Chapter 2

Is he okay? Did he give you a hard time? I just worry about you, Lana. He gets so emotional sometimes. Make sure he takes his stomach medicine in the morning, you know how he gets.

The message was long, a detailed list of instructions disguised as concern. It went on and on, each word a tiny, sharp jab.

I couldn't focus on the text. My vision blurred.

My mind flashed back through the years. Caren, always so helpful. Caren, calling a tow truck when Jameson's car broke down because I was stuck in a meeting. Caren, reminding me which antacids to buy for his sensitive stomach.

Caren, even giving me "advice" on our sex life, telling me what Jameson "might like," her tone so casual, so sisterly.

She was always so calm, so understanding, no matter what. She never got angry, never seemed to mind being my shadow, the helpful sidekick.

And I had been so grateful. So incredibly, stupidly grateful.

My teeth started to chatter, a violent tremor running through my body. The feeling of being played for a fool was a physical sickness, rising in my throat.

My phone buzzed again, relentlessly. A new message. Then another. Then it started ringing, Caren's picture filling the screen.

The sound echoed in the silent, opulent suite, a shrill alarm signaling a disaster.

I knew she wouldn't stop. Caren never stopped until she got what she wanted. It was a trait I used to admire as persistence. Now I saw it for what it was: a relentless, suffocating need for control.

I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of an answer. I wouldn't play her game.

Then, a different sound cut through the room. A soft, melodic chime. It was Jameson's phone. A custom ringtone. One I'd never heard before.

Jameson, who had been dead to the world, stirred instantly. His eyes snapped open.

He fumbled for his phone, his movements suddenly sharp and alert. He answered, quickly turning off the speakerphone, his back to me.

"Hey," he murmured, and the harsh lines on his face softened. The weak, drunk man was gone, replaced by someone gentle and attentive.

A low chuckle escaped his lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated happiness.

They were completely lost in their own world. He never once looked over his shoulder to see if I was there. He had forgotten his wife was in the room on their wedding night.

And Caren. Did she forget, too? Or did she just not care that she was calling my husband, at this hour, on this night?

The call stretched on, deep into the night. I just sat there, watching the man I married whisper sweet nothings to my best friend.

When he finally hung up, the smile still lingered on his lips. His eyes, full of a warmth I hadn't seen all day, finally found me.

He looked at me for a few seconds.

For a crazy moment, I thought he might say something. Apologize. Explain. Anything.

But reality crashed down, shattering the last of my dignity.

"Why didn't you answer Caren?" he asked, his voice laced with annoyance. "She was worried about you."

I heard something break inside me. It was a quiet, final sound.

"What?" I whispered, the word barely audible.

His face hardened. The brief softness he'd shown Caren vanished, replaced by cold irritation. It was like watching a mask drop.

"She called and texted you a bunch of times. She was just trying to help. Are you trying to make her feel bad?"

He talked about her so carefully, so tenderly. He knew she was sensitive. He knew she needed reassurance.

He knew everything about her.

But he had no idea what was happening to me.

I just stared at him. It was like seeing him for the first time. This handsome, successful man from a good family, my childhood sweetheart, was a complete stranger.

Maybe he saw the look on my face. Maybe some sliver of sobriety cut through the fog.

He winced and covered his face with his hand. "Lana, I'm sorry."

He moved toward me, reaching out to hold me. "I'm sorry, I'm just... I'm drunk."

I pressed my lips together, fighting back the tears that burned my eyes.

I gently pushed him away.

My finger shaking, I pointed to the 'C' on his chest.

"What is this, Jameson?"

He fell silent. He looked down at the tattoo, and for a moment, his eyes went distant, lost in a memory that didn't include me.

In that suffocating silence, I knew everything. I didn't need him to say a word.

I stood up and walked to the bathroom, my movements slow and deliberate. I wiped away the smeared makeup, my reflection a pale, hollow-eyed ghost.

When I came out, he was standing in my way, blocking the door.

He grabbed my arms, his grip desperate. "Lana, please."

"It's not what you think," he said, his voice ragged. "Caren and I, we're not... It was just a crush. A long time ago. It doesn't mean anything now."

"I'll get it removed," he pleaded. "Tomorrow. I'll get it covered up. Please, Lana. Don't be like this."

My body trembled. My mind was a chaotic storm of betrayal and pain.

Just then, my phone buzzed again. It wasn't Caren this time.

It was a text from my mom. Hope you two are having a wonderful night. Don't forget to take your heart medication before bed, sweetheart. Love you.

My mom. Her chronic heart condition. I couldn't tell her. Not now. The shock could be too much for her.

I looked at Jameson's desperate, pleading face.

In the dead silence of our wedding suite, I slowly nodded.