Chapter 3

"The car will be ready in fifteen minutes," Smith said, his voice back to its usual monotone. "Standard procedure for re-activation."

"I don't have fifteen minutes," I snapped. The bureaucratic inertia of the agency, something I once found comfort in, now felt like a cage. Every second wasted was another second she spent in my house, with him.

I walked past Smith, heading for the secure sub-level garage. "Ethan, wait," he called after me. I ignored him. I placed my palm on the scanner by the elevator. It glowed green. Access granted. The doors slid open. Smith knew better than to physically stop me. In this building, my clearance trumped his. The system I designed recognized its master.

As the elevator descended, Smith's voice came over the internal speaker, tinged with a mix of warning and resignation. "She's going to lose everything, you know. Her company, her reputation. Everything she built." There was a hint of grim satisfaction in his tone. He'd seen Olivia up close, had likely assessed her as a security risk long ago. He was probably enjoying this on some level. "She has no idea who she was sleeping next to."

I didn't reply. I stepped out into the garage. My personal vehicle, a matte black Audi RS Q8 that had been in storage, was waiting. The engine was already running. I got in and sped out of the garage, leaving the world of shadows behind and heading toward the ruins of my life.

I didn't drive to the front of the house. I parked a block away and approached from the back, scaling the high stone wall with an ease that would have shocked Olivia. I landed silently on the manicured lawn. From the shadows of the large oak tree in the backyard, I had a clear view into the glass-walled living room. It was my favorite room, a place of quiet contemplation. Now, it was a stage for my replacement.

There they were. Olivia and Daniel, celebrating. A bottle of expensive champagne sat on the coffee table, half empty. She was laughing, a sound that once filled me with joy now just grated on my nerves. He was telling some story, gesticulating wildly, and she was hanging on his every word, her eyes sparkling with an adoration she hadn't shown me in years. It was a perfect picture of domestic bliss, and it made me feel nothing but a cold, clinical detachment.

Olivia looked flushed, her movements slightly unsteady. The champagne was clearly getting to her. She leaned back against the sofa, her head tilted, a fragile look on her face. It was a look I knew well. It was the look she got right before she' d express some deep-seated doubt, some vulnerability. For a foolish moment, I thought she might be thinking of me.

She picked up her phone. I watched, my own phone buzzing in my pocket. A message. She was texting me. My heart gave a stupid, traitorous lurch. I saw her hesitate, her thumb hovering over the screen. Daniel was in the kitchen, getting more drinks. She had a moment of privacy, a moment to choose. She typed, deleted, and then typed again. Then, with a sigh of resignation, she put the phone down and took a long sip of her champagne just as Daniel returned. She had made her choice.

My phone buzzed again in my pocket. The message had come through. I felt a sliver of hope, a desperate, pathetic wish that she would say something real. I pulled out my phone and read the text.

"Ethan, darling, I know the timing of the announcement was a shock. I'm so sorry you had to find out that way. We need to talk when you get back. I still care about you deeply."

The words were so bland, so corporate. It was a press release, not a message to the man she had just betrayed. My thumb hovered over the reply button. I wanted to scream, to rage, to tell her I was right outside, watching her. Instead, I typed a single, simple question.

"Are you alone?"

I sent it. I watched her through the window. Her phone lit up on the table. She glanced at it, her expression turning tense. Daniel was right there, sitting beside her now, his arm draped over her shoulder. She picked up the phone, her movements furtive.

Her reply came almost instantly.

"Yes, of course. Just thinking of you. Can't wait for you to come home."

The lie was so blatant, so pointless. I looked from the phone in my hand to the scene in the living room. Daniel leaned in and kissed her neck. She closed her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. She didn't pull away. She leaned into him. The lie wasn't just a lie; it was a confirmation. She was actively choosing him, right now, while typing words of hollow affection to me.

A profound coldness washed over me, extinguishing the last embers of hope. It wasn't just heartbreak. It was something else. A release. The man who had loved her, the man who would have forgiven her almost anything, died in that moment, in the shadow of the old oak tree. All that was left was the truth. And the truth was that she wasn't worth it. She had never been worth it.