Chapter 2

My phone buzzed. It was a text from my best friend, Kayla.

So sorry, Lottie. Have to cancel tonight. Work emergency. Raincheck?

I typed back a quick, "No problem. Talk soon."

The wave of initial shock was passing, leaving behind a cold, hard clarity. I wasn't just going to disappear. I was going to erase myself from his life.

I spent the next hour on the phone. First, to my lawyer, instructing him to prepare divorce papers. No settlement. No alimony. I just wanted my signature on a document that severed me from Aiden forever.

Next, I booked a one-way flight to a small, obscure country on the other side of the world, leaving the next morning.

Then, I started cleaning. I went through our bedroom, our shared space, and methodically purged it of my existence. Clothes, books, photos. I piled them in the large stone fireplace in the sitting room. I found a bottle of whiskey and a lighter.

I watched the flames curl around a picture of us on our wedding day. His smile was so bright, so charismatic. A lie. I poured whiskey on the fire, and it roared. The heat felt good on my cold skin. It felt like purification.

By the time I was done, it was late. The room was sterile, impersonal, like a hotel. All that was left of me was a pile of ash in the fireplace.

I checked my phone. Thirty-seven missed calls from Aiden. A string of texts, growing more frantic.

Lottie, where are you?

Answer your phone.

I' m coming home.

LOTTIE.

Just as I read the last one, I heard his car screech to a halt in the driveway. A few moments later, the bedroom door burst open.

Aiden stood there, his hair wild, his chest heaving. When he saw me, the tension in his shoulders eased. A wave of relief washed over his face.

"Thank God," he breathed. "I was so worried."

Then, his relief curdled into anger. "Why didn't you answer your phone? I called you almost forty times. Do you have any idea what I was thinking?"

The concern in his voice was a joke. A sick, twisted performance. I felt nothing but ice in my veins.

He reached for me, and I took a small step back, a subtle, almost imperceptible movement. He froze, his hand hovering in the air between us.

"My phone was on silent," I said, my voice flat. "I was cleaning."

He looked around the room, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He noticed the empty closets, the bare surfaces.

"Cleaning?"

"Yes," I said, looking at the fireplace. "Getting rid of some things I don't need anymore."

He didn't understand the metaphor. He probably thought I was having a mood swing. He smiled, a placating, patronizing smile that used to calm me down but now just made me want to scream.

"Okay, well, I'm glad you're safe," he said, stepping closer again. He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. "I got you something."

He opened it. Inside was a delicate diamond bracelet. It was beautiful, and I knew without looking that the clasp contained a GPS tracker. Another beautiful cage.

"So I'll never have to worry about losing you," he said, his voice soft and possessive.

I wanted to laugh. Did he really think this would fix anything? Did he think a piece of jewelry could chain me to him after what I now knew?

"Do you even love me, Aiden?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

His face darkened. "What kind of question is that? Of course I love you. I love you more than my own life."

He moved toward the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. "I need you, Lottie. I've had a long day."

The familiar promise of his need, the thing that had once been my purpose, now felt like a threat.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said, his eyes already distant, lost in the needs of his own body.

He disappeared into the bathroom. The moment the water started running, my phone vibrated on the nightstand. It was a text. But it wasn't for me. It was for the phone Aiden had left behind.

A strange impulse took hold of me. I'd never looked at his phone before. It had always felt like a violation. Now, I didn't care.

I picked it up. His lock screen was a picture of me. The password, I guessed on the first try, was my birthday. The irony was so thick it was suffocating.

I opened his messages. There was a long thread with a contact simply named "H." My heart hammered against my ribs. It was Haven.

Dozens of messages, every day. Photos of Leo.

Leo scraped his knee today. He cried for you.

He asked when his daddy was coming home.

The doctor said his fever is down. I was so scared.

Then I saw Aiden's replies. He used the same soothing, tender words he used with me. The same promises. The same reassurances. But there was a desperation in his texts to her that I had never seen before.

I scrolled to a message from earlier that evening.

Haven: He coughed a little. I think he's getting sick again. I'm worried.

Aiden: I'm on my way. Don't worry. I'll be there soon. I'll handle everything.

I looked at the timestamp. It was from an hour ago. While he was frantically calling me, pretending to be worried about me.

His love wasn't exclusive. It wasn't even special. It was just a script he used, a performance he gave to whoever could satisfy his needs at that moment.

I dropped the phone on the bed as if it were burning my hand. A deep, physical ache spread through my chest.

I lay down, pulling the covers over me. The silk sheets felt cold against my skin. I was shivering, but not from the chill in the room. It was a cold that came from the inside, from a place where love and hope had just died.

The bathroom door opened. Aiden came out, a towel wrapped around his waist.

He slid into bed behind me, his warm body pressing against my back. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. "Lottie," he murmured, his breath hot on my neck.

My entire body went rigid. Every muscle screamed in protest. It was a visceral, instinctual rejection.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion. "You're freezing."

He put his hand on my forehead. "You're burning up. You have a fever."

His tone shifted immediately to one of urgent concern. "We need to go to the hospital."

He started to get out of bed, but just then, his phone, the one I had dropped on the nightstand, began to ring. The screen lit up with the name "H."

He snatched it up, his expression turning serious as he answered. "What is it?"

He listened, his body tensing. "I know. I'm on my way."

He hung up and looked at me, his face a mask of apology. "Lottie, I'm so sorry. There's an emergency at the office. A big one. I have to go."

He leaned over and kissed my forehead. "There's medicine in the cabinet. Take some. Call me if you feel worse. I'll be back as soon as I can."

I didn't say a word. I just stared at the wall, my body still and cold.

As he was rushing out the door, I heard it. Faintly, through the phone he was now pressing to his ear, I heard the sound of a child crying.

He hadn't chosen the office. He had chosen them. He had left me, burning with fever, for his other family. And in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that I was finally, irrevocably, free.