Chapter 3

The blood in my veins seemed to turn to ice. My real husband. The phrase echoed in the silent, empty hallway, each word a hammer blow against my skull. I felt nothing and everything all at once. A profound, bone-deep numbness spread through my limbs, a defense mechanism against a pain too large to process.

I leaned against the cool wall, my breath catching in my chest. I watched them through the crack in the door, a voyeur to the wreckage of my own life.

Alex winced dramatically, clutching his bandaged arm. "My hand is killing me, Liv. I don' t think I' ll be able to sculpt for weeks."

Olivia' s face crumpled in concern. She reached out and gently took his uninjured hand. "Don' t worry about that, darling. I' ll take care of everything." She then did something that shattered the last remaining fragment of my heart.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a small, familiar object. It was a silver wrist cuff, simple and elegant, with a tiny, almost invisible inscription on the inside. My wrist cuff. The one I had been wearing when I left for my overseas trip. I' d left it on my nightstand, and when I came back, it was gone. Olivia had sworn she had no idea where it went, that the cleaners must have misplaced it.

She gently fastened it around Alex' s wrist. "Here," she said softly. "This will protect you. It has special powers."

A memory, vivid and painful, flooded my mind. It was from our first year together. I had just won my first major architectural award. I was on top of the world. Olivia had given me the cuff.

"This is from a little shop I found in Tibet," she' d told me, her eyes shining. "The craftsman said it' s made from a blessed metal. It will protect the wearer from harm and bring them success. It' s for you, my brilliant architect. To protect you and everything you build."

I had worn it every single day. It was a symbol of her love, of our shared future. It was my talisman. And now, it was on his wrist. He was the one she wanted to protect. He was the one she wished success for.

I felt a wave of nausea. The cuff wasn' t just a piece of jewelry. It was a promise. It was our history. And she had given it to my replacement. She had taken our sacred symbol and desecrated it, handed it over to the man she had secretly married while I was thousands of miles away, working to build a future for us.

All her promises, all her whispered words of love, all the shared dreams... they were all lies. Every single one. The foundation of my life was not just cracked; it had never existed. It was a mirage.

The numbness receded, replaced by a cold, clear clarity. There was no more confusion, no more hope for a misunderstanding. There was only the stark, ugly truth.

I turned away from the door, my movements stiff and robotic. I walked back to the elevator, my mind a quiet, desolate landscape. The pain was still there, a deep, throbbing ache, but it was overshadowed by a new, chilling resolve.

I got back to the house. It was empty, silent. A museum of a life that was never real. I went straight to my closet and pulled out a suitcase. I started packing. Not clothes, not personal items. Just the essentials. My fake passport, the burner phone, the hard drives containing all my architectural designs-my life' s work. She would not have that, too.

I packed the small stack of foreign currency I kept in the safe. I took nothing that she had ever given me. I left the photos, the gifts, the memories. They were props in her play, and I was no longer an actor.

As I was zipping the suitcase, I heard her car pull into the driveway. My body tensed. Part of me, a weak, foolish part, wanted to run and hide. But the new, cold part of me stood its ground.

She walked in, humming a little tune. She came up the stairs and saw me standing in the bedroom with the suitcase. Her humming stopped.

"Ethan? What are you doing?" she asked, a frown creasing her perfect brow. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Just packing away some old things," I said, my voice eerily calm.

She seemed to relax, her smile returning. "Oh, good. You had me worried for a second." She came over and wrapped her arms around me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder. "I' m sorry I had to run out. Alex is fine, just a little shaken up. You know how dramatic he is."

The casual way she said his name, the easy lie, it didn' t even hurt anymore. It was just... information.

"Now," she said, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper, "how about I make up for my absence? I have a special anniversary surprise for you."

She led me out to the backyard. My breath caught in my throat. The entire garden was filled with hundreds of twinkling fairy lights. In the center, a table was set for two with champagne and candles. A string quartet was playing softly in the corner. It was a grand, romantic gesture. It was the kind of thing she knew I loved.

A year ago, this would have made me cry with happiness. Tonight, it just felt hollow. A beautiful, expensive, empty gesture from a woman who was legally married to another man. It was a performance, and I was the audience. But the show was over.