"Seb? Seb, where are you going so late?"
He froze, his hand on the door handle. Elara stood in the archway of the kitchen, a glass of vintage red in her hand. Her silk robe billowed slightly in the draft, her expression a mask of practiced calm.
"Amara is home alone," Sebastian said, his voice tight, stripped of its usual corporate polish. "She sounded… different on the phone today. Worried. I feel like she might have found out something."
Elara didn't flinch at the mention of the other woman. She never did. She simply walked toward him, the heels of her slippers clicking softly. "Relax, Seb. I didn't do anything. She's tucked away in that glass house of yours, she would never find out. You've built that wall too high for her to see over."
Sebastian didn't look convinced. His mind was back in the city, visualizing the safe in his home office, wondering if he'd left a single thread for Amara to pull.
"If you're that worried," Elara continued, her eyes dropping to her phone as she began to swipe, "I'll book a flight for you right now."
As she spoke, she caught the eye of the six-year-old girl sitting on the rug. Elara's fingers moved rapidly across the screen, not searching for airlines, but tilting the phone so the light caught Sebastian's eye, a silent signal to the child.
"Mommy, don't book a flight for Daddy!"
Little Seren scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide and brimming with a sudden, tactical sadness. She threw her arms around Sebastian's waist, anchoring him to the spot. "It's so rare for us to be together and be a real family. Please, Daddy."
Sebastian looked down, his expression softening as he ran a hand through the girl's hair.
"And you said you have a surprise for Mommy Amara," Seren added, tilting her head with a precocious glint in her eyes. "You'll ruin it if you go back now. You always say timing is everything."
Elara let out a theatrical sigh, showing her phone screen to Sebastian. It was a blank loading page. "Seb, there are no flights back tonight. The weather over the coast has everything grounded."
The tension in Sebastian's shoulders gave way to a weary resignation. He looked at the daughter who shared his eyes, then thought of the woman who shared his name, or thought she did.
"Forget it," he muttered, finally stepping away from the door. "I'll go back on our anniversary instead. Seren's right. Going back now would ruin the surprise."
"Yeah! That's great, Daddy!" Seren cheered, her "sadness" vanishing instantly. She grabbed Elara's hand, pulling her toward the den. "Let's play some games together. Let's go, let's go!"
"Slow down," Sebastian chuckled, though his heart wasn't in it.
"I miss you," Seren whispered, hugging his arm one last time before leading them away. "We'll always be together."
As Elara and Seren moved toward the game table, Sebastian lingered behind. He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb sliding over the glass. He didn't check the weather or his emails. Instead, he opened his private gallery.
Image after image of Amara filled the screen. Amara laughing at breakfast. Amara sleeping in silk sheets. Amara looking into the camera with a devotion that was as beautiful as it was unearned.
He admired her the way a collector admires a stolen painting, with a mixture of intense pride and the constant, thrumming fear that the rightful owner might one day come to take it back.
"Soon, Amara," he whispered to the empty hallway. "The surprise is almost ready."
---
Three days had passed, and the woman who used to wake up with a smile now moved with the cold, mechanical precision of a soldier. Amara stared at her phone.
With a few taps, she deleted the contact "My Love" and typed in his full, legal name Sebastian Creed. She moved through the nursery, picking up the stuffed animals and hand-painted blocks she had once arranged with such care.
Every toy was a reminder of a daughter she thought she had adopted, a "complete" family that had never existed. Each item went into a heavy cardboard box, discarded like the lies that had sustained her life.
The front door opened.
"I'm home, love!" Sebastian's voice boomed, rich and warm. He entered the room carrying a bouquet of lilies so large they obscured his face. "Happy seventh anniversary, dear."
Amara didn't jump. She didn't run to him. She didn't even breathe faster.
"Thanks," she said, her voice a flat, dead thing.
How can it be our anniversary when our marriage is fake? she thought, watching him set the flowers down. Do you love me, Seb? Or do you just love the version of me you've kept in a cage? I'm done playing along after today.
Sebastian didn't seem to notice the frost in the air. He was too intoxicated by his own performance. "Baby, go and get changed. I'll show you what I've planned for tonight. It's the culmination of everything."
"Alright," Amara said. As she walked past him, she tossed the expensive bouquet onto a chair as if it were a bag of trash.
Sebastian paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his handsome face. Amara had cherished every petal he had ever given her. She used to press his flowers in books; now, she didn't even bother to put them in water.
When Amara returned, she looked more glamorous than he had ever seen her. She wore a dress of midnight silk, her makeup sharp enough to draw blood. She wasn't dressing for a romantic dinner; she was dressing for a funeral, the funeral of her marriage.
She followed him to the "surprise." In the center of their estate, he had commissioned a massive, sprawling flower arrangement that looked like a shrine.
"So, this is the surprise you prepared for me," Amara said, staring at the display. The things that used to make her feel adored now looked incredibly stupid. Every rose was a lie; every ribbon was a tether.
"Yeah," Sebastian said, stepping close to her, his voice dropping to a soulful whisper. "I wrote one hundred and four love letters to win you over back at the beginning. You're the only one I've ever loved, Amara. I want to build a museum to honor our love. I want the world to know what we have."
Amara's mind flashed back to their university days. Everyone at school knew Seb loves Amara. She remembered the day he had stood in the pouring rain, soaked to the bone, just to give her his umbrella so she wouldn't get a single drop on her books.
"Today," Sebastian continued, reaching into his vest pocket, "I want to give you the one hundred and fifth love letter. You're my first love, and you're my forever."
Amara felt a wave of nausea. She was baffled by how effortlessly he lied. They had been together for ten years, and for the last six, he had been maintaining a fiction so dense it was a miracle he could breathe.
He leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his head to kiss her.
"Seb!"
The high, melodic voice shattered the moment like a stone through glass.
Sebastian froze, his eyes snapping open. Standing at the edge of the garden were Elara and little Seren. Elara held the girl's hand, her expression one of faux-innocence, while Seren looked at the flowers with wide, greedy eyes.
Sebastian's face went pale. This was his private sanctuary, his masterpiece. He looked at Elara, his jaw tightening in a silent demand for an explanation.
Amara, however, didn't look at Sebastian. She looked at the woman and the child. She wondered how small they must think she is. She wondered if they were laughing behind her back while she was playing the role of the "lucky" wife.
The museum was open. And it was time to burn it down.