Chapter 2

The gala. I hated these things even before.

Now, the thought of pasting on a smile felt impossible.

Mark needed to project stability. I was part of that projection.

I remembered years ago, when he was just starting at Sterling Designs.

He was talented, yes, but shy, awkward at networking.

I was in marketing then, full of ambition.

I used my contacts, helped him meet the right people.

I organized his portfolios, coached him on presentations.

My own career dreams slowly faded as I poured my energy into his, and then into Emily.

I chose that. Or I thought I did.

He had a project, a small community center, that wasn't getting noticed.

I knew someone on the city council. I made some calls.

That project won him an award, his first big break.

He' d been so grateful then. He' d called me his rock.

Now, Olivia was his "true north." The irony wasn't lost on me.

My laptop was broken. Emily needed some information for a school project, something about local architecture.

"Dad's laptop might have it," she said.

Mark was out, a "work dinner." I suspected it was with Olivia.

"Okay, sweetie, let's look," I said, trying to keep my voice light.

I opened his laptop, searching for a file on city planning.

My eyes caught a folder name on his cloud drive: "Elysium."

Curiosity, a sick, cold feeling, made me click it.

It wasn't city planning.

It was them. Mark and Olivia.

Two years.

Two years of messages, poems, shared playlists.

"My dearest Olivia, you are my true north, the compass that guides my soul."

"Mark, my anchor, in your eyes I see the artist I long to be."

Pretentious, sickening words.

He wrote about our "stifling" marriage, my lack of understanding for his "artistic temperament."

She wrote about her "pure, spiritual bond" with him, above common morality.

They were "twin flames."

I scrolled, page after page.

Intimate details, shared dreams, plans for a future that didn't include me.

He complained about me, about Emily, about the constraints of family life.

She offered sympathy, understanding, a "refuge."

The words blurred. My hands started to shake.

I felt cold, a deep, bone-chilling cold.

This wasn't just a "meeting of minds." This was a betrayal so profound it stole my breath.

Disgust rose in me, hot and bitter. Then anger, a burning, consuming rage.

He was supposed to be at a team dinner.

I knew the restaurant. A trendy, upscale place.

I had to see them. I had to confront this.