Chapter 3

The days crawled by, each one a fresh layer of humiliation.

They took over the master suite completely. My clothes were unceremoniously dumped in boxes outside the guest room door.

"Sorry, Ethan," Sera said, not looking at me. "River needs more space for his... creative process."

Creative process. I' d seen his "process." It mostly involved preening in front of mirrors and strumming three chords badly.

I just nodded, dragging the boxes into my cramped new quarters.

The guest room felt like a prison cell. I could hear them through the thin walls.

Her laughter, his low murmurs. The creak of the bed.

Each sound was a deliberate twist of the knife.

After their trysts, Sera would sometimes appear at my door, wrapped in a silk robe that I' d bought her.

"Ethan?" she'd whisper, her voice husky. "Are you okay?"

As if my well-being was even a fleeting thought in her mind.

"I just... I feel bad. This must be weird for you."

Weird. That was one word for it.

She believed I was still under her spell, the loyal, understanding Ethan who would forgive anything.

Her attempts at "apology" were more insulting than the affair itself.

They fueled the cold fire in my gut.

"I'm fine, Sera," I'd say, my voice devoid of emotion. "Just tired."

She' d linger, expecting... what? Absolution? A fight?

I gave her nothing.

Her confusion was a small, bitter satisfaction.

The morning after one particularly loud night, I found them in the kitchen, looking smug.

Sera was glowing, that false radiance she projected. River had his arm around her, proprietary.

I placed a folder on the marble countertop.

"Divorce papers," I announced, my voice calm. "My lawyer drew them up. Generous terms for you, Sera."

She stared at the folder, then at me. Shock, then a flicker of something else – fear?

River stepped forward, his usual smirk in place.

"Well, well, look who finally grew a pair," he sneered.

He reached for the papers, but I was quicker. I picked them up.

"These are for Sera to review," I said.

River' s eyes narrowed. He deliberately bumped into me, hard.

"Watch it, Miller," he growled.

Then he stumbled back, clutching his arm. "Ow! My shoulder! He pushed me!"

A pathetic, obvious fake.

Sera gasped, rushing to his side. "River! Are you okay?"

She turned on me, her face contorted with fury. "Ethan! How could you?"

SLAP.

Her hand cracked across my face. The sting was sharp, surprising.

In my first life, I hadn' t seen this. I' d been too broken to provoke this kind of confrontation so early.

"Apologize to River, right now!" she shrieked, her eyes blazing. "Or I swear, Ethan, I will make this divorce as painful and public as possible! You' ll get nothing!"

Threats. Always threats.

I looked at her, truly looked at her, and saw nothing of the woman I' d married.

Just a monster of ambition and ego.

I picked up a pen from the counter.

Without a word, I signed the divorce papers. All copies.

Then I dropped the pen and walked out of the kitchen, out of the house, without looking back.

The sting on my cheek was already fading.

The coldness inside me was absolute.

My family was waiting at LAX, their faces etched with worry.

Chloe hugged me tight. "Are you sure about this, Ethan?"

"Never been more sure of anything in my life," I said, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a small measure of relief washed over me.

We boarded the flight to Amsterdam.

As the plane taxied down the runway, I pulled out my laptop.

The dossier.

Marriage certificate.

Recordings of Sera' s admissions, her manipulations.

The video from River. Clear, irrefutable.

Financial records. Songwriting credits. Publishing splits.

Evidence of my seven years of creative and financial investment in Seraphina Vance Inc.

I attached it all to a series of emails.

TMZ. Page Six. The biggest social media gossip accounts. The ones with millions of followers, the ones who lived for this kind of scandal.

The subject line: "The Truth About Seraphina Vance and River Stone."

I hit send.

Then, I took out my SIM card, snapped it in half, and dropped the pieces into my empty coffee cup.

I turned off my phone and leaned back in my seat.

The plane lifted off, soaring above the glittering, toxic sprawl of Los Angeles.

Below me, a firestorm was about to erupt.

I closed my eyes.