Chapter 3

Ethan kicked the snow off his boots at the door of the mountain resort' s main lodge. He carried Sarah all the way to a plush sofa near the massive stone fireplace, setting her down as if she were made of delicate glass. People rushed over, wrapping her in thick wool blankets, pressing a mug of hot chocolate into her trembling hands.

"Is she okay?" someone asked.

"She's in shock, but she'll be alright," Ethan announced, his voice filled with a self-satisfied authority. He ran a hand through his wet hair, the picture of a rugged hero. "The storm came out of nowhere. It was brutal out there."

He didn' t mention me. Not at first. He was too busy soaking in the admiration, recounting a slightly exaggerated version of his "rescue" of Sarah.

It was one of Chloe's colleagues from the architectural firm, a junior designer named Maria, who finally voiced the question hanging in the air.

"Where's Chloe?" Maria asked, her brow furrowed with worry. "Wasn't she with you?"

Ethan waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, Chloe's fine. You know her. Tough as nails. She probably found a sheltered spot to wait out the worst of it. She' s probably already halfway back on her own by now."

My soul, a detached and shivering observer, floated near the high, wood-beamed ceiling. I watched him lie, so easily, so convincingly. Fine? I wanted to scream. I' m dead, you idiot. You killed me. The rage was a cold, sharp thing, but I had no voice, no substance. I could only watch.

"But the temperature is dropping fast," Maria insisted. "Shouldn't we send a search party?"

"No need to panic," Ethan said, his tone condescending. "Chloe knows these mountains almost as well as I do. She's likely just taking her time, being careful. She gets like this sometimes, wanting her space." He made it sound like I was pouting, throwing a childish tantrum on the side of a frozen mountain.

He pulled out his satellite phone, the one he always carried for emergencies. He didn't try to call me. He called the front desk of the hotel down in the valley.

"Yes, this is Ethan Miller," he said, his voice smooth and professional. "We're up at the company retreat lodge. The blizzard has us snowed in... yes, everyone's accounted for and safe."

Another lie. A sickening, deliberate omission.

He hung up and turned to Sarah, who was looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes. "You see? Everything's under control," he said softly, for her alone.

But the seed of doubt had been planted. Others in the room were starting to exchange worried glances. The storm wasn't letting up. It was getting worse. An hour passed. Then two. Ethan sat by the fire with Sarah, his arm draped protectively around her shoulders while she rested her head on his chest. He laughed at something she whispered to him.

My soul wept without tears. I saw him sitting there, so comfortable in his betrayal, and I remembered a thousand other moments just like this one. Me, sidelined and patient, while he catered to Sarah' s every whim, every manufactured crisis. "We're just friends, Chloe," he'd always say. "You're reading too much into it."

Finally, a flicker of something-annoyance, not concern-crossed his face. He stood up, stretching. "Alright, fine. I'll go gear up and take a quick look around the trail, just to put everyone's mind at ease."

He was halfway to the door when Sarah sat up, her eyes wide with fear. "Ethan, no! You can't go back out there! It's too dangerous! What if something happens to you?"

He stopped, his resolve instantly melting. He rushed back to her side.

"You're right, you're right," he said, stroking her hair. "I can't leave you. Not when you're like this." He had made his choice. Again. He would not risk himself for the woman he' d left to die, but the thought of upsetting the woman he' d saved was unbearable.

It was in that moment of his renewed devotion to Sarah that the lodge's heavy oak doors burst open. Two men in official Park Ranger uniforms stomped in, shaking snow from their heavy coats.

"We got a call about a group being stranded up here," the lead ranger said, his eyes scanning the room. "We need to do a headcount. Everyone line up."

As people started to move, the ranger's gaze fell on Ethan. "You're Ethan Miller? The photographer?"

"Yes, that's me," Ethan said, puffing out his chest slightly.

"Your company's office in the city called us. They said your wife, Chloe Davis, was with you on this retreat. They couldn't reach her phone, and they're worried." The ranger's eyes were sharp, missing nothing. "So, Mr. Miller. Where is your wife?"

Ethan' s smile faltered. He opened his mouth to deliver another one of his easy lies, but for the first time, in the face of real authority, the words seemed to catch in his throat. The other employees were all looking at him now, their earlier unease hardening into suspicion. The cozy scene by the fire had ended. The investigation had begun.