Chapter 2

Ethan came home to our apartment a few days later.

He noticed I was quieter than usual. I didn't rush to greet him, didn't ask about his day with my usual eagerness.

I was packing a small box with old magazines and some knick-knacks I no longer wanted.

"Cleaning out?" he asked, his voice detached. He loosened his tie, already looking towards the liquor cabinet.

"Something like that," I said. My voice was even, hiding the sarcastic edge I felt. He wouldn't notice the change in me, not really.

"Big changes coming," I said softly, mostly to myself, as I taped the box shut.

Ethan poured himself a drink, his back to me. "Hmm? What's that? Did you change the brand of coffee again?"

He dismissed it, just like he dismissed most things I said if they weren't about him or his family.

I smiled faintly. Liberation. The word tasted good, even if it was just a private thought for now. My twelve-month countdown had begun.

I took down a framed photo of us from a rare happy day, a trip to Folly Beach before the secret marriage, before Cassie' s shadow grew so long.

I was going to put it in the box.

"What are you doing with that?" Ethan asked, finally turning around, his eyes narrowed.

"Just... tidying," I said.

A wave of foolish hope, the kind that kept me trapped, washed over me.

"Ethan," I began, "maybe we should think about... making things more official. Telling someone. Even just David." My brother.

He sighed, that familiar sound of him shutting down.

"Amelia, we've been over this. The timing isn't right. The family... you know."

Yes, I knew. The secret. Always the secret. My hope deflated, again.

He walked over, put his glass down. He touched my cheek, a rare, fleeting gesture.

"Don't worry so much," he said, his voice a little softer. "It'll all work out."

A tiny spark of hope ignited. Maybe he did care.

Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at it. Cassie.

His expression shifted. "I have to go. Cassie needs help with some estate matters."

He started for the door.

"I'll come with you," I said, a sudden boldness rising in me. If I was his wife, secret or not, I had a right. "It's about your father's estate, isn't it? I'm your wife, Ethan. This secrecy is ridiculous."

He stopped, looked back, a frown creasing his perfect forehead. "It's complicated, Amelia. Not tonight."

Hypocrisy. It was always complicated when it came to me.

Later that week, I saw it. The Patek Philippe watch.

It was always on his wrist, a constant reminder.

But this time, it felt different. More like a brand. Cassie' s brand on him.

We were at a charity luncheon. One of those Charleston society things Ethan insisted we attend, though I was always just "Ethan Vance's companion."

He and Cassie were a unit. They laughed together, heads close. She' d place her hand on his arm, a possessive, yet seemingly innocent gesture.

I sat at the edge of the table, an outsider. The shrimp cocktail tasted like ash in my mouth.

The pain was a dull ache now, familiar.

During the speeches, I overheard two older women at the next table.

Their voices were hushed, but their words carried.

"Look at young Cassandra. So brave. Holding up so well."

"Bartholomew would be proud. And Ethan, such a devoted stepson."

Then, one of them leaned closer to the other. "Did you see that man earlier? The one practically pawing at her near the roses?"

"Ghastly. Some people have no shame."

My head snapped up. I scanned the room.

I saw Cassie near the French doors, talking to a portly man with grabby hands. He leaned in too close, his hand on her waist, then sliding lower.

Cassie looked uncomfortable, her smile strained.

Before I could even process it, Ethan was moving.

He crossed the room in seconds. He didn't make a scene. He just appeared at Cassie's side, his presence a shield.

He said something quiet and firm to the man, who quickly backed off, looking flustered.

Ethan then gently guided Cassie away, his arm protectively around her shoulders.

His instinct to protect her was so immediate, so absolute.

For me? I was left to navigate smoke-filled corridors alone. The thought was a bitter pill.