Chapter 2

The drive home was a blur. The familiar streets of our quiet suburban neighborhood looked alien, like a set from a movie about someone else's life. A life that had ended an hour ago.

My whole body felt heavy, disconnected. It was a strange, suffocating pain, not sharp, but dull and crushing, like being underwater. I walked into the house we' d bought with the advance on her first major funding round. Every object screamed her name, our life together. The photo on the mantelpiece from our secret wedding in Vegas, the worn-out cookbook on the counter, open to my favorite recipe.

I tried to tell myself it didn't matter. I tried to reason with the pain. It' s better this way. She gets her company, her success, her new man. I get a way out. No mess, no public drama.

It felt like fate. The mission was my escape hatch, a door opening just as another one slammed shut in my face.

A wave of nausea hit me, and I braced myself against the kitchen island. I had to get through this. I had a responsibility.

Her parents. They' d lost their only son in the same car accident that took mine. They saw me, his orphaned best friend, and opened their home and their hearts. They were more my parents than my own had ever had the chance to be. Chloe' s success was their success. I couldn' t be the one to tear it all down, to tarnish their daughter' s triumph with a sordid divorce scandal on the eve of her IPO.

My leaving wasn' t running away. It was a sacrifice. It was me setting her free, preserving her victory, and repaying her parents for their kindness. That' s what I told myself as I sat down at the dining room table and pulled out my laptop.

The application form for the Zercian mission was stark and clinical. Name. Next of kin. Blood type. Special skills. I typed meticulously, my fingers moving with a precision that felt detached from the chaos in my mind. Each keystroke was a step away from her.

It was almost 2 a.m. when I heard her car pull into the driveway.

The sound of the key in the lock was unnaturally loud. My heart hammered against my ribs.

The door opened, and she stepped inside, humming softly. "Ethan? Honey, you're still up?"

She dropped her keys and designer handbag on the console table, the sound echoing in the silent house. She walked over to me, her movements full of the easy grace I' d always loved. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. Her perfume, the one I bought her for our anniversary, filled my senses. It was mixed with something else. A faint, unfamiliar men's cologne.

My stomach clenched.

"Working so late, my love," she murmured into my hair. "Almost there. Tomorrow, it' s all worth it. No more hiding."

Her words were a cruel joke, a parody of the promises we' d whispered to each other for years.

"You look tired," I said, my voice hoarse. I stood up and walked to the kitchen, a robot performing its programming. "Want some warm milk? You always sleep better with it."

It was our routine. A small, intimate ritual. And I performed it one last time.

I handed her the mug. She took a sip, her eyes closing in contentment. Then they snapped open.

"This tastes... different," she said, looking at the milk with a slight frown. "Did you use the organic kind?"

A cold, bitter smile touched my lips. She couldn' t taste the difference in the milk. But she hadn' t noticed the taste of another man on her own lips.