I Saw My Husband With An Older Woman I Smiled, “Your Friend Is Lovely, 18 Years Your Senior, Maybe?”

I was standing at the fragrance counter testing a hand cream when I saw my husband Ethan. He was in the high-end section of the Cherry Creek Shopping Center in Denver. His left hand rested on the small of an older woman’s back. His right hand held a crisp shopping bag, the gold leaf logo of the luxury mall gleaming under the recessed lighting. The woman wore a dark green velvet pants suit, her hair quafted in tight, immaculate curls. When she smiled in profile, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were deep enough to trap a fly. Ethan leaned down to speak to her, his expression so tender, it reminded me of the day he proposed to me last year.

“Ma’am, do you like this one?” the sales associate asked.

I didn’t answer. I walked straight through the shimmering haze of the cosmetics department, my steps as unsteady as if I were heading to a long awaited, dreaded appointment. When Ethan looked up and saw me, the expression on his face froze. The older woman glanced at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. I stopped in front of them, my gaze landing first on the woman, then shifting to Ethan. I then broke into the sweetest smile of my entire life.

“Well, hello, sir. Your friend is lovely,” I said, my voice dripping with saccharine. “She looks at least 18 years your senior, wouldn’t you say?”

The shopping bag in Ethan’s hand dropped to the polished floor with a soft thud. The woman’s smile set on her meticulously madeup face, crumpled like a sheet of suddenly crushed paper. Maintaining my smile, I turned and walked away without looking back at either of them. The mall’s air conditioning was blasting, raising goosebumps on my arms, but my palms were slick with sweat.

My name is Clara. I’m 31. I’ve been married to Ethan for 3 years. We were college sweethearts who stayed in Chicago after graduation. I run a small boutique interior design firm. He’s an investment director at Sterling Capital. Our life was like that of most urban professional couples. He traveled frequently for work and I often worked late. We’d see movies and have dinner on weekends and visit each of our parents once a month. Life was smooth, steady. I thought this was what marriage was supposed to be until 3 months ago.

Ethan started making frequent business trips to Denver, always citing the same project. The series B financing for a company called Evergreen Bioarma. He’d say their management team was difficult and required a lot of handholding. Shirts from brands I never bought for him began appearing in his luggage. He changed the passcode on his phone and started taking it into the bathroom when he showered. I pretended not to notice. My firm had just landed two major clients and I was working past midnight almost every day.

Last Wednesday, while unpacking his suitcase from another Denver trip, I found a receipt from a department store tucked into a side pocket. The total was $7,500. The item listed was women’s apparel. I took a photo, put the receipt back where I found it, and said nothing.

Last night at dinner, Ethan wiped his mouth, and said, “I have to go back to Denver tomorrow. need to push things along with Evergreen.”

I served him some soup. “How long this time?”

“Three or four days, probably.” He kept his eyes on his bowl, avoiding my gaze.

This afternoon, a client rescheduled our meeting at the last minute. Leaving their office, I was supposed to drive back to my studio. Instead, on a whim I can’t explain, I drove to Union Station and bought a ticket for the next train to Denver. During the 2-hour ride, I entertained a thousand possibilities, dismissing each one as quickly as it came.

No, Ethan isn’t that kind of person. I told myself over and over.

I arrived in Denver at 4 p.m. I looked up the city’s most exclusive mall and took a cab there. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I just wandered aimlessly through the luxury brand section until I smelled a familiar cologne, the one I’d given him for his birthday last year, and then I saw them.

After leaving the mall, I sat on a bench outside for half an hour. My phone rang twice. It was Ethan both times. I didn’t answer. The third call was from my assistant, Mia, telling me a client wanted to adjust the design plan for tomorrow’s meeting. Listening to her voice, the situation felt surreal. My world was collapsing, but tomorrow’s meeting had to go on.

I bought a ticket for the last train back to Chicago. As the train sped through the darkness, I watched the scattered lights flash by outside the window. I remembered the vows Ethan made at our wedding 3 years ago. He said he would make me the happiest woman in the world. I cried then. I wanted to cry now, but my eyes were dry and sore.

It was 11 p.m. when I wheeled my small suitcase into our apartment. The living room light was on. Ethan was on the sofa, the ashtray in front of him filled with four or five cigarette butts.

“You went to Denver,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“A business trip,” I replied, setting my suitcase by the wall. “The client wanted a last minute on-site review.”

We stared at each other from across the vast living room. His eyes were bloodshot, and the new stubble on his chin made him look like a stranger. For a moment, I thought he would rush over, explain everything, hold me, and say it was all a misunderstanding, that the old woman was his client’s mother or a distant relative, but he just stubbed out his cigarette and stood up.

“Clara, it’s not what you think.”

“And what is it that I think?” I took off my jacket, my voice so calm it surprised even me. “That’s Eleanor Vance, the chairman of Evergreen Bioarma.”

Ethan walked towards me, trying to take my hand. I pulled away.

“We’re in the middle of a major deal. Her husband just passed away and she’s been emotionally unstable. I was just keeping her company.”

“Does keeping her company require you to have your arm around her waist?” I cut him off. “Does it require you to buy her $7,500 worth of clothes?”

Ethan’s expression stiffened. He hadn’t expected me to know about the receipt.

“That was a corporate PR expense,” he said, his voice trailing off.

I laughed. “Ethan, we’ve known each other for 9 years. Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

I walked past him into the bedroom and started packing my things. Clothes, makeup, design, blueprints, my laptop. I threw them one by one into a suitcase. Ethan leaned against the door frame, watching me.

Finally, he spoke. “Where are you going?”

“I rented a small apartment near my studio. I was going to use it as a showroom.” I zipped up the suitcase. “Guess it has a new purpose now.”

“Clara, let’s talk.”

“Talk about what?” I stood up and faced him. “Talk about how you were strolling through a mall with your arm around a woman at least 20 years your senior. Talk about the excuse you’ve used for 3 months to see her in Denver. Or should we talk about what our marriage is even worth in your eyes?”

His face went pale.

I dragged my suitcase towards the door. As I passed him, he grabbed my wrist.

“Let go,” I said.

He released me. As I reached the front door, I heard him say from behind me, “This evergreen deal is crucial for me. If it goes through, I can make partner.”

I turned around and took one last hard look at the man I had loved for 9 years. His eyes were still so handsome with a slight downward tilt that always made him look sincere. I had drowned in those eyes countless times.

“So?” I asked. “You’re trading our marriage for a partnership?”

“It’s not a trade,” he raised his voice. “I just need some time to handle things. Once this deal is closed, I’ll break it off with her completely. I promise.”

I stared at him for a long time until the times dinged times of the elevator echoed in the hallway.

“Ethan,” I said softly. “You make me sick.”

As the elevator doors closed, I saw him still standing in the doorway, his figure distorting and disappearing in the peepphole.

In the underground garage, I tossed my suitcase into the trunk and sat in the driver’s seat, resting my forehead on the steering wheel. The dashboard lights glowed faintly in the darkness, like a pair of cold, indifferent eyes. My phone buzzed. It was a text notification from my bank.

A transfer had been made to my personal account. The amount $100,000.

The memo asterisk I’m sorry asterisk

Ethan knew my pride. He knew I’d never accept this kind of money. He sent it only to alleviate his own guilt, to be able to tell himself. I tried to make it right.

I stared at the number. A sudden urge to laugh bubbling up inside me. 9 years of history, 3 years of marriage, and he’d put a price tag of $100,000 on it. I didn’t return the money. I didn’t reply. I just started the car and drove out of the garage.

The Chicago night was a blaze of lights. Behind every illuminated window, a different story was likely unfolding. My story had just turned to its ugliest page. I didn’t know what the next page would hold, but I knew one thing for sure.

The Clara, who had smiled and said, “Your friend is lovely,” had died in that mall this afternoon.

The woman who was alive now had to figure out how to live.

