Chapter 2

I stood across the street, huddled in the shadows, and looked up at the penthouse. My home.

The lights were on in the master bedroom. I could see their silhouettes against the window. He was holding her, his arm wrapped around her waist as they looked out at the city.

A wave of nausea washed over me. On a desperate, self-destructive impulse, I pulled out my phone and dialed his number.

It rang once, twice, then disconnected. He had hung up on me.

My hand was shaking so hard I could barely press the screen. I called again.

He hung up again. Instantly.

A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my chest, and I doubled over, gasping for air. I felt like I was suffocating.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him lead Kara away from the window, back into the room. A moment later, he reappeared on the balcony alone, his phone to his ear.

My phone rang. It was him.

I swiped to answer, my throat too tight to speak.

"Ariel? Baby, is that you?" His voice was a soft, worried caress. The same voice he was just using with her. "Sorry, I was in a board meeting. Just saw your missed calls. Is everything okay?"

A board meeting. He was standing on our balcony, the cold night air whipping around him, and telling me he was in a board meeting.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him I was right here, that I could see him, that I knew he was a liar. But the words wouldn't come out. My throat was a desert.

"Ariel? Are you there?" he asked, a hint of real concern in his voice now. "Did something happen? Did one of the nurses give you a hard time again?"

I let out a bitter, silent laugh. Did someone give me a hard time?

I finally found my voice, but it came out as a broken whisper. "Damien, do you know what day it is today?"

There was a pause. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to remember.

"Of course I do," he said, his voice a little too smooth. "It's... it's Thursday." He let out a forced chuckle. "Sorry, love. It's been a crazy week. Forgive me?"

He' d forgotten. It was our wedding anniversary.

"Once you're back, I'll make it up to you," he promised. "We'll go away, just the two of us. Anywhere you want."

As he spoke, I saw the balcony door slide open. Kara stepped out, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind. She stood on her toes and kissed him, a long, deep kiss.

I could hear the wet, sticky sound of it through the phone. It was the most disgusting sound I had ever heard.

A chill ran down my spine, so cold it felt like ice in my veins.

"It's okay," I managed to choke out, my voice raspy. "You're busy. I understand."

"That's my girl," he said, his voice laced with relief. "Always so understanding."

I ended the call.

I watched them on the balcony, locked in an embrace. They looked like any other couple in love, sharing a quiet moment under the stars.

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally broke free, streaming down my face in hot, silent tracks. So this is what betrayal felt like. It wasn't a clean shot. It was a slow, grinding poison.

I remembered him on one knee, a nervous, twenty-something kid with more ambition than money, holding a simple silver ring.

"Ariel Burnett," he'd said, his voice trembling. "I don't have much to offer you right now, but I swear on my life, I will love you forever. I will never, ever betray you."

I hailed a cab, the city lights a painful blur. I gave the driver the address to a small, unassuming apartment building downtown. A place Cohen had bought for me years ago, a quiet sanctuary for when the pressures of work became too much.

My hand trembled as I put the key in the lock. The air inside was stale, thick with the smell of dust and disuse. Nothing had changed. It was exactly as I had left it three years ago.

On the desk sat a framed photo of me and Cohen, taken right after we closed our first major deal. We were grinning, him with his arm slung casually around my shoulders. He looked so proud. So trustworthy.

I had just sat down on the dusty couch when my phone buzzed with an alert from the penthouse security system. Damien and Cohen had arrived. They knew I was back.

A few minutes later, there was a frantic knocking at the door. I opened it to find both of them standing there, their faces a mess of feigned surprise and relief.

"Ariel!" Damien breathed, reaching for my hand. "You're back! Why didn't you tell us? Are you okay? Is the recovery complete?"

I pulled my hand away before he could touch me, a small, almost imperceptible movement.

Cohen' s eyes were wet, his voice choked with emotion. "Oh, kiddo. You have no idea how good it is to see you."

Damien's hand froze in mid-air. He looked stunned for a second, then his expression softened into one of gentle concern.

"You must be exhausted from the flight," he said smoothly.

Cohen stepped forward, placing the back of his hand against my forehead. "You don't have a fever, do you?"

I flinched at his touch, my whole body going rigid.

He pulled his hand back, looking relieved. "No fever. That's good."

I forced a tight, brittle smile. "I'm just a little tired."

Damien seized the opportunity. "Then you should stay here for now. It's closer to the hospital for your follow-up appointments. It's more convenient."

Convenient. So that's what I was now. An inconvenience to be managed, hidden away in a secret apartment while his real life continued uninterrupted. A mistress in my own life.

"Okay," I said, my voice flat.

I wouldn't be staying long.

Damien's shoulders relaxed, a wave of relief washing over his face. "Good girl," he said, the word dripping with condescension. "I'll come by as often as I can."

Cohen looked equally relieved. "I'll arrange for a housekeeper and a private chef. You won't have to lift a finger."

"Thanks," I said, playing my part. I watched them perform their roles, the concerned husband, the loving brother. And I played mine. The grateful, unsuspecting patient.