Chapter 5

Kiera POV:

On the morning of my discharge, two nurses bustled in to check my vitals. They were chatting animatedly.

"Did you see him? The CEO from the VIP suite? He' s so handsome. And so devoted to his girlfriend."

"I know! He' s been there day and night. Apparently, she' s some big influencer, Chanel Simon. His wife scalded her with coffee at a party. Can you imagine? So vicious."

I closed my eyes, the words washing over me like acid. My husband. His girlfriend. His vicious wife.

So that was the story he was telling. Of course.

"Will someone be picking you up today, Mrs. Barlow?" one of the nurses asked, her tone now professionally brisk as she turned to me.

"No," I said, my voice flat. "No one is coming."

She gave me a pitying look before finishing her checks and leaving the room.

I dressed myself slowly, each movement a reminder of the violation my body had endured. I packed my small bag with the few belongings I had. The hospital gown, folded neatly. The discharge papers. The prescriptions.

As I walked out of the room, I passed the nurses' station. The two from earlier were still there, their voices hushed.

"Poor thing. Did you see her chart? She lost the baby. And her husband hasn' t visited once. He' s been with that other woman the whole time."

I kept walking.

The taxi ride home was silent. The city streets, once familiar and vibrant, looked foreign and grey. The grand villa that Ethan and I called home looked like a mausoleum.

I let myself in. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Then I heard a noise from the kitchen. A pan sizzling. The smell of garlic and herbs.

I walked toward the sound, my heart a heavy stone in my chest.

Ethan was standing at the stove, a ridiculous frilly apron tied around his waist, stirring something in a pan. He was humming. He looked... happy.

He hadn' t cooked in years.

He saw me and his humming stopped. "Oh, you' re back," he said, his tone casual, as if I' d just returned from a trip to the grocery store, not a three-day hospital stay after losing our child.

"I was starting to worry. Pregnant women shouldn' t run around like that," he chided, completely oblivious. He still thought I was pregnant. The absurdity of it was breathtaking.

He thought I was barely a month along, not the three months I actually was. He hadn't been paying that much attention.

I was too tired to correct him. Too tired to fight.

"I' m tired," I said, turning to go upstairs. "I' m going to rest."

"Wait," he said. "Dinner' s almost ready."

Just then, Chanel emerged from the living room, wrapped in one of Ethan' s cashmere robes. "Ethan, darling, is it ready yet? I' m starving."

She stopped dead when she saw me, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face before she replaced it with a sickly-sweet smile. "Kiera! You' re home. I' m so sorry to be an imposition. Ethan insisted I recover here. He' s been taking such good care of me."

She was in my home. In my husband' s robe. While he cooked her dinner.

Rage, hot and potent, finally surged through me. "Get out," I said, my voice low and shaking.

Ethan and Chanel both looked at me, stunned.

"Kiera, what is your problem?" Ethan demanded, stepping in front of Chanel protectively. "Chanel is our guest. She' s injured."

"She can be a guest somewhere else," I said, my eyes cold. I looked at Chanel. "There' s a condo downtown. The one on Fifth Avenue. You can stay there."

Ethan looked at me, baffled. "How do you know about that condo?"

Because it' s mine, I thought. My parents bought it for me before I was married, a place to stay when I visited them in New York. A place Ethan didn't know I still had.

"Just go," I said, turning away from them. I couldn' t look at their faces anymore. I felt his hand on my arm, trying to stop me.

"Kiera, wait. Let' s have dinner together. I made your favorite, pasta with truffles."

I froze. Pasta with truffles wasn't my favorite. It was Chanel' s. I hated truffles. The earthy, cloying smell made me nauseous. In three years of marriage, had he ever once learned what I liked?

I pulled my arm away from his touch as if I' d been burned. "I' m not hungry."

I went upstairs and locked myself in the master bedroom. An hour later, I heard the front door close. I looked out the window. Ethan was helping Chanel into his car. They drove off.

I walked through the silent, empty house. The smell of truffles lingered in the air, a nauseating reminder of my replacement.

The maid, Maria, appeared, her face full of worry. "Mrs. Carlson, are you alright? Mr. Carlson and Miss Simon have gone to the other property."

Of course, they had. To my condo.

My phone rang. It was Ethan.

"Kiera," he said, his voice distant. "Chanel is feeling a bit weak, and it' s late. I' m going to stay with her tonight. Don' t wait up."

He wasn' t asking. He was telling me. He was spending the night with another woman, in my apartment, and he didn' t even have the decency to sound guilty.

"Okay," I said, and hung up the phone before he could say another word.