Chapter 1

The platinum band on my finger felt heavy today, a solid, comforting weight. Three years. Three years with Olivia Reed, the woman who had redefined my world. I checked my watch. She would be home soon. On the passenger seat, a small, velvet-wrapped box held a custom-designed necklace, its centerpiece a flawless sapphire that matched her eyes.

Our third anniversary. It felt more significant than the first two. We' d moved past the honeymoon phase and into something real, something deep. I was an architect, I built things to last, and I believed our marriage was the strongest structure I had ever created.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from our financial advisor. 'Ethan, just need you to swing by the city clerk' s office to sign the final papers for the joint asset trust. The messenger dropped them off. Just a formality. Congrats on the anniversary!'

A formality. I smiled. It was the perfect final touch to our anniversary plans. We were officially intertwining our futures, our finances, our lives.

The city clerk' s office was quiet, the air thick with the smell of old paper and stale coffee. A middle-aged woman with tired eyes took the folder from me. She scanned the documents, her pen tapping a rhythmic, annoying beat on the counter.

"Ethan Miller and Olivia Reed," she read aloud, her voice flat. She typed our names into her computer. Her tapping slowed, then stopped. She frowned, squinting at the screen.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, my good mood starting to thin.

"There' s a... discrepancy," she said slowly, not looking at me. She typed again, her fingers moving with deliberate slowness. "Mr. Miller, according to our records, you are not legally married to Olivia Reed."

The words didn't register at first. I laughed. A short, sharp sound. "That' s impossible. We were married three years ago today. We have a marriage certificate."

She finally looked up at me, her expression a mix of pity and professional boredom. "I' m sure you do, sir. But it was never filed with the state. It' s not valid. Legally, you are a single man."

My heart started to pound, a heavy, dull thud against my ribs. This was a mistake. A stupid, bureaucratic error. "Can you check again? There has to be a mistake."

"I' ve checked three times," she said, her patience wearing thin. "There is no record of your marriage. However," she paused, her eyes dropping back to the screen, "there is a record of a marriage for Ms. Olivia Reed."

Relief washed over me, so potent it almost made me dizzy. "See? It' s just under her name. Some kind of filing error."

"No, sir," she said, her voice softening slightly. "The marriage certificate on file is for Olivia Reed and Alex Thorne. It was filed two years ago."

The name hit me like a physical blow. Alex Thorne. My protégé. The talented young architect I had mentored, the one I' d trusted to help manage my projects while I was on a year-long assignment overseas, right after Olivia and I had our ceremony.

"That' s... that' s not possible," I stammered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "That' s my former employee."

The clerk just gave me that same pitying look. "I' m sorry, sir. The documents are legally binding. Olivia Reed is married to Alex Thorne. Not to you."

I don' t remember leaving the office. The next thing I knew, I was in my car, parked on a side street, the velvet box still on the seat beside me. My hands were shaking. My mind was a mess of noise and confusion.

A memory surfaced, sharp and unwanted. Olivia, on a video call a few months into my overseas assignment. Her face was beautiful, but her eyes were sad. "It' s so lonely here without you, Ethan. I just need someone. A replacement. Just until you get back."

I had felt a pang of guilt and jealousy then. I' d reassured her, told her I' d be home soon. I trusted her. She was talking about a friend, a companion, nothing more. A replacement.

Another memory, a heated argument after I returned. I' d found out she' d been spending a lot of time with Alex. Too much time. She' d cried, telling me I was being paranoid, that Alex was just a friend who was there for her when I wasn' t. "He was a substitute, Ethan! Just a stand-in for the man I love! Don' t you get it?" I had believed her. I had apologized.

The pieces were clicking into place, forming a picture so ugly I couldn' t bear to look at it. The invalid certificate. The legal marriage to Alex. Her words. A replacement. A substitute. It wasn' t a metaphor. It was literal.

I drove home in a daze, my mind a blank slate of pain. I needed to hear her deny it. I needed to see her face and have her tell me the city clerk was a crazy old woman who made a terrible mistake.

I walked into our house, the house I had designed for us. It was dark. I was about to call her name when I heard her voice from the upstairs bedroom. She was on the phone. Her tone was low and intimate.

"I know, Alex, I know. I' ll be there soon," she was saying. A pause. "Of course I miss you. It' s just... you know how he gets. Ethan is like a child. He needs constant reassurance. He needs to believe he' s the only one."

My blood ran cold.

"Don' t worry," she cooed into the phone. "He' ll never know. To him, I' m his devoted wife. To the world, you' re my husband. It' s a perfect arrangement. I have his love and your legal status. I have everything."

Everything. She had everything. And I had nothing. Not even a real marriage. I was a sham. A joke.

The love I felt for her, a vast and towering structure I had spent years building, crumbled into dust in that single moment. There was no rage, no fire. Just a cold, empty void where my heart used to be.

I looked around the house, at the paintings we' d picked out, the furniture we' d chosen. It was all a lie. A beautifully constructed stage for her play.

And in that cold, quiet moment, I made a decision. I wouldn' t confront her. I wouldn' t give her the satisfaction of another dramatic scene, another chance to manipulate me with her tears.

I would disappear.

I would erase Ethan Miller, the devoted husband, from existence. I would sever every tie, every memory, every last thread that connected me to her. I would let her keep her perfect arrangement. And then, when she least expected it, I would take it all away.