"Oh fuck, Jason, right there."

The voice belonged to Zoe Thorne. Overly loud. Unmistakable.

I pushed our bedroom door open.

Jason Mercer, my husband of three years, was buried deep inside Zoe on our mattress. His hips slammed violently against hers, driving her back into the mahogany headboard.

"I'm fucking close," Jason grunted, his hands gripping her bare hips.

"Give it to me," Zoe moaned, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist. "Fuck my pussy, Jason. Harder."

"You like my dick, Zoe?" he asked, his voice rough.

"I love it. I want you to fill me up. Don't pull out."

"I'm going to ruin you." He thrust faster.

I stood frozen in the doorway, fixing my eyes on the sweat glistening on his back. The rhythmic slapping of their bodies hit my ears like physical blows.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked.

They stopped. Jason pulled his cock out of her. Fluid dripped onto the white silk sheet. Zoe grabbed the fabric, yanking it up over her chest, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

Jason didn't scramble. He didn't cover himself. He calmly picked up his boxers from the rug.

"Clara." Jason pulled the fabric up his thighs. "It's not what it looks like."

"You are naked." My voice came out eerily calm. "In our bed. Fucking another woman."

"It's April Fool's Day." He reached for his jeans. "It's a prank. We were just messing with you."

I let out a harsh, echoing laugh. The sound startled even me.

"A prank?" I asked.

Jason zipped his jeans, the metallic sound grating against the silence of the room. "Yeah. It's April first. You actually fell for it."

Zoe giggled from the bed. She pushed her blonde hair over her bare shoulder, the white silk sheet still clutched to her chest. "God, Clara, you should see your face."

I met Jason's gaze. Three years ago, we stood on a white sand beach in Maui. The sun beat down on my bright floral sundress, the ocean wind catching the fabric. He dropped to one knee, holding a diamond ring.

��I'll love you forever, Clara,�� he had said, his eyes shining with tears. ��I swear my loyalty to you. Only you.��

Behind him, Zoe was already composed, sitting on the edge of the bed wrapping a silk robe around herself, her dark hair falling perfectly over one shoulder. She looked like a woman in a magazine. She always looked like a woman in a magazine.

"Clara, don't overreact," Zoe said, with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "It was just for fun."

I looked at the woman who had been circling my marriage like a tide for three years. I thought about every conversation I'd had with Jason �� ��she's just a friend, she's like a sister, you're imagining things, you're being paranoid, why do you always do this�� �� and I felt something in her chest go very, very still.

I turned and walked downstairs.

Jason found me an hour later, showered and dressed, as though nothing had happened.

"We should still go tonight," he said, adjusting his cufflinks. "The party's at the club. Everyone's expecting us."

I looked up from the couch where I had been sitting without moving for an hour. "You want to go to the party."

"It'll be good for us. Get out of the house. Clear the air." He glanced at my outfit �� jeans, a plain blouse, her hair pulled back without thought. Something flickered across his face, too fast to name. "Maybe change first?"

Jason's circle was already in the club. And Zoe, of course.

"Clara, darling, you look so ��" Christelle paused, tilting her head. "Natural."

"She always looks natural," Marcus said, refilling his glass. "That's her thing."

"There's nothing wrong with natural," Priya said, in the tone people used when they wanted to be diplomatic without being kind.

Jason was on the other side of the table, his hand resting easily on the back of Zoe's chair.

"It's April Fool's Day," Tom announced, clapping his hands together. "We need to commit to the spirit. Who's got something good?"

The table erupted into stories, each one louder than the last. I had become quite skilled at that over the years �� the correctly-timed smile, the small agreeable laugh, the art of being present enough not to be noticed as absent.

"Clara never loosens up," Marcus said at some point, seemingly to no one in particular. "No offense."

"None taken," she said pleasantly.

"I mean it as a compliment," he said, in a way that made clear he didn't. "You're very... steady. Very low-key."

"Zoe would've had five pranks planned by now," Tom said, grinning across the table at Zoe, who smiled back with the practiced ease of someone who had always known exactly how to be looked at.

"She doesn't overthink things," Jason had said once, talking about Zoe. "She just knows how to have fun."