The apartment was colder and emptier than I’d imagined, a 400 square ft studio with nothing but a bed and a desk. I left my suitcase in a corner, opened my laptop, and saw 13 unread emails, all workrelated. I made a cup of instant coffee and started replying as if nothing had happened today.

At 2:00 a.m., I closed the computer and lay down on the strange bed. The ceiling was white, starkly white. I closed my eyes, but all I could see was Ethan with his arm around that old woman, his guilty eyes when he looked at me. The wedding ring I had taken off and left on my dresser.

My phone rang again. This time a text from an unknown number.

asterisk Miss Collins. This is Ellaner Vance. I think we need to meet asterisk

I didn’t delete it. I didn’t reply. I just switched my phone to silent. Rolled over to face the wall and tried to sleep. The city outside was sleepless. And my marriage, which had officially died the moment I arrived in Denver, was now just a corpse. But death isn’t the end. It’s just another kind of beginning. It would be a long time before I truly understood that.

That night, I had a dream. I dreamed of Ethan in college, waiting for me by the athletic field, holding two melting ice cream cones. The sun in the dream was scorching, and his white shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to his back. As I ran towards him, he suddenly transformed into the suitclad man he was now, and the ice cream cones in his hands had become a shareholder agreement.

I woke with a start. The 4:00 a.m. sky was a deep dark blue. In the distance, I could hear the engine of an early morning bus. A new day was beginning, though I wished it would never come. But I had to live, and I had to live better than anyone else. That thought, like a single seed, was planted in the hardest soil of my heart in that miserable dawn. I didn’t know when it would sprout, but I knew it would, because aside from making myself stronger, I had nothing left.

And this was just the beginning.

Eleanor Vance’s text message sat in my phone like a thorn for three days. I didn’t delete it and I didn’t reply. Every morning I’d glance at it, then brush my teeth, wash my face, and go to the studio. Life seemed to have returned to normal if you ignored the pale untanned line on my left ring finger.

On the fourth day, a Thursday morning, I was reviewing construction drawings with my assistant, Mia, when the receptionist said a client had arrived without an appointment, but insisted on seeing me. I walked out to the reception area and saw a woman in a navy blue suit sitting on the sofa. She held a disposable paper cup in her hands, her posture as formal as if she were at a diplomatic summit. She looked to be in her mid-50s, her hair pulled back in a severe bun with gold rimmed glasses perched on her nose. It wasn’t Elellanar Vance.

“Miss Collins, I’m Ellen Vance’s personal assistant. My name is Zho,” she said, standing and offering a business card.

Silver lettering on the card read Times Evergreen Bioarma Incorporated Times. Her title was Times Special Assistant to the Chairman.

Asterisk, I didn’t take the card.

“I have no business with your company.”

“Mrs. Vance would like to have a word with you,” the assistant said, her tone as flat and mechanical as a robots. “Regarding Mr. Ethan Hayes.”

Outside the glass door of the reception area, two of my employees were pretending to organize materials, their ears practically pricricked up.

“My office,” I said, turning.

My office was a small 120 square ft space cluttered with blueprints and material samples. Assistant Xiao surveyed the room, her gaze lingering for a second on the half-dead posose plant on my windowsill. She didn’t sit in the chair, I offered.

“Mrs. Vance has asked me to convey that her relationship with Mr. Hayes is purely professional,” she began directly. “Due to the ongoing financing deal, their interactions have been frequent, which may have caused a misunderstanding on your part.”

I took out a pack of cigarettes from my drawer. I’d quit for 2 years, but picked it up again this week. I lit one and looked at her through the smoke.

“Does a professional relationship require holding each other by the waist while shopping?”

“Mrs. Vance’s husband passed away 3 months ago. She has been emotionally unstable,” assistant Jiao recited, her lines identical to Ethan’s. “Mr. Hayes is the project lead. Showing concern for a client is part of his job.”

“Evergreen BioParma must have some great employee benefits,” I said, tapping ash into a tray. “Is accompanying shoppers now considered a work-related injury?”

A crack finally appeared in Assistant Xiao’s placid expression. She took a thick envelope from her briefcase and placed it on my desk.

“Mrs. Vance expresses her apologies. This is for your emotional distress.”

I looked at the envelope and laughed out loud. $100,000 plus an envelope. My marriage is being priced with a tiered system, I see.

“Take it back,” I said. “Miss Collins, I said take it back.”

I crushed the cigarette out in the clay ashtray. “Tell Eleanor Vance I don’t sell my husband. If she wants to buy him, she can negotiate directly with Ethan. Don’t come here trying to bribe me.”

Assistant Xiao retrieved the envelope and gave me a long deep look.

“Mrs. Vance also said that if you are willing to sign a non-disclosure agreement, promising not to reveal your marital situation with Mr. Hayes or what you recently witnessed, she can introduce your firm to three high-end clients.”

“Get out.”

She left.

The smell of smoke lingered in the office. I opened the window and the early autumn wind rushed in, rustling the papers on my desk. Mia knocked and entered, hesitating.

“Clara, that woman just now—”

“A sales rep,” I cut her off. “This afternoon, go to the Kensington project site. Is the material list double checked?”

“Uh, not yet.”

“I need it in 2 hours.”

The door closed.

I sat back in my chair and opened my phone. The $100,000 from Ethan was still in my account, a silent mockery. I hadn’t touched it, but I hadn’t returned it either. If they thought money could solve everything, then I’d keep it and see just how generous they could be.

That evening, I received the fifth client cancellation of the month.

“Clara, I’m so sorry,” the client on the phone said, their tone apologetic, but their decision firm. “We’ve thought about it and decided to go with another firm.”

“May I ask why?” I kept my voice cheerful even though they couldn’t see me.

“It’s just a style mismatch again. So sorry.”

After hanging up, I checked my records. This was the third unexplained cancellation this week. The first two at least offered flimsy excuses. This one didn’t even bother. My firm had been open for 4 years with a solid reputation. A sudden wave of cancellations couldn’t be a coincidence.

I called Frank, a building material supplier I’d worked with for years. After some small talk, I asked, “Have you heard any rumors lately about my firm?”

Frank was silent for a few seconds. “Clara, did you piss someone off?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, word on the street is that your recent projects have all had problems. Shoddy workmanship, disputes with clients.” Frank lowered his voice. “The rumors are pretty detailed. I know that’s not how you operate, but gossip spreads like wildfire.”

“Who’s spreading it?”

“That I don’t know. Just be careful. In this business, your reputation is everything.”

After the call, I sat in my dark apartment, looking out at the city skyline. A window in the building across from me glowed with warm yellow light. Inside, a family was gathered around a dinner table. It was such an ordinary scene, yet it made my eyes sting.

My phone rang. It was Ethan. I stared at the flashing name on the screen until it went to voicemail. He called again. I answered.

“Clara, we need to talk.”

His voice sounded exhausted.

“Talk about what? About how you sent your new girlfriend to humiliate me or about how you’re trying to ruin my reputation in the industry.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Ruin your reputation? Clara, what are you talking about?”

“I’ve had five clients cancel on me this week. All long-term prospects,” I said. “Ethan, if you want a divorce, I’ll give it to you, but don’t touch my work. That’s my bottom line.”

“I didn’t do it,” he said, his voice rising. “How could I ever do that to your firm? Clara, am I really that despicable in your eyes?”

“When you had your arm around that old woman in the mall, did you stop to ask yourself if you were being despicable?”

He fell silent. I heard the click of a lighter. He was smoking.

“Elellanar Vance came to see you?” he finally asked.

“She sent an assistant. Offered me money to sign an NDA,” I said with a cold laugh. “Ethan, before you sell yourself, could you at least divorce me first? Do you know what the penalty for bigamy is?”

“I’m not selling myself,” he almost yelled. “Clara, it’s complicated. I can’t explain it all right now, but can you please just trust me this one time? Just once.”

“Trust you with what? Trust that holding her was a professional courtesy? that you went to Denver eight times in 3 months for a project that you changed your phone’s passcode to prevent corporate espionage.” I could hear my own voice trembling. “Ethan, I’m not an idiot.”

