Chapter 2

A week later, we were at a charity gala. Mark was in his element, laughing with a group of his business partners. I stood a few feet away, nursing a glass of champagne.

One of his friends, a man named David, slapped him on the back. "Look at you, Mark. Tamed. I never thought I'd see the day."

Mark's smile tightened just a fraction. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on," David laughed, "We all remember the old Mark. The guy who'd close a deal and then fly to Vegas on a whim. Now you're... domesticated. Sarah's done a good job on you."

The men laughed. It was a joke, but it landed with the weight of truth.

"Sarah's the best thing that ever happened to me," Mark said, his voice a little too loud, a little too defensive. He glanced over at me, a silent plea for me to join in, to validate his performance.

I just offered a small, noncommittal smile and took a sip of my drink, my heart sinking. I didn't move. I watched them, an outsider looking in on my own life.

I knew Mark better than anyone, better than he knew himself. I had studied him like a case file. His entire personality was a reaction to his childhood. A cold, demanding father and a neglectful mother had left him with a hollow space inside, a desperate need for validation and a deep-seated fear of being controlled.

This fear manifested as a thirst for chaos. He was a thrill-seeker, drawn to risk like a moth to a flame. High-stakes business deals, reckless adventures, volatile relationships-they were all ways to feel alive, to feel in control of his own chaotic destiny.

I had provided a different kind of control: stability. For a while, the novelty of peace was its own kind of thrill. He enjoyed being the man who had been saved, the prodigal son who had found his way home.

But the novelty had worn off.

I could see it in his eyes. The placid waters of our life were starting to bore him. He was a shark that had to keep moving or die, and our quiet life was a still, stagnant pond.

I had a terrible feeling, a cold certainty in the pit of my stomach, that all he needed was a reason, a catalyst, to shatter the peace.

He was a man who mistook chaos for passion, and drama for love.

And I knew, with a chilling sense of foresight, that he would eventually find an excuse to burn it all down.

He would break my heart not because he was evil, but because he was, at his core, incapable of being happy with what he had. He would always be looking for the next storm to chase.