I thought now about the girl I had been three years ago.

I was a girl who laughed too loudly at her own jokes and wore yellow dresses and once danced barefoot on a beach in the rain because why not, why not, the music was good and I was happy.

I thought about Jason, kneeling in the golden light of a different ocean, telling me I was the only thing he was certain of.

"I will love you," he had said. "Just you. Always."

"To April Fool's Day," Tom said, raising his glass.

The table raised their glasses.

I raised main too, and smiled my correctly-timed smile, and thought:

"Three years ago, I was not this person."

"I don't remember how I became her."

"But I think �� I think �� I am very tired of being her."

I set my glass down carefully. Around me, the laughter continued, bright and careless as a party that had nothing to do with me. Jason leaned in to say something in Zoe's ear, and Zoe covered her mouth with one hand, delighted.

I looked down at my current outfit. A faded gray sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants. No makeup. My hair tied in a messy, dull knot.

He had changed the rules right after our honeymoon.

��Take off that lipstick,��he would say, wiping my mouth with his rough thumb. "I don't want other men looking at you."

"That skirt is too short. Your beauty belongs to me."

I threw out my dresses. I stopped buying cosmetics. I shrank myself to make him feel secure.

"You made me stop wearing makeup," I said, my voice eerily steady. "You threw away my clothes."

Jason sighed, rolling his eyes. "Why are you bringing that up now?"

"Because you made me look like this," I pointed to my oversized sweater. "And now you're screwing someone who looks exactly like I used to."

Zoe let out a sharp laugh. "Don't flatter yourself, honey. You never looked like me."

Jason stepped forward, reaching out. "Clara, stop being dramatic. The guys downstairs set the whole thing up. Come on."

He grabbed my wrist. His grip felt like iron. He dragged me out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

"Let go of me," I demanded, yanking my arm backward.

"We have guests," he muttered, marching me toward the staircase. "Stop embarrassing me in front of them."

Embarrassing "him"?

Earlier tonight, during our own house party, I watched him pour drinks for Zoe by the keg. I watched his hands linger on her waist. I watched them whisper and laugh. When I finally went upstairs to escape the noise, I found them in my bed.

We hit the bottom of the stairs. The bass from the living room speakers vibrated through the floorboards. Red plastic cups littered the coffee table.

A group of his friends huddled around the kitchen island. They were right in the middle of a drinking game, slamming shot glasses onto the marble counter.

Greg, Jason's best friend, pointed a finger at us. "Whoa! Look who finally came down!"

Jason forced a loud, booming laugh. He wrapped an arm around my stiff shoulders, pulling me into his side. "We got her, boys. She totally bought the bedroom setup."

The entire kitchen erupted in cheers.

"No way!" Greg slapped the counter, knocking over an empty can. "You actually thought he was banging Zoe?"

I scanned the circle of men. My husband's friends. They were all in on it. Or maybe they weren't, and Jason was just using them as a shield to cover his tracks.

Zoe sauntered into the kitchen behind us. She wore one of Jason's button-down shirts, the hem barely covering her thighs. She leaned against the stainless-steel fridge, sipping from a red cup.

"She looked like she was going to cry," Zoe said, her tone thick with mock pity.

Jason squeezed my shoulder. I felt physically sick.

"Alright, alright," Greg shouted over the heavy music. "Time for the grand finale. The real April Fool's test."

Greg reached into his leather backpack resting on a barstool. He pulled out a thick stack of stapled papers and threw it onto the island. The pages fanned out across the marble.

"Divorce papers," Greg announced.

The room went silent for a split second, then the guys started howling.

"Sign it, Jase!" someone yelled from the back of the room.

"Show her you're a man of your word!" another guy chanted.

My eyes locked onto the stark black text on the front page. "Petition for Dissolution of Marriage."

"Where did you even get these?" I asked.

"Printed them off the internet," Greg said, grinning widely. "Come on, Jase. You said you'd do it."

Jason looked at the papers. Then he looked at me. His eyes swept over my baggy sweatshirt, my bare face, my messy hair. Disgust flashed across his features for a fraction of a second.

He thought I was pathetic. He thought I was too plain to ever attract another man. He believed I would cling to his leg and beg him to stop the joke.