“Next Wednesday, 700 p.m. The Old Spot,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything. If you still want a divorce after you hear me out, I’ll sign the papers. I’ll give you everything.”

The Old Spot was a cafe we used to frequent in college. It became our go-to place for every anniversary. Last year on our wedding anniversary, we sat there all night. He said when he turned 40, he’d take me to Iceland to see the northern lights.

“Fine,” I said, and hung up.

I checked my bank account. The $100,000 was still there. I checked my firm’s revenue. This month’s income was down 60% compared to last year. My inbox had four new emails. Two were cancellation confirmations. One was a rent reminder from my landlord. The last one was a legal notice from a court. A creditor was filing to place a lean on a property Ethan owned in Denver, a property purchased last year. I was listed as a co-owner. I had never heard of this property.

Before Wednesday, I did three things.

First, I hired a private investigator. He wasn’t the trench coat and sunglasses type from the movies. just an ordinary middle-aged man who drove a beat up Toyota and spoke with a thick city accent. I gave him Ethan’s photo, license plate number, and a list of his usual haunts. I paid him a $1,000 retainer.

“Focus on his movements in Denver, especially his contact with Eleanor Vance.”

The PI, a man named Costello, grinned as he took the file. “Catching a cheater, huh? I’m an expert at this.”

“Not just a cheater,” I corrected him. “a cheater with an old woman.”

He blinked, not quite understanding. I didn’t elaborate.

Second, I went to a law firm. A college friend recommended a lawyer who specialized in divorce cases. Her name was Miss Davis, a sharp woman with short hair and an office wall covered in certificates.

“Evidence of infidelity is hard to prove in court, especially in a case like this,” Miss Davis said after reviewing my notes. “Seeing them together in a mall isn’t direct proof of a sexual relationship. If he claims it was for business, a judge will likely dismiss it.”

“Then let’s focus on assets,” I said. “he has a property in Denver I knew nothing about. I suspect he’s been hiding other assets as well.”

Miss Davis nodded. “That we can work with. Filing for a freeze on assets takes time, but if we find hidden property, you can argue for a larger share in the settlement.”

She paused. “Miss Collins, I advise you to prepare yourself emotionally. These cases can be a long and draining battle.”

“I’m not afraid,” I said.

Third, I went back to the home I shared with Ethan. I used my spare key. I hadn’t had a chance to return it yet. The apartment was tidy, almost too tidy, as if no one lived there. The fridge was empty except for bottled water and beer. The bedding in the bedroom had been changed to a set I didn’t recognize. In the study, our photo albums were shoved to the bottom of a drawer, buried under a stack of project files. I sat in the study for half an hour and didn’t take anything. As I was leaving, I saw our wedding photo on the entryway console. We were both smiling like fools in the picture. I turned it face down.

Wednesday afternoon, I arrived at the cafe at 6:50 p.m. I chose a corner table by the window with a view of the whole street. I ordered a black Americano. As it arrived, it started to rain. Fine droplets streaking the glass like golden threads under the street lights.

7:10 p.m. Ethan hadn’t arrived. I called him. It went straight to voicemail.

7:30 p.m. The waiter came by and asked if I wanted a refill. I shook my head and kept staring out the window. The rain was coming down harder now. Pedestrians scured for cover and car tires hissed through the puddles.

8:00 p.m. I received a text from an unknown number.

asterisk Miss Collins, Mister Hayes has been unexpectedly detained. He will not be able to make it tonight. E V asterisk

Eleanor Vance.

I stared at the message for a full minute, then dialed Ethan’s number again. Still voicemail. I tried his office line. No answer. I called his secretary, who stammered that Mr. Hayes had taken the afternoon off. I drank the cold coffee in one gulp. It was so bitter my tongue went numb.

As I paid the bill, the waiter quietly told me, “A gentleman called earlier around 7:20. He said if a Miss Collins was waiting for someone to tell her not to wait.”

So Ethan knew at 7:20 that he couldn’t make it, but he didn’t contact me. He had Eleanor do it or Eleanor did it for him.

When I walked out of the cafe, the rain had lessened. I stood under the awning, watching the wet streets reflect the neon lights. I remembered my junior year of college, standing right here when Ethan had tilted his umbrella completely over me, letting his own shoulder get soaked. He’d said then that he would always be there for me on every rainy day. It was raining now. Where was he?

My phone buzzed. It was a message from Costello. The PI.

asterisk Miss Collins. Preliminary findings. Ethan Hayes has a condo in Denver’s Washington Park neighborhood registered under another name, but utility bills and access records show he’s the primary resident. Also, he’s made six large wire transfers in the last 3 months to an offshore account. Recipient information is masked. Details sent to your email. asterisk

I stood in the light rain. my umbrella forgotten. The water trickled down my hair and into my collar. It was cold. Across the street, a massive LED screen on a department store was playing a jewelry ad. A model wearing a diamond ring smiled blissfully. I looked down at my own bare ring finger. There used to be a ring there. Now only a pale line remained, like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

It was 10 p.m. when I got home. I opened my email. Costello’s file contained a copy of the condo’s title deed, screenshots of bank transfers, and several grainy photos. Ethan and Eleanor entering and exiting a hotel, always late at night. The pictures were low resolution, but it was clearly them. In one, Elellanar was smiling, her arm linked with Ethan’s, her other hand smoothing the collar of his coat. The gesture was as intimate as that of a long married couple. Ethan’s head was slightly bowed, the line of his profile soft. It was the expression he had only when he was completely relaxed.

I was so focused on the images that the doorbell rang three times before I reacted. Through the peepphole, I saw Ethan. He was drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead. He was holding a paper bag, the bottom of which was soaked through and sagging. I opened the door, but didn’t let him in.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice. “Something came up. My phone died. Ellaner texted me.”

I cut him off. “She said you were busy.”

He flinched. “She— She contacted you.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” I leaned against the doorframe. “Ethan, is there any point to these games? Having her relay your messages? Having her offer me money? Having her tell me you’re just business partners? Who is the spokesperson here?”

“I didn’t.” He raised his voice. “I was called into a lastminute project review this afternoon. They made us turn off our phones. The moment it was over, I drove straight back. Traffic was hell with the rain.”

“A project review that required you to turn off your phone?” I laughed. “Were you taking the bar exam or attending a national security briefing?”

He opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words. The bag slipped from his hand and fell, its contents spilling onto the floor. a box of the ant acids I always took for my stomach and a packet of chamomile tea. He used to make it for me when I had cramps.

I looked at the items on the floor and felt a wave of bitter irony. He remembered my bad stomach. He remembered my menstrual cramps. But he couldn’t remember the most basic tenant of marriage, loyalty.

“Come in,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”

He was clearly surprised I let him in. He hesitated for a second before bending down to pick up the items and following me inside. The 400 square ft studio was small enough to be taken in with a single glance. My half unpacked suitcase was still by the wall. The desk was littered with instant noodle cups and empty coffee mugs.

“This is where you’re living?” he asked.

“What? Were you expecting me and Ellaner to buy a mansion together?”

I sat in the only chair, leaving the edge of the bed for him. “You have 30 minutes. Explain everything.”

He didn’t sit. He stood in the middle of the room like a school boy being reprimanded. Water dripped from his pants onto the floor, forming a small puddle.

“Ellaner’s husband was Richard Vance, the founder of Evergreen Bioarma. He died of a heart attack 3 months ago. No will,” Ethan began, speaking quickly as if from a script. “The company is in turmoil. Eleanor is the chairman, but some of the old guard are trying to push her out. She needs Sterling’s investment to solidify her position, and I’m the project lead.”

“So, you two got together,” I stated.

“It’s an act for the benefit of others at the company,” he said, his voice urgent. “Elellanar needs to project an image of having support, of having a new ally. If they see me close to her, the people trying to oust her will be more cautious.”

