Chapter 4

Ethan finally walked into their Zilker neighborhood condo a little over an hour later, looking mildly irritated.

"Okay, I'm here. What's so urgent?" he asked, loosening his tie.

He didn't even look at her properly, already heading towards the fridge.

He pulled out a sleek, black 4-pack of beer.

A niche, expensive, barrel-aged sour ale from a hyped new microbrewery she' d never heard of.

"Brought you something," he said, placing it on the granite countertop with a clink. "Heard this stuff is amazing."

Olivia stared at the beer.

She hated sours.

Intensely.

Always had.

She was an IPA and stout girl, loyal to the classic styles, especially the ones from her own brewery.

Ethan knew this.

Or, he used to know this.

This small, thoughtless gesture was almost more painful than a deliberate cruelty.

It showed how little space she occupied in his mind now.

She forced a weak smile. "Oh. Thanks."

Later that night, unable to sleep, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, she saw it.

Izzy' s public story.

A perfectly art-directed shot of that exact same sour ale, a single can, condensation glistening on its side.

The caption: "Best discovery! 😍 So complex and refreshing!"

Olivia' s blood ran cold.

He hadn' t bought it for her to try something new.

He' d bought it because Izzy liked it.

Maybe they' d even shared one at the office, or he' d picked it up on his way to meet Izzy, thinking of Izzy.

The casualness of his earlier comment, "Oh, right. Sorry, just thought you might want to try something new. My bad," when she' d mildly reminded him about her dislike for sours, now echoed with a chilling new meaning.

It wasn't a "my bad." It was a "you don't even register."

A sudden, violent clap of thunder rattled the windows.

Olivia jumped, her heart pounding.

A severe Texas thunderstorm was rolling in, the kind that spawned tornado warnings.

She' d always been terrified of violent storms, a deep-seated fear from a childhood incident where a tree had crashed through her bedroom window during a hurricane.

Ethan knew this.

In the past, during storms, he' d hold her.

He' d tell her stories, silly jokes, anything to distract her until it passed.

He' d be her anchor.

Tonight, as the wind howled and rain began to lash against the glass, he glanced at his phone.

"Damn," he muttered. "Urgent work crisis. I need to go into the office."

Olivia stared at him, disbelieving. "Now? In this weather? Can't it wait?"

The sky outside was an angry, churning black.

"Afraid not," he said, already grabbing his keys and briefcase. "Critical server issue. Could affect the Asian markets when they open."

He pecked her on the cheek, a fleeting, dismissive gesture. "Lock up, okay? I' ll text you."

And then he was gone.

Leaving her alone with the storm and her mounting terror.

The house felt suddenly vast and empty.

The thunder boomed again, closer this time.

Olivia curled up on the sofa, pulling a throw blanket around her, trembling.

She tried to tell herself he was telling the truth.

That it was a genuine work emergency.

But a sick feeling in her gut told her otherwise.

Later, much later, when the worst of the storm had passed but her fear still lingered, she saw Izzy' s Instagram story.

No faces.

Just a cozy shot of a candlelit room.

Rain streaking down a windowpane in the background.

The caption: "Safe and sound during the storm. ⛈️❤️"

The implication was a sledgehammer blow.

He hadn' t gone to the office.

He' d gone to Izzy.

He' d left her, terrified and alone in a storm, to be with his mistress.

The man who had once promised to always be there, to be her calm in any storm, had abandoned her for someone else.

The pain was a physical thing, a crushing weight on her chest.