Chapter 2

Adaline Myers POV:

The silence of our sprawling, minimalist house was a deafening roar in my ears. It was 3 a.m. and I hadn't slept. I sat on the edge of our king-sized bed, the same bed where Julian had rolled over and fallen into a drunken, unapologetic sleep hours ago, just after I' d whispered the word "divorce" into the darkness. He hadn't even stirred.

A faint clatter from the kitchen stirred me. Julian was up. He was a creature of habit. No matter how much he drank, he was always up at dawn for his green juice and a workout.

I heard the familiar hum of the blender, followed by the clink of his keys and wallet on the marble island. He was pretending. Pretending last night never happened. It was his signature move: ignore the conflict until it dissipated, until I was too tired to fight anymore.

The bedroom door creaked open. He stood there, already dressed in his tailored suit, looking every bit the charismatic CEO of our tech company, 'Nexus' .

"Hey," he said softly, his voice still a little rough from sleep. He walked over and tried to kiss my forehead.

I flinched away.

His smile flickered, but he recovered quickly. "Look, Addie. About last night... you were tired, we all had too much to drink. Let' s just forget it, okay?"

He reached for me again, but his phone buzzed on the nightstand, and his attention snapped to it instantly. His face lit up with a small, private smile as he typed a rapid response.

Of course. It was always the phone. Always a message from her.

I watched him, a cold clarity settling over me. This was the pattern. A fight, my pain, his dismissive apology, and then a swift return to the status quo, where my feelings were an inconvenience and his bond with Jade was sacrosanct.

A sharp knock echoed from the front door.

"That' ll be The Crew," Julian said, pocketing his phone. He moved towards the door without a second glance at me. "We' re heading out for Jade' s birthday trip. The one I told you about."

He hadn't told me. I' d overheard him talking about it on the phone a week ago. A "no partners" weekend getaway. Her birthday. Of course. It was always about her.

A sickening premonition twisted in my gut. As he left the room, his phone lay on the nightstand, forgotten in his haste. My heart hammered against my ribs. I' d never looked through his phone. Not once in our five years together. I' d believed trust was the foundation of a marriage.

What a fool I' d been.

My fingers trembled as I picked it up. His password was our anniversary. The irony was a bitter pill on my tongue.

And there it was. A group chat I' d never seen before. Not the one I was in, the sanitized one with polite chatter and shared articles. This one was called "The Real Nexus."

The most recent message, sent just moments ago, was from Jade.

Jade: "Hurry up, slowpoke! Your birthday girl is waiting! Can' t wait to have my boy all to myself. The ball and chain is finally getting left behind. "

The words blurred. A physical pain, sharp and visceral, shot through my chest. The ball and chain. That was me.

My thumb moved on its own, scrolling up, back through weeks, months, years of messages. It was a digital treasure trove of their betrayal.

Mark: "Dude, how was the anniversary 'celebration' ? Did the ice queen manage to crack a smile?"

Julian: "Barely. You know how she is. Thinks a bonfire story from a decade ago is a capital offense. So sensitive."

Another message from Jade, a picture of a brand-new Chanel bag.

Jade: "Look what my bestie got me for my birthday! Who needs a husband when you have a Julian? "

Julian' s reply was a string of heart emojis.

They mocked my contributions to the company, calling me the "money lady" who got lucky. They dissected my personality, labeling me as "cold," "boring," and "no fun." They openly discussed how much better Julian would be if he were single, or better yet, with Jade.

The world tilted. My breath came in ragged gasps. The phone felt like it was burning my skin. This wasn' t just an emotional affair. This was a conspiracy. A long, calculated campaign of disrespect and deception, with my husband as the willing ringleader and his friends as the cheering section.

I remembered then, with a nauseating lurch, how Julian had created a separate, "clean" group chat months ago, adding me to it with a grand flourish. "See, honey? You' re part of the gang now!" he' d said.

I was never part of the gang. I was the outsider they tolerated, the butt of a joke I wasn't even in on.

A white-hot rage, purer and more potent than anything I' d ever felt, burned through the pain. I held down the power and volume buttons, taking screenshots. I sent every single incriminating message to my own phone, the evidence piling up, a monument to my own stupidity.

Julian walked back in, grabbing his briefcase. "Jade and the guys are waiting. I told them you weren' t feeling well and were staying home. It' s for the best, you' re not really a... camping person."

I looked up at him, my face a carefully constructed mask of neutrality. "Actually, I think I' ll go."

He frowned. "What? Why? You hate camping."

"The resort they' re going to, 'Serenity Peaks Glamping,'" I said, my voice even. "It' s owned by Kenneth. I think I' ll pay him a visit. It' s been a while."

Kenneth Good. My childhood best friend. A man who respected his own girlfriend, Carolyne, and had never once crossed a line with me. A man who represented everything Julian was not.

Julian' s face tightened. He hated Kenneth, hated the easy, platonic intimacy we shared.

"You can't," he said, his voice sharp. "It' s a 'no partners' trip. You' ll make everyone uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?" The word was so absurd I almost laughed. "You think me being there is what will make people uncomfortable?"

"Adaline, don' t start." He took a step towards me, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Today is my birthday, Julian."

The words dropped into the space between us like stones. He froze. I watched the dawning realization, followed by a flicker of annoyance, cross his face. He' d forgotten. Of course, he' d forgotten. Jade' s birthday trip had taken precedence.

I saw the choice in his eyes before he even made it. A lifetime of choices, all leading to this single moment. He could stay, apologize, and try to salvage the wreckage of our marriage. Or he could leave.

A loud, impatient honk echoed from the driveway. Jade.

He flinched, his decision made.

"We can celebrate when I get back," he said dismissively, turning to leave. "It' s just a birthday."

He pulled the door open, but I was already moving toward it. He tried to block my way, grabbing my arm. "Adaline, stay here."

I wrenched my arm away, my hand slamming against the doorframe. A sharp, searing pain shot up my knuckles, but it was nothing compared to the agony in my chest.

Through the open door, I could see her. Jade, leaning against her convertible, sunglasses perched on her head, tapping her foot impatiently. She saw me and her face broke into a wide, triumphant grin.

She jogged up the steps and playfully punched Julian' s arm. "There you are! I was about to send a search party." She glanced past him at me, her eyes filled with pitying contempt. "Is she giving you a hard time again?"

"She' s just being emotional," Julian muttered, his arm going around Jade' s waist, pulling her flush against his side. "You know how she gets."

Jade giggled, reaching up to pinch his cheek. "My poor baby. Don' t worry, I' ll take good care of you this weekend."

They turned and walked away, their laughter echoing in the morning air, leaving me standing in the doorway, my hand throbbing, my heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces. The air in my lungs felt like it had been sucked out, leaving a hollow, aching void.

I watched until their car disappeared down the long driveway.

Then, I calmly walked back into the silent house, picked up my phone, and dialed.

Kenneth answered on the first ring.

"Ken," I said, my voice steady, betraying none of the storm raging inside me. "They' re on their way to your resort."

There was a pause. "Addie? Are you okay?"

"I' m coming too," I said, cutting him off. "I need to see it for myself. I need to watch my marriage die."

There was another beat of silence, and then his voice, firm and unwavering. "I' ll be waiting."

I hung up. The friendship between Kenneth and me was a quiet, sturdy thing, built on years of mutual respect and unwavering support. It needed no flowery words, no grand declarations. It just was. It was a safe harbor in the storm that was my life.

And I was sailing right into the eye of the hurricane. I needed to see the final, ugly, spectacular implosion with my own two eyes. I needed to witness the death of this love I had given everything to, so I could finally bury it for good.

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