“Cautious of what? cautious that she’s found a lover 30 years her junior.” I stood up and walked toward him. “Ethan, save that story for a child. Does an act require late night hotel visits? Does an act require buying her a $7,500 outfit? Does an act require you to buy a condo in Denver behind my back?”

His face went white.

“How? How did you know about the condo?”

“You think you’re that good at hiding things?” I let out a sharp laugh. “Ethan, we were married for 3 years. I can tell when you’re lying from a mile away. Now, either you tell me the truth or you get out and I’ll see you in court.”

The room was silent except for the low hum of the air conditioner. Outside, the rain intensified, drumming against the window pane. Ethan stared at the floor, and I could see his hands hanging by his sides were trembling.

After a long moment, he looked up, his eyes read.

“That condo? Richard Vance bought it before he died. It’s registered under the name of one of Eleanor’s distant relatives. After Richard passed, she wanted to transfer it to me as as payment for my cooperation.”

“Payment for what cooperation?” I stared him down.

He avoided my eyes. “For helping her gain full control of the company. Clara, Evergreen is about to go public. If this deal succeeds, the shares I get will be enough for us. For us, too.”

“There is no us, Ethan.” I cut him off. “There hasn’t been since the moment you put your arm around her in that mall.”

He looked as if I had slapped him. He staggered back a step.

“I never slept with her,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “At least not yet. What she needs is a partner to stand with her in public. What I need is for this deal to succeed. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Muty beneficial?” I repeated the words, each one a razor blade in my throat. “So, what was your plan? play the doting partner for her while keeping me on the hook. Wait until I couldn’t take it anymore and left on my own so you could get the money and still maintain the image of a devoted ex-husband.”

“No.” He grabbed my arm, his grip tight. “Clara, listen to me. Once Evergreen goes public, I will cut all ties with her. I’ll get the condo, the money, the shares. Then we can leave Chicago. We can go anywhere you want.”

I shook his hand off. “with the money you earned sleeping with an old woman?”

“I didn’t sleep with her,” he roared.

“Not yet, but you would have,” I shouted back. “Ethan, do you think I’m some kind of pathetic idiot that I would just sit by and watch my husband parade around with another woman patiently waiting for him to make his fortune and come back to me?”

“This is the last time,” he said, his eyes bloodshot. “Just a few more months until the IPO process is complete.”

“And then what?” I looked at him. “Then you’ll be cleansed. All the embraces, the gifts, the late night hotel visits, they’ll all be erased. Ethan, once something is dirty, it’s dirty forever. No amount of money can wash it clean.”

He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. The sound of the rain filled the silence between us, a silence that felt like a wall growing thicker by the second.

“So, you’ll never forgive me? No matter what?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“I forgive you,” I said. “I forgive you for selling yourself for money. I forgive you for treating me like a fool and lying to me for 3 months. I forgive you for taking her calls in our home, for accepting her gifts, for planning your future with her.”

I paused. “But I won’t wait for you, and I won’t take a single penny of your money. We’re getting a divorce.”

He stumbled backward, hitting the wall. A framed print I had hung there fell, the glass shattering across the floor. We both stood frozen, letting the shards scatter around our feet.

“What if I say no?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Then I’ll see you in court.”

I bent down, picked up the ant acids and the tea from the floor, and pushed them back into his hands. “Take these with you, and don’t come back.”

He stood at the door for a long time, so long that the motion activated light in the hallway went off and on again. Finally, he said, “Clara, you’ll regret this.”

“I already do,” I replied. “I regret not slapping you across the face right there in the mall.”

The door closed. I slumped against it, sliding down to the floor. My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking. The floor was cold. A chill creeping up my spine. I hugged my knees, buried my face, and didn’t cry. I just felt tired. So tired. I wanted to fall asleep right there and never wake up. But I knew I couldn’t. I had a client meeting at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow. Blueprints to revise, materials to reselect. Life doesn’t grant you a reprieve just because your marriage is in ruins. It just pushes you forward whether you’re bleeding or not.

My phone screen lit up. A new message from Costello.

asterisk Miss Collins found something else. An offshore account in Ethan’s name has seen large frequent transactions over the past 3 months. Also, there are some questionable details surrounding the death of Eleanor Vance’s husband, Richard. The official cause was a sudden heart attack, but the family refused an autopsy. Should I dig deeper? asterisk

I stared at the message. The rain outside had started to subside. The night was deep. The city sinking into a posttorm slumber, and I, sitting on the cold floor, was suddenly, terrifyingly awake. This was much deeper than I had thought.

I replied to Costello.

asterisk. Keep digging. I want every single detail. asterisk.

After sending the message, I stood up and started cleaning the broken glass. I picked up each piece, wrapped it in newspaper, and threw it in the trash. Then I mopped the floor, wiped the table, and threw out the noodle cups. After all that, I took a hot shower, dried my hair, and got into bed.

Before I closed my eyes, I thought asterisk Ethan, you think I’m just a wife you betrayed. But you forgot back when I was chasing you nine years ago, I was the best researcher in our entire department. Asterisk.

If marriage was an exam, I had failed spectacularly. But if this was a war, the game had just begun.

The sky outside was beginning to lighten. A new day had arrived, carrying with it the dampness of the rain and the weight of secrets, and I was ready for whatever came next.

The information from Costello was like scattered puzzle pieces on my computer screen. For three straight days, I barely slept, turning the fragments over and over. The offshore account statements showed over $2 million had been wired in over the past 3 months in 12 separate transactions from six different Shell corporations. The deed for the Denver condo showed it was purchased a year ago for $1.2 million, paid in full under the name Evelyn Reed. Evelyn Reed. Elellanar Vance. Richard Vance.

I stared at the names until my screen went to sleep. The sky outside was turning pale. Another day was starting, but I felt trapped in the same endless night.

On the fourth day, Miss Davis, my lawyer, asked to meet. She handed me a file.

“I found something interesting in Evergreen Bioarma’s corporate structure.”

I took the file. The pages were dense with share percentages and stakeholder names. After Richard Vance’s death, his controlling shares were divided into three parts. 40% was inherited by Eleanor. 30% went to their daughter Sophia, and the remaining 30% was held in various trusts. Miss Davis tapped a line with her pen.

“Here’s the catch. Sophia is only 15. As a minor, her shares are managed by her legal guardian, Elellanar. So effectively, Elellanar controls 70% of the company.”

“Theoretically, yes,” Miss Davis said, pausing for effect, “but Richard included a cautisil in his will. If Eleanor remarries, half of her inherited 40% automatically transfers to Sophia.”

I looked up. “So Eleanor can’t get married?”

“Not legally,” Miss Davis said, giving me a meaningful look. “But what if she had a stable partner? Someone who could play the part of a supportive spouse in public to stabilize the company’s image, but without a legal marriage that would trigger the stock transfer clause. What do you think of that?”

A chill went down my spine.

“Ethan is just a prop.”

“I checked with my contacts at Sterling Capital,” Miss Davis continued, closing the file. “They are indeed handling Evergreen series B financing, but the partner in charge of the deal isn’t Ethan. It’s someone else entirely. All of Ethan’s travel expense reports for Denver over the last 3 months have been rejected by accounting because the firm never officially sent him there.”

The soft music in the cafe became background noise. I clutched my cold coffee cup, my knuckles white.

“He was lying to me,” I said, my voice unnervingly steady. “He was lying about everything from the very beginning.”

“He might be lying to more than just you,” Miss Davis said softly. “Clara, I strongly advise you to file for divorce immediately and petition to freeze all his assets. The only assets we can currently trace to his name are your shared apartment and a car. Everything else has been moved. If you don’t act now, you could end up with nothing.”

“I don’t want his money. This isn’t about the money.”

Miss Davis looked me straight in the eye. “This is about what you are legally owed. and if you don’t take legal action now once he and Eleanor finalized their plans, you could be in a much more vulnerable position.”

I paid the consultation fee and left the law firm. The September sun was still harsh, burning my skin. As I waited for a cab, my phone buzzed. A text from Ethan.

Let’s talk one last time.

