Chapter 1

The noise of the launch party was a dull roar in my ears.

My company, Innovatech, was finally launching its flagship product tonight. This was supposed to be the culmination of years of work, the peak of my ambition. But my eyes weren't on the investors or the tech journalists, they were glued to the door, waiting for my wife, Dr. Olivia Hayes.

Just last week, she had finally warmed up to me. After three years of a marriage that felt more like a contract, she had looked at me, really looked at me, and said we could start a family. Hope, something I hadn't felt in a long time, had flooded my chest. I thought we were finally turning a corner.

Then the doors opened.

Olivia walked in, looking stunning in a dark blue dress. But she wasn't alone. Beside her, with his hand resting possessively on the small of her back, was Dr. Marcus Thorne.

My heart stopped.

He was her former mentor, a man whose name she spoke with a reverence she never used for me. He had been abroad for years, a ghost from her past. Now, he was here, in the flesh, and Olivia was smiling at him in a way she had never smiled at me. The hope from last week curdled into a bitter poison in my gut.

I stood frozen in the corner of the crowded room, a glass of champagne growing warm in my hand. I watched them, trying to convince myself it was nothing.

He' s a respected figure in her field.

She' s just being professional.

She has to show him respect.

The excuses felt thin and pathetic even in my own mind. Time stretched, each second a slow torture as I watched them move through the crowd. They weren't just talking, they were a unit. He would lean in to whisper something in her ear, and she would laugh, tilting her head back. It was an intimacy that screamed of a shared history, a shared world I was not a part of. My own party, my own triumph, and I had become an invisible spectator to my wife' s reunion.

My business partner, Dave, clapped me on the shoulder, his voice loud over the music. "Ethan, man, you look like you've seen a ghost. Lighten up! We're killing it!"

I forced a smile that felt like cracking glass. "Yeah, man. It's great."

But my gaze drifted back to them. They were standing near the bar now. I saw Marcus gesture to the bartender, then hand a glass of wine to Olivia. She took it with a grateful nod, her fingers brushing against his. It was a small, simple gesture, but it felt like a punch to the stomach.

I saw it all. The way her body angled toward him, the way her eyes never left his face, the easy familiarity that I had spent three years desperately trying to build with her. He had it without even trying. He had it, and he was flaunting it.

I remembered the countless nights I had waited up for her to come home from the university, making her dinner that usually went cold. I remembered how I had to practically beg for a simple hug, a moment of her attention. I had fought for every inch of affection, every scrap of warmth. And here was Marcus Thorne, waltzing back into her life and being handed everything I had bled for.

I couldn't take it anymore. The anger and humiliation were a physical thing, choking me. I started walking toward them, my steps unsteady. I needed to say something, to do something, to shatter this perfect picture they made.

"Olivia," I said, my voice hoarse when I finally reached them.

She turned, her smile faltering slightly when she saw my face. "Ethan. There you are. This is Dr. Marcus Thorne. Marcus, this is my husband, Ethan Miller."

Marcus turned his gaze on me. It was slow, dismissive. He looked me up and down, a small, condescending smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, the boy genius," he said, his voice smooth and patronizing. "Olivia has told me so much about your little project. It's quite... ambitious."

The word "little" hung in the air between us. He was belittling me, my work, my entire existence in a single sentence.

Before I could respond, a dizzy spell hit me. The room tilted. The noise of the party, the bright lights, the smug look on Marcus's face-it all swirled together. My chest felt tight, and I struggled to breathe. I swayed on my feet, reaching out a hand to steady myself on the bar.

"Ethan?" Olivia' s voice sounded distant, a flicker of concern in it.

But it was Marcus who spoke next, his voice dripping with false concern. "Is he alright, Olivia? He looks a bit pale. Perhaps the pressure is too much for him."

I tried to speak, to tell him to shut up, to tell Olivia to look at me, but the world went black. As I collapsed, the last thing I was aware of was Olivia rushing toward me.

I felt her hands on my face, heard her calling my name. Her familiar scent, a mix of old books and light perfume, filled my senses. But it was tainted. Underneath it, I could smell the faint, cloying scent of Marcus Thorne's cologne. It was the smell of my defeat.