The morning after the charity event felt strangely quiet, almost delicate, as if the whole world was trying not to disturb me. I woke before Ethan, which never happened. My chest still throbbed with the memory of what I had found hidden in his drawer.
Camille's photograph.
The necklace.
Her smile, the kind of radiant, intimate smile only a woman who belongs in a man's heart could wear.
I tried to ignore it as I made breakfast, but my hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the pan. When Ethan walked into the kitchen, hair still damp, white shirt half-buttoned, he paused when he saw me.
"You're up early," he said gently, his eyes narrowing as he took in the redness around mine. "Liana… about last night-"
I cut him off before I could break. "We should eat. The food's getting cold."
He exhaled through his nose, clearly wanting to say more, but he sat down instead.
We ate in silence. My throat felt too tight to swallow properly, but I forced myself.
Afterward, he left for work, and I spent most of the day trying not to spiral. What was I supposed to do? Pretend I hadn't seen her picture? Pretend she didn't still live inside his heart?
When evening came, I was curled on the couch with a book I wasn't really reading when the sound of his footsteps approached.
"Get dressed," he said softly.
I blinked up at him. "What?"
"Something nice," he repeated, leaning on the doorway. "I… want us to go somewhere. Just the two of us."
For a moment, I just stared. Ethan never suggested outings. He never planned anything. He never tried.
"Okay," I murmured.
Hope was a stupid, stubborn thing, it crawled back even when it knew it shouldn't.
I chose a long silver dress and let my hair fall in soft waves. When I stepped out, Ethan froze for a second. His eyes warmed, softened.
"You look…" His voice dropped. "Beautiful."
I swallowed. "You look good too."
We drove quietly, the city lights fading behind us, replaced by the calm of the lakeside. The restaurant he brought me to looked like something out of a dream: warm lights, wooden decks, gentle water stretching out endlessly.
"I thought you'd like it," he murmured.
And I did.
We ate under string lights and candles, the breeze brushing my skin lightly. Ethan listened when I spoke; he even smiled, really smiled. His expressions tonight felt relaxed, genuine… almost tender.
But when I softly said, "You could start fixing things by telling me the truth," his eyes dropped. His jaw tightened.
Another wall.
Another lock on a door he refused to open.
Still… I didn't want to ruin the moment. It had been so long since he looked at me without coldness.
After dinner, he held out his hand. "Walk with me?"
We wandered along the lakeside path, moonlight glittering across the water. I could feel him glancing at me occasionally, as if trying to memorize something. When I tripped over a loose stone, he caught me instantly, hands firm around my waist.
"Careful," he murmured.
I looked up.
Something shifted in the air.
Before I knew it, his lips brushed mine, soft, hesitant, then deeper when I kissed him back. That kiss felt like something fragile breaking open.
By the time we reached home, our hands were intertwined. He kissed me again inside the doorway, slower this time, his breath warm against my skin. I felt his heartbeat when he pulled me close. Everything felt unreal, gentle, intimate, safe.
He carried me into our room.
His hands were warm, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. He touched me like I mattered, like he didn't want to hurt me, like he wanted to protect something delicate.
I let myself fall into it.
Into him.
And for the first time, I let myself believe… maybe we weren't pretending anymore.
When we finally fell asleep, his arm wrapped around my waist, I let myself hope.
Just for one night.
The next morning, sunlight barely filled the room when I woke alone. For once, I felt… light. Warm. I could still feel his hands on my waist, the way he whispered my name, the way he held me afterward.
I went searching for him with a small, shy smile on my lips.
That smile died the moment I heard his voice from his office.
"Camille, stop," he snapped quietly. "I said we'd talk later."
My heart dropped.
Camille.
Her name hit me like cold water.
I froze outside the door. I didn't mean to eavesdrop; my body just wouldn't move.
"Yes," he muttered after a moment. "It's almost over anyway."
Almost over.
Almost over.
The words echoed again and again until my lungs felt too tight to breathe.
He wasn't talking about work.
He wasn't talking about Camille.
He was talking about us.
Our marriage.
Our year.
Our contract.
Me.
Last night-
our first real moment,
our first real connection,
our first night together,
was nothing to him.
Just something to pass the time until the contract ended.
A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it, but it sounded more like a sob. My hand flew to my mouth.
I stumbled back from the door, vision blurring. My chest felt like it was being crushed.
"Enough," I whispered to myself. "I've had enough."
I packed quietly.
I didn't take much.
A few clothes.
My essentials.
My dignity, what little remained.
The photo in the drawer flashed through my mind again. Her smile. His silence. His lie.
I zipped the bag with trembling fingers.
There was nothing left to wait for.
He had already chosen who stood closest to his heart, and it wasn't me.
I took one last glance at our room, the bed we shared just hours ago, the faint trace of warmth still lingering in the sheets, and forced myself to turn away.
Every step toward the front door hurt like a fresh wound.
But I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
I wouldn't let him be the one to walk away first.
This time… I would leave.
And even if it shattered me completely, at least the breaking would belong to me.