I deleted the text and blocked his number. But some problems couldn’t be solved by blocking a number.

The next morning, the landlord of my studio space called saying he needed to terminate my lease early. His son was getting married and needed the space. My lease wasn’t up and he was willing to pay the penalty fee, but he demanded I vacate within a month. I called around to other commercial spaces in the area. Rents had mysteriously jumped by 30%, and as soon as I mentioned my firm’s name, they all mumbled excuses about being fully occupied.

Mia, my assistant, came to me with red rimmed eyes. Her boyfriend’s company was unexpectedly transferring him overseas and she had to go with him.

“Clara, I’m so so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I patted her shoulder. “When do you leave?”

“Next Monday,” she said, crying harder. “I really don’t want to go,” but I understood.

Eleanor Vance was showing me in her own way that I couldn’t win against her.

That night, I met with Costello at the same cafe. He was 10 minutes late and scanned the room like a spy before sitting down.

“Miss Collins, this is getting weird,” he said in a low voice, pulling a manila envelope from his briefcase. “There’s something very wrong with Richard Vance’s death.”

I took the envelope. Inside were photos and documents. The photos were of medical records and a copy of the death certificate. The handwriting was messy, but the cause of death was clear. Sudden cardiac death. Time of death, 3:17 a.m. Location, his own bedroom. The person who found him was the housekeeper. The time of the 911 call was 7 a.m., a 4-hour gap.

“Look at the time difference,” I pointed out.

Costello leaned in. “And the housekeeper’s story is shaky. She claimed she went to wake him at 6:30 a.m. and found him, then called 911. But security footage from the gated community shows her leaving the house in a hurry at 400 a.m. and not returning until 800 a.m.”

I flipped to the next photo. A blurry still from the security camera. A figure carrying a black bag slipped out of the villa’s side gate. The timestamp read 4:30 a.m.

“’s I asked.”

“No idea.” Costello shook his head. “The housekeeper later changed her story. Said she misremembered the time. The police didn’t press it. After all, Richard Vance had a history of heart problems. Sudden death wasn’t unexpected.”

“Where was Ellaner at the time?”

“At a charity gala in the next city over, she has a solid alibi.” Castello paused. “But one thing is interesting. A month before he died, Richard changed the beneficiary on his life insurance policy. It was originally just his daughter Sophia. He changed it to a 50 over50 split between Eleanor and Sophia.”

I kept flipping through the documents. The last one was Richard’s final physical exam report from 3 months before his death. His cardiac function was normal. Cholesterol and blood pressure were under control. The doctor’s only recommendation was to get more sleep and cut back on smoking and drinking.

A man with a healthy heart suddenly dies of cardiac arrest.

“And there’s this,” Costello said, pulling out one last sheet.

It was a bank statement. A week before his death, Richard Vance had transferred $1 million from his personal account to an offshore account. The recipient was unknown.

“Can you trace that account?”

“Difficult,” Castello said. “But while I was looking into Ethan’s offshore account, I noticed the recipient bank information was similar. They both routed through the same offshore intermediary bank.”

I laid all the documents out on the table. Richard Vance’s death, the housekeeper’s strange behavior, the insurance change, the mysterious wire transfer, Ethan and Elellaner’s relationship. There was a thread connecting these pieces, but I couldn’t see where it led.

“Costello,” I said. “Can you get me the detailed file on Richard Vance’s death scene, police reports, crime scene photos, everything?”

He looked uneasy. “That’s risky.”

“I’ll pay more,” I said. “Name your price.”

He hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded. “I’ll try.”

We parted ways at 10 p.m. I walked back to my apartment building, clutching the envelope of documents. As I took out my keys, I heard footsteps in the stairwell, soft but distinct in the quiet building. I froze at my door, my heart starting to pound. The footsteps stopped on my floor. I slowly turned around.

The hallway light was out, casting long shadows from the green glow of the exit sign. A figure stood at the turn in the stairs, their face obscured.

“Who’s there?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

The figure stepped forward into the light. It was Elellanar Vance. She wasn’t in a suit today, but a dark dress with a cashmere cardigan. She carried a small, elegant clutch. Her hair was perfectly quafted. She looked at me, her expression unreadable.

“Miss Collins, may we talk?” she said, her voice the same as it was in the mall, calm, steady, and not open for refusal.

“We have nothing to talk about,” I said, gripping my keys so tightly the tips dug into my palm. The pain kept me focused about Ethan, about my husband, about many things.

She took another step, now only a few feet away. “I think you need to know the truth.”

“The truth?” I laughed. “The truth is that you’re sleeping with my husband and pretending it’s a business partnership.”

Elellanar gently shook her head. “If this were merely about an affair, I wouldn’t be here. Miss Collins, you’ve been investigating me, haven’t you? Hiring a private investigator looking into Richard’s death into Evergreen stock.”

I didn’t answer.

“I understand your anger,” she continued. “But knowing too much about certain things is not good for you. Richard’s death was not an accident. Ethan is involved in something far more dangerous than you can imagine. If you’re smart, you’ll take the money and walk away. Get far away from all of this.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m advising you,” she sighed, her posture like that of an elder counseling, a naive youth. “You’re young. You have a bright future. Why throw it all away for a man who isn’t worth it?”

I stared into her eyes. They were calm, as placid as a deep pond with no visible bottom.

“How did Richard die?” I asked.

For a split second, Eleanor’s expression faltered, but she recovered instantly. “A heart attack. At 3:00 a.m., the housekeepereeker leaves at 4:00 a.m. You don’t call 911 until 7 a.m.”

“What happened in those 3 hours?” I said, enunciating each word.

The hallway was so quiet I could hear my own breathing. Eleanor watched me, and in those calm eyes, something finally flickered. Surprise! Or perhaps caution? I couldn’t tell.

“How much do you know?” she asked, her voice lower.

“Enough to suspect it wasn’t an accident,” I said. “And enough to suspect that Ethan is with you for reasons far more complex than just money.”

We stood in a standoff. The green light of the exit sign cast an eerie glow on her face. For a moment, I thought she would lunge at me, try to snatch the envelope from my hand, or issue a more direct threat. But she didn’t. She just smiled softly, a sound that was deeply unsettling in the empty hallway.

“Clara, you’re smarter than I thought,” she said. “But smart people often die young.”

“You can try me,” I said, not backing down.

She studied me for a long moment, then took a business card from her clutch and placed it on the railing.

“If you change your mind, call this number. $5 million. Sign an NDA and leave Chicago. This is your last chance.”

She turned and walked down the stairs, the click of her heels echoing and then fading into the darkness.

I picked up the card, a plain white card with only a string of numbers, no name, no title. I tore it into pieces and dropped it in the trash can.

Inside my apartment, I doublebolted the door and spread all the documents on the floor, photos, reports, bank statements. I sat there for hours going through them one by one, looking for the critical link.

At 2 am, my phone rang, an unknown number. I answered but said nothing. On the other end, I heard ragged breathing. Then Ethan’s voice hushed and rapid.

“Clara, listen to me. Whatever you found, stop now. Delete everything. Leave Chicago. Go now. Ethan, I don’t have time to explain. Eleanor is not who you think she is. Richard’s death. Just know that you are in incredible danger. In my study, on my computer, there’s an encrypted file. The password is your birthday. There’s something in there that can save your life. Get it and run. Stop digging.”

“What is going on?”

The line went dead. I tried calling back, but his phone was off.

I sat on the floor, a deep chill spreading through me. Outside, the city night was heavy. The lights like a million indifferent eyes. Ethan’s warning. Eleanor’s threat. And on the floor, documents where every word pointed to one conclusion. I had stumbled into a hornet’s nest. But I couldn’t stop now.

I opened my laptop and logged into my cloud backup. All the files from Castella were there. I scrolled through them, zooming in on every detail. the black bag the housekeeper was carrying the doctor’s signature on the death certificate. The bank code for the $1 million transfer.

