Chapter 4

Sarah's hands trembled as she dialed Ethan's number. He answered on the third ring, his voice infuriatingly calm.

"What have you done?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Damage control, my dear," Ethan replied smoothly. "You embarrassed me. You embarrassed Tiffany. Consider this a lesson in... discretion."

"A lesson? By selling my private photos? Ethan, those were... for us."

"And now they're for a very select, very appreciative audience. Or, you could always buy them back yourself. I believe the auction starts in an hour. Be a shame if they fell into the wrong hands." He chuckled. "Or perhaps, the right ones, from my perspective."

In the background, she heard Tiffany's voice, syrupy sweet. "Ethan, baby, are you coming back to bed? I made us some special tea." Kissing sounds followed.

Ethan's voice became tender. "In a minute, sweet girl. Just dealing with a minor annoyance." He hung up.

Sarah felt sick. The auction house was a discreet, unmarked building in a high-end gallery district. Her lawyer, Eleanor, had arranged for a trusted, anonymous intermediary to bid on her behalf, funds wired from a secure account. But Sarah had to be there, to witness this ultimate violation.

The room was dimly lit, filled mostly with men, their faces shadowed, their eyes gleaming with a predatory interest as the first lot appeared on a large screen.

A photo of Sarah, laughing, in their bed, wearing one of Ethan's shirts and nothing else.

A wave of nausea hit her.

The bidding was swift, clinical. Voices murmured numbers.

Lot after lot. A video clip from their honeymoon, intimate, private. A series of photos taken in their bathroom, moments she'd thought were shared only with him.

Her intermediary, a stoic woman in a severe suit, clicked the bidding device methodically, her face impassive. With each click, a piece of Sarah's heart turned to stone. The humiliation was a physical weight, crushing her. The leering gazes, the snickering comments she overheard – it was unbearable.

She was buying back her soul, piece by painful piece.

When it was finally over, an eternity later, she felt hollowed out. The last vestiges of any affection she might have harbored for Ethan Hayes were gone, obliterated.

She confronted him later that day at the penthouse, her voice raw. "I want a divorce, Ethan."

He was lounging on the sofa, reading a financial report, looking utterly unconcerned. He didn't even look up. "No."

"You can't stop me."

He finally lowered the report, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, I think I can. You seem to have forgotten, Sarah, that our prenup, while generous, has certain clauses. Contested divorces can be... messy. And very, very long. I can keep you tied up in court for years. Is that what you want?"

Sarah stared at him, her mind racing. He was bluffing, or he genuinely didn't remember the specific infidelity clause that allowed for immediate dissolution. Her father had been so insistent on that part. Or perhaps Ethan thought she couldn't prove it to the prenup's exacting standards. But Tiffany was living, breathing proof. The photos, the public appearances, the necklace...

He was trying to control her, as always. But he didn't know about her ace in the hole – the new identities, the escape plan already in motion.

He stood up, stretched, and walked towards her. He put a hand on her cheek, his touch making her skin crawl. "Look, I know I've been... difficult. Let's put this unpleasantness behind us. I'll start coming home more. We can even throw you a birthday party next week. A proper one. Just us. How about that?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just turned and walked towards his study, dismissing her, the conversation over in his mind.

Sarah watched him go, a cold resolve solidifying within her. His birthday party. Fine. It would be her farewell party.

Later, scrolling numbly through social media – a habit she was trying to break – she saw Tiffany's latest post. A series of glossy photos: Tiffany and Ethan on a private jet, champagne flutes in hand; Tiffany showing off a new diamond bracelet, caption: "He knows how to spoil his girl ❤️"; Tiffany and Ethan, arm in arm, at some exclusive new restaurant. The date stamp was from the previous day, while Sarah had been enduring the auction.

Ethan remained distant, absorbed in his work and, presumably, Tiffany. He seemed oblivious to Sarah's quiet preparations, the discreet calls to movers to store a few sentimental items that wouldn't fit in her escape luggage, the final consultations with Eleanor.

He probably thought she'd just roll over, as usual.

He had no idea she was about to disappear from his life like a ghost.