How long would the divorce take if I started the proceedings tomorrow?”