And then I saw it in the corner of a crime scene photo marked by a police evidence tag was the nightstand. On it sat a pill bottle. The bottle was small. The label blurry, but the shape was distinctive. It was the brand of imported sleeping pills Richard often used. But next to the bottle were several scattered white pills that didn’t match the color or shape of the sleeping pills.

I zoomed in as far as I could. The white pills had tiny etchings on the edges, a security feature for certain prescription drugs.

I opened my browser and started searching. I typed in the pill shape, the etching characteristics, white round tablet. The search results made my blood run cold. It was a powerful seditive typically used for severe anxiety or psychiatric disorders. But when mixed with certain other medications, it could cause cardiac arhythmia, even cardiac arrest.

I grabbed my phone to call Costello, then stopped. Ethan said there was something on his computer. The password was my birthday. I stared at my phone. Ethan’s warning and Eleanor’s threat battled in my mind. The 3:00 a.m. city was as silent as a graveyard, and I was sitting in the middle of a pile of secrets. I suddenly understood one thing. Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.

But I had to open it.

I stood up, changed my clothes, and grabbed my car keys. Before leaving, I glanced at the torn pieces of the business card in the trash. $5 million. Leave town. Shut up. It was a tempting offer.

I opened my door and stepped into the dim hallway. Just then, my phone rang again. Another unknown number. I hesitated, then answered.

“Miss Collins.” It was Elellanar’s voice, colder than before. “It seems you’ve made the wrong choice.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to help you,” she said. “But her tone was devoid of any warmth.” “Ethan just called you, didn’t he? Did he tell you to go get something?”

I held the phone tightly, saying nothing.

“Don’t go,” Ellaner said. “It’s a trap. If you go there, you won’t be coming back.”

“Why should I believe you?”

The line was silent for a few seconds. Then she said something that made my blood freeze.

“Because your parents are flying back from Europe in 3 days. Flight C 1,737, landing at 2 p.m. Correct?”

I froze, my phone almost slipping from my hand.

“Be a smart girl, Clara.” Elellanar’s voice slithered into my ear like a snake. “Take the money and run or you can see who’s faster, your investigation or my actions.”

The call ended. I stood in the dark hallway, shaking, not from fear, but from rage. She was using my parents to threaten me. She had crossed my final line.

My phone screen went dark. I leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the floor. The early morning wind blew through the hallway window, cold as a knife. Ethan’s warning. Elellanar’s threat, Richard’s suspicious death, the mysterious transfers. My parents preparing to return home from abroad. All the pieces finally clicked into place, forming a complete picture. And in that picture, everyone was smiling at me.

I took a deep breath, stood up, and got in the elevator.

The underground garage was empty. My car was parked in the farthest corner. As I approached, I saw a piece of paper tucked under the windshield wiper. Not a ticket, a photograph. It was a picture of my parents, their backs to the camera, shopping in a duty-free store at an airport. The timestamp in the corner was from yesterday. On the back, a single line was written asterisk last chance.

I tore the photo to shreds, got in the car, and started the engine. As I sped out of the garage, the sky was already turning a pale gray. Chicago was waking up in the morning light, but I knew that for some people, the night was just beginning, and I was going to be the one to turn on the lights.

The car merged into the early rush hour traffic. I set the GPS for the address of my old home, the place where Ethan and I had lived for 3 years, the place filled with lies and betrayal. Now, it was the only place that might hold the truth.

While waiting at a red light, I sent a text to Costello. I need the movements of everyone in the Vance household on the night of Richard’s death. Housekeeper, driver, gardener, everyone. Name your price.

Asterisk, he replied instantly. Miss Collins, this is beyond a standard investigation. Asterisk asterisk double asterisk.

I typed asterisk half in cash up front asterisk.

The light turned green. I hit the gas. In the rear view mirror, the city’s skyscrapers were hazy in the morning mist like a giant labyrinth, and I had to find the exit, or at least find the person who had trapped me inside.

My phone buzzed again. A text from Ethan. Just three words.

Don’t come home. Iskisk.

I glanced at it, deleted it, and kept driving. Some paths once chosen, you have to follow to the end. And I had been walking in the dark for so long, I was finally getting used to it, long enough to see things in the shadows. Like the filth hidden beneath a polished surface, like the promises made but never kept. Like the man who once said he loved me, who was now my most dangerous enemy.

When I turned into our residential complex, the security guard leaned out of his booth.

“Miss Collins, you’re here early today.”

“Just picking something up,” I said, rolling down my window and forcing a smile.

He nodded and raised the gate.

I parked downstairs and looked up at our familiar seventh floor balcony. The curtains were drawn, the windows dark. The elevator ascended slowly. I watched the numbers change, my palms sweating again, not from nerves, but from excitement. the thrill of finally uncovering the truth. Even if that truth might destroy me, the elevator doors opened.

I walked to our front door and took out my key. I had kept it. Ethan hadn’t changed the locks. That saved me some trouble. The key slid into the lock and turned. The door opened.

The apartment was pitch black and smelled faintly of mildew, as if it had been empty for a long time. I flipped on the lights. The living room was exactly as I had left it. Even the wedding photo I’d turned face down on the console.

I went straight to the study. Ethan’s laptop was on the desk. A black laptop, a birthday gift from me last year. I pressed the power button. The screen lit up, prompting for a password. I typed in my birthday.

0823 asterisk incorrect password.

I paused, then tried again. Still incorrect. My heart began to race. Ethan said the password was my birthday. Why was it wrong? Was he lying? Or

I tried his birthday, our wedding anniversary, every significant date I could think of. All wrong.

Just as I was about to give up, I remembered something else. I typed in another date, September 15th, the day we first met. The screen flickered and unlocked.

The desktop was clean. Just a few work folders. I found the encrypted file, doubleclicked it. It prompted for a second password. This time, without hesitation, I typed in Elellanar Vance’s birthday, which I had seen in Castello’s file 0318. The folder opened. Inside was a single video file named backup. I opened it.

The video was shaky at first, then stabilized. It was security footage from a lavishly decorated bedroom. In the center was a large bed, and on it a person lay with their back to the camera. I couldn’t see the face, but I recognized the build, the pattern on the pajamas. It was Richard Vance. The timestamp read 2:47 a.m.

The door opened, and a person in a robe walked in, holding a glass of water. It was Eleanor. She stood by the bed for a moment, then leaned down, took a small bottle from the nightstand drawer, and shook a few pills into the glass. She then helped the man on the bed sit up and held the glass to his lips. Richard drank a few sips and lay back down. Elellanar sat by the bed for about 5 minutes, then got up and left.

The time jumped to 3:5 a.m. The door opened again. This time it was a different person dressed in dark clothing, wearing a hat and a mask, completely concealing their identity. This person walked to the bed, checked on Richard, then pulled a small syringe from their pocket, and quickly injected it into Richard’s arm. After the injection, the person pocketed the syringe, stood by the bed for a few seconds as if confirming something, then turned and left.

The time jumped again. 3:17 a.m. Richard suddenly began to convulse violently, clutching at his chest, a gurgling sound coming from his throat. It lasted for about a minute, then he went still.

4 a.m. The housekeeper appeared in the frame. She walked to the bed, checked for a pulse, then stumbled back in horror. She took out her phone, but instead of calling anyone, she turned and ran out of the room.

The video ended there.

I sat in front of the computer, the blood rushing to my head, a buzzing sound in my ears. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would explode. This wasn’t an accidental death. This was murder. And the proof was hidden on Ethan’s computer.

PART 2

The study door was suddenly pushed open. I whipped my head around, my heart stopping. Ellaner Vance stood in the doorway holding a small silver pistol. The barrel was pointed directly at me. Her face was a blank mask, her calm eyes now as cold as ice.

“I warned you, Clara,” she said, her voice a soft sigh. “A smart person knows when to stop.”

I looked at her, then back at the frozen image on the computer screen, my mind racing. “Why did Ethan have this video? Why did he want me to see it? Was this a trap? Where is Ethan?” I asked, my voice steadier than I expected.

