Chapter 2

Olivia didn't come home that night. Not until the early hours of the morning.

I lay in bed, feigning sleep, my mind racing. The image of her with Liam, laughing, was burned into my vision.

When she finally slipped into bed, she smelled of that new perfume and wine.

"Sorry, Ethan," she whispered, thinking I was asleep. "Client dinner went super late. So much pressure."

Lies. So many lies, so early on.

The next day, I needed to know more. I called her office around lunchtime, using a blocked number. Her assistant answered.

"Olivia Hayes's office."

"Is Olivia available?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Hayes is out for a long lunch today. She mentioned a very important meeting."

Another lie. I hung up.

I drove towards her firm. A few blocks away, there was a small park, often used by office workers for a quick break. I parked, my eyes scanning the area.

And there she was. Sitting on a bench, not with a client, but with Liam.

He was leaning in close, his hand on her arm, talking animatedly. Olivia was gazing at him, her expression soft, captivated. An expression I hadn't seen directed at me in a long time, not even in the "good" days before my nightmare.

Then, I saw it. A public display, a power play.

Olivia leaned forward and kissed Liam. Not a peck on the cheek. A real kiss, lingering, passionate. Right there, in the middle of the day, in a public park.

Liam looked around, a smug grin on his face. His eyes met mine for a split second. He didn't know who I was, just some random guy in a car. But he held Olivia tighter, a possessive gesture.

Olivia, blinded by whatever infatuation this was, seemed oblivious to anything but him.

My stomach churned. Disgust, cold and bitter, rose in my throat.

She came home that evening, humming, a little too brightly. "Productive day," she announced, dropping her briefcase.

I didn't say anything. I just looked at her. The memory of that kiss, the casual cruelty of it, was fresh.

This wasn't just a nightmare future anymore. This was happening. Now.

The increasing distance, the late nights – it wasn't just ambition. It was him. Liam.

I remembered the words from the Alaskan lodge, her dying whisper: "I regret Liam... not him." But here, now, she was actively choosing Liam, actively betraying me.

The pain was a familiar echo, a wound torn open anew.

I picked up my phone, pretending to check messages. My hand was shaking.

Later that week, I couldn't sleep. Olivia was out again. "Networking event," she'd said.

I wandered through the house, a ghost in my own life. I found myself outside her home office. The door was slightly ajar. I heard voices. Olivia's voice, and Chloe's, her best friend. They were on a video call.

"He's just so... exciting, Chloe," Olivia was saying, her voice dreamy. "Ethan is sweet, stable, but Liam... Liam makes me feel alive."

"But Ethan loves you, Liv," Chloe said, a note of caution in her voice.

"I know, I know," Olivia sighed. "But sometimes... sometimes I wish things were simpler. If Ethan were just... not in the picture. Life would be so much easier."

Then, a chilling laugh from Olivia. "And hey, there's always that life insurance policy, right? Kidding! Mostly."

Chloe laughed uneasily. "Liv, don't even joke about that."

My blood ran cold. Life insurance. The casual cruelty, the dismissal of my feelings, now this.

It wasn't just an affair. It was a fundamental disregard for me, for our life together.

I stumbled back to our bedroom, my mind reeling.

I thought back to our wedding day. The vows we made. "In sickness and in health, till death do us part." She had looked at me with such love, such sincerity. Or so I had believed.

Now, those memories felt tainted, like props in a play where I was the only one who didn't know the script.

The trust, the loyalty, it was all a sham. The Olivia I loved, or thought I loved, was a figment of my imagination. The real Olivia was the one on that call, idly discussing my absence as a convenience.

A cold resolve settled in my heart. The devastation was immense, but beneath it, something else stirred. A desire not just to escape, but to make her understand. To make her feel even a fraction of the pain she was so carelessly inflicting.

Armed with future knowledge, and now this present, undeniable betrayal, I knew what I had to do. I wouldn't be the passive victim anymore.

I picked up my phone. My fingers trembled as I scrolled through my contacts. Aunt Carol. Estranged, yes, but wealthy, shrewd, and living in London. She was my only hope.

I pressed call. It was time to start planning my own disappearance.