Eleanor smiled faintly. “In a safe place, waiting to complete one last task, and then we can be together forever.”

“One last task.” I stood up slowly, my hand inching towards a heavy pen on the desk. “Like killing me.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” She took a step forward, the gun held steady. “I’m just here to clean up the trash. You, Richard. Anyone who gets in my way is trash.”

I gripped the pen. The study was small. We were less than 10 ft apart. All she had to do was pull the trigger. But her hand, it was trembling. A tiny, almost imperceptible tremor. But I saw it.

“You won’t shoot,” I said. “The gunshot will bring the neighbors. The police will come. How will you explain that?”

She smiled. “A distraught woman abandoned by her husband breaks into her ex’s home to steal things. I discover her, she attacks me, and I defend myself. It’s a perfectly plausible story, isn’t it?”

She was right. If I died here now with only the two of us as witnesses, her story would be the only one told.

“I’ve already uploaded the video to the cloud,” I bluffed. “Kill me, and it will be at police headquarters by tomorrow morning.”

Eleanor’s smile faltered for a second, but she recovered quickly.

“You think I didn’t prepare for that?” She took a small remote from her pocket. “Ethan’s laptop has a remote wipe program. The moment I press this button, all his data will be erased, including your cloud, your email, every backup on every device you own.”

A cold sweat broke out on my back. Was she telling the truth? It was possible. Ethan had a background in computer science.

“So, you have two choices,” Eleanor continued. “One, you hand over the laptop, sign the NDA, and take the money. Two, I kill you, and then I erase all the evidence. Choose.”

I looked at the gun in her hand, then at the door behind her. The study was at the end of the hall, a good 40 ft from the front door.

What were my chances if I made a run for it? What were my chances if I tried to disarm her?

The seconds ticked by. Elellanar’s finger tightened on the trigger. Just when I thought she was about to shoot, she spoke again.

“You know, I actually admire you, Clara. In another life, we might have been friends.”

“Friends don’t steal each other’s husbands,” I said coldly.

She laughed as if I’d told a joke. “Ethan, you think I actually care about him? He’s just a pawn.”

“A pawn you discard when you’re done with it. Just like Richard.”

My heart lurched.

“You killed Richard.”

“I gave him the ending he deserved.”

Eleanor’s expression turned hard. “An old sick man clinging to power he couldn’t manage. I stood by him for 20 years, ran his company, cleaned up his messes, and in the end his will was designed to stop me from ever remarrying. What did he take me for?”

Her voice was finally laced with emotion, rage, resentment, two decades of bitterness.

“So you killed him,” I said, “and framed the housekeeper. What was in the black bag? the syringe, the drugs.”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. She hadn’t expected me to know that much.

“You’re very clever,” she said. “But clever people don’t live long.”

She raised the gun, aiming at my forehead, my fingers tightened on the pen. I had one chance.

Just then, we heard footsteps outside the door, soft but loud in the dead, silent room. Eleanor spun around. The door opened. Ethan stood there, his face ashen. He was also holding a gun. It was pointed at Eleanor.

Three people, two guns, one room. Time seemed to freeze.

Ethan looked at me, his eyes filled with bloodshot exhaustion. He looked terrible, unshaven, and his clothes rumpled as if he hadn’t slept in days.

“Put the gun down, Eleanor,” he said, his voice raspy.

Elellanar didn’t move, but she shifted her aim. The gun now covering both of us.

“You betrayed me, too?” she asked, her voice like ice.

“I was never on your side.” Ethan took a step forward. “Not since you asked me to drug Clara’s coffee. I knew this day would come.”

I flinched. Drug my coffee?

Ethan didn’t look at me, his eyes locked on Eleanor. “3 months ago, you wanted me to add something to Clara’s sleeping pills to make her slowly lose her mind and then have a fatal accident. That way I would inherit her assets, transfer the money to you, and complete the final round of financing for Evergreen.”

Right. Sleeping pills. I remembered that period. I had been sleeping poorly. Ethan had bought me sleeping pills, but I never took them. I’ve always hated taking medication.

“You didn’t take them.” Ethan finally glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “I swapped them for vitamins, but Elellaner found out.”

Ellaner sneered. “So, I had to change the plan. Richard died. I needed someone to stand beside me to help me control the company. You were a perfect fit, Ethan. Young, smart, and most importantly, I had leverage over you.”

“That surveillance video. You let me record it on purpose.” Ethan said, “You knew I’d make a backup. Knew I’d try to use it to blackmail you one day. So, you played along using it to test my loyalty. And you failed.”

Elellanar’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Both of you are going to die here today.”

“You won’t.” Ethan suddenly laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “The police are already on their way. I called them before I came up,” reported a person with a gun.

Elellanar’s face finally changed. As she spoke, the whale of sirens rose from the street below. In the split second that Elellanar was distracted, I lunged, ramming the pen into her wrist. She screamed, the gun flying from her hand. Ethan rushed forward, kicking the gun away, then twisted Elellanar’s arm behind her back, pinning her against the wall. His movements were swift and precise, nothing like the gentle, intellectual man I knew.

When the police burst in, that’s the scene they found. Eleanor screaming and struggling, Ethan holding her down and me standing nearby, still clutching the bloody pen.

“Police, don’t move.” Guns were pointed at all of us.

Ethan slowly released Eleanor and raised his hands. “I’m the one who called. That woman is Eleanor Vance, chairman of Evergreen Bioarma. She’s a suspect in a murder and is illegally carrying a firearm.”

An officer cuffed Eleanor. She stared at Ethan, her eyes filled with venom.

“You will regret this.”

“The only thing I regret,” Ethan said, “is ever believing a word you said.”

The police began to process the scene. I was taken aside to give a statement, as was Ethan. We sat on opposite ends of the living room, separated by a swarm of busy officers, the flash of cameras, and the two guns lying on the floor.

After my statement, a female officer brought me a glass of water.

“Miss Nell Collins, do you need to go to the hospital to get checked out?”

I shook my head and looked at Ethan. He was talking to another officer, his profile weary under the harsh lights.

Elellanar was led away. As she passed me, she stopped and said in a voice only I could hear.

“You think you’ve won? The game is just beginning, Clara. I won’t be inside for long. And when I get out—”

An officer pulled her away, but her eyes, cold, venomous, and smiling, were seared into my memory.

It was dawn when the police finished. They took the computer, the video, all the evidence. Ethan and I, as key witnesses, were told to remain available for further questioning.

When everyone had left, the apartment was silent. It was just the two of us. For the first time in three years, we were alone together with nothing to say. I stood at one end of the living room, he at the other, with a field of wreckage and our shattered marriage between us.

“The pills,” I finally said. “Did you really swap them?”

He nodded. “I couldn’t do it, Clara.”

“I don’t.” I cut him off. “It doesn’t matter now.”

He was silent. Then he asked, “Will you ever forgive me?”

I looked into his eyes, the eyes I had once loved so deeply, now bloodshot and filled with exhaustion and pleading.

“Ethan,” I said, “you saved my life, and I thank you for that. But some things can’t be erased by one act of heroism.”

He lowered his head, his shoulders slumping. I turned to leave. As I reached the door, he called my name.

“Clara.”

I looked back.

“That surveillance video,” he said. “I actually made multiple copies. I sent one to Richard Vance’s daughter, Sophia. She’s studying abroad, but she turns 18 next month. Once she gets control of her shares, Elellanar will have nothing left.”

I was stunned.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I wanted to atone,” he said with a bitter smile. “Even though I know some sins can never be washed away,”

I didn’t say anything. I just opened the door and left.

As I walked downstairs, the sky was brightening. The police cars were just pulling away and curious neighbors were still whispering among themselves. I walked through the small crowd to my car. My phone buzzed. It was Miss Davis.

“Clara. I just heard Ellanar Vance has been arrested. How did you do it?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “I’ll pay your fee as agreed.”

“It’s not about the fee.” Miss Davis was excited. “This is a major breakthrough. We can use this to leverage a much better settlement.”

“Miss Davis,” I interrupted. “I have a question. If someone does the right thing in an attempt to atone for their sins, can those sins be forgiven?”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Legally, providing key evidence and cooperating with the prosecution can lead to a reduced sentence. Morally, that’s for you to decide.”

I hung up and sat in my car watching the sky lighten. The city skyline became clearer in the morning light. A new day was beginning, but I knew some things were far from over. Eleanor’s final look, her words, asterisk, “The game is just beginning,” asterisk were like a splinter in my mind.

A woman who could lie and wait for 20 years, who could murder her husband and almost get away with it? Who could orchestrate such a massive conspiracy? Would someone like that really be defeated so easily?

My phone rang again. A completely unknown number. I answered. A young girl’s voice, choked with tears, came through the phone.

“Is this Is this Clara Collins?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Sophia Vance, Richard Vance’s daughter. I I received a package. There was a video in it and a letter. The letter said, ‘If I go to the police with the video, they’ll kill my mother. What should I do? They have my mother.’”

I gripped the phone, my body turning cold.

“Sophia, where are you? Are you safe?”

“I’m at the airport. I just landed.” The girl sobbed harder. “They know I’m back. Someone is following me. Clara. My father’s death. My mother.”

The line went dead. I tried calling back, but her phone was off.

The city outside my car window was fully awake. Traffic was building, commuters rushing across crosswalks. Everything was normal. But I knew it wasn’t. Elellanar had a contingency plan. She had anticipated this day. She had set another trap. Ethan thought he had won. The police thought the case was closed. I thought it was finally over.

I spun the car around and sped towards the airport, running three red lights. I could already see flashing police lights in my rearview mirror, but I didn’t care. Sophia’s voice, terrified and helpless, echoed in my ears. It was the same feeling I had when I first saw Ethan with Elellanar in the mall.

The morning fog on the highway to O’Hare hadn’t fully burned off. I connected my phone to the car’s Bluetooth and started making calls while weaving through traffic.

“Miss Davis, I need the number for a top criminal defense attorney right now.”

“Clara, what happened?”

“Eleanor has a hostage. It might be Sophia’s mother. Sophia is back in the country. She’s being followed and I’m on my way to get her.”

Miss Davis gasped. “Don’t go alone. Call the police.”

“The police have Elellanar, but her people are still out there.” I stared at the road ahead. “Send me his office address and the home addresses of every executive at Evergreen Bioarma.”

“Clara, this is too dangerous.”

“Doing nothing is more dangerous.”

I hung up. My phone immediately lit up with a list of addresses from Miss Davis. At the same time, a text came in from Costello.

asterisk Miss Collins. Found it. Eleanor has a twin sister, Evelyn Reed. She was committed to a psychiatric facility 20 years ago for mental illness. Disappeared 3 years ago. Hospital records show Elellanor was her only visitor. asterisk

A twin sister missing for 3 years.

The pieces were flying together in my mind.

Sophia said asterisk. They have my mother. But Elellanar Times was Times her mother. Unless Unless she wasn’t talking about Elellanar. She was talking about the missing sister from the hospital.

As my car screeched into the airport parking garage, my phone rang again. It was Ethan.

“Clara, where are you?” His voice was tense. “The police just told me Ellaner’s lawyer is already at the station. She claims to have a perfect alibi. She was at the charity gala the night Richard died with hundreds of witnesses. The person in the video wasn’t her.”

“It was her sister,” I said.

Silence on the other end.

“Clara, listen to me. Go home now. Let the police handle this.” Ethan’s voice was trembling. “I just got a call. They said if I dare testify in court, they’ll they’ll—”

“They’ll what?”

“They’ll release the video of me and Eleanor shopping. They’ll claim you faked it for revenge.” He laughed bitterly. “They’ll also leak evidence of me transferring marital assets and ruin my career. Clara, we can’t win. She’s thought of everything.”

I parked the car and unbuckled my seat belt.

“Ethan, one last question. That video on your computer, besides Sophia, who else did you send it to?”

“No one else, I swear.”

“Then how did someone use it to threaten Sophia?” I pushed the car door open.

“Because Eleanor knew you’d make a backup. She was prepared to use it against you all along. She’s playing all of us.”

The airport terminal was a river of people. I stood under the departures board, scanning every young girl traveling alone. Sophia was 15 but looked older in photos. Long hair, glasses, a bit of a bookish air.

My phone buzzed. A photo appeared. It was Sophia wearing a baseball cap and pulling a suitcase standing in the smoking area outside Terminal 3. The photo was taken from above, clearly from a security camera. A text followed.

You want her safe? Come to parking garage. B. Level two, section D. Alone. No police or you know what happens. asterisk.

The sender was an untraceable number.

I stood there, my blood turning to ice. Elellanar was in custody, but her network was still active, still pulling the strings. This was a warning. I might have caught her, but she still had the power to hurt people. I people who were innocent.

No, not just a warning. This was an exchange.

I dialed the number. It rang three times and was picked up. The voice on the other end was distorted by a modulator, robotic and cold.

“Miss Collins, where is Sophia?”

“She’s safe,” the voice said. “As long as you do as you’re told.”

“I want to hear her voice first.”

A few seconds of silence. Then Sophia’s tearful voice came on the line.

“Clara, don’t come. There are so many of them.”

The voice was cut off.

“You heard her.” The modulator crackled. “Now, parking garage B level two. You have 10 minutes.”

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone, my mind racing. If I went, it could be a trap. If I didn’t, Sophia could be hurt. They had warned me about the police, but maybe that’s exactly what they wanted me to do.

I walked to the nearest airport information desk and asked for a pen and paper. I scribbled a note.

asterisk, “My name is Clara Collins. If I am not back in 1 hour, please give this to the police. I am in parking garage B, level two, section D. There is a kidnapping in progress. asterisk

I folded the note and handed it to the young woman behind the counter. She looked at me confused. I just said, “Please,” and ran.

Parking garage B was vast and cold, dimly lit. Section D was in the farthest corner near the waste disposal area. The air smelled of damp concrete and garbage. I slowed my pace, my hand reaching into my purse and closing around a can of pepper spray. Ethan had bought it for me years ago. I never thought I’d actually use it.

“Miss Collins, punctual.”

A voice came from behind a concrete pillar. Two men stepped out, one tall, one short, both in generic work clothes, wearing masks and hats. The tall one held a taser. The short one was flipping a butterfly knife.

“Where is Sophia?” I demanded.

“The goods first,” the tall one said, holding out his hand. “The video, all the copies. What Ms. Vance wants?”

“I don’t have it with me.”

The butterfly knife snapped shut in the short one’s hand. “Then we can’t guarantee the little girl’s safety.”

I stared at them.

“Ellaner’s been arrested. Why are you still working for her?”

“Arrested doesn’t mean convicted.” The tall one laughed. “And the money she’s paying is enough for a lifetime.”

“So, you were involved in Richard Vance’s death, too?”

The men exchanged a look. The short one spat on the ground. “That old bastard had it coming. Get in the way of money. You pay the price.”

It all fit. Costello had mentioned the crime scene might have been professionally cleaned. These two were likely Ellaner’s hired muscle.

“I can give you the video,” I said, backing away slowly. “But I have to see Sophia first.”

“No deal.” The tall one advanced. “Give us the drive. And we let the girl go.”

“You don’t.” And neither of you are walking out of here.

I backed up against the cold metal of an SUV. The garage was eerily silent, the only sound my own frantic heartbeat. The pepper spray was slick with sweat in my hand.

Just as the tall man raised the taser, the sound of police sirens echoed from a distance. The two men’s heads snapped up.

“You called the cops?” the short one snarled.

“It wasn’t me,” I yelled.

The sirens grew closer. The tall man cursed, turned, and ran. The short one hesitated for a second, then followed him.

I didn’t chase them. I ran towards the pillar they had come from. Behind it was a small door marked utility. It was locked, but the hardware was old. I picked up a loose brick from the ground and smashed it against the lock. Three hits and it broke.