"Hand me a pen," Jason said.

Greg tossed a black ballpoint pen across the counter. Jason caught it effortlessly.

He flipped to the last page. "It's just a prank, Clara. Don't take it seriously."

He scribbled "Jason Mercer" on the signature line.

The guys cheered again, raising their plastic cups in the air.

"Your turn, Clara!" Greg taunted. "Unless you're too scared?"

Jason pushed the papers toward me. The pen rolled to a stop against my knuckles.

"She won't do it," Zoe chimed in from the fridge. "She's too obsessed with him."

Jason smirked. "Come on, Clara. Prove you can take a joke. Sign it."

He crossed his arms, waiting for my tears. Waiting for me to break down and ruin his party so he could call me hysterical.

I picked up the pen. The plastic felt cold against my skin.

"Your beauty belongs to me," he had said.

"I'm going to ruin you," he had told Zoe.

I looked at the signature line. Next to Jason's messy scrawl was a blank space waiting for my name.

"You really want me to sign this?" I asked.

"It's April Fool's," Jason said, tapping his foot against the tile. "Just do it so we can get back to the game."

I clicked the pen.

I pressed the tip to the paper.

I didn't hesitate. I didn't shake.

I wrote "Clara Mercer" in bold, clear letters.

I set the pen down. The soft click echoed louder than the music beating against my eardrums.

Jason's smirk vanished. He glared at the blue ink on the page.

"There," I said. "Joke's over."

I turned around and walked toward the front door.

"Wait, Clara!" Jason called out, his voice losing its arrogant edge. "Where are you going?"

I grabbed my car keys from the ceramic bowl by the entrance.

"I'm leaving, Jason." I opened the front door. The cool night wind hit my face, bringing a sudden rush of clarity. "And tomorrow, I'm filing those papers for real."

"Clara, stop!" he shouted, his heavy footsteps pounding against the hardwood floor as he ran after me. "Are you out of your mind?"

I stepped onto the porch. "Don't follow me."

"You can't leave!" he snapped, grabbing the doorframe. "You have nowhere to go! You have nothing without me!"

I looked back at him. At the panic finally breaking through his smug facade.

"Watch me," I said.

I slammed the front door shut, leaving him trapped inside his own twisted game. But as I walked to my car, a dark figure stepped out from the shadows of the driveway, blocking my path.

"Going somewhere, Clara?" a deep, unfamiliar voice asked.

"Going somewhere, Clara?"

The slurred, heavy voice belonged to Marcus. He stumbled up the driveway, clutching a fresh case of beer against his chest.

"I'm leaving, Marcus," I said.

"Party's just getting good," he muttered, tripping over a crack in the pavement.

I sidestepped him. The cool night air bit through my thin sweatshirt. Before I reached my car door, a burst of laughter from the house made me stop. I turned my head toward the massive bay window. The curtains were wide open, putting the kitchen on full display.

Jason stood frozen by the marble island. He stared at the divorce papers. He genuinely hadn't expected me to call his bluff.

Zoe��s voice carried through the open front doorway. "Well, look at that. She finally grew a spine. Good for her."

Her tone held zero praise. It was pure mockery.

"She actually signed the damn thing," Jason said, his brows pulling together.

"Forget her, Jase," Greg yelled, slapping the counter. "Don't let her ruin the vibe!"

"Yeah, man!" another guy shouted from the back. "Kiss the real prize!"

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

The chant erupted. It bounced off the walls and spilled out onto the front lawn.

I watched my husband. The man who promised me loyalty. He looked at Zoe, then at the cheering crowd. He didn't push her away. He leaned forward.

That was it. The final thread holding my marriage together snapped.

Before their lips met, Jason stopped. He pulled back and glanced toward the open door. He took a single step in my direction.

Zoe grabbed his arm. Her manicured nails dug into his bicep. "Let her go, Jason."

"She took the car keys," Jason muttered. "Maybe I should stop her."

"She's throwing a tantrum," Zoe said, sliding her hand down his chest. "Clara won't really leave. You know she can't survive without you."

Jason frowned. "She looked pissed."

"Just ignore her," Zoe purred. "Give her the cold shoulder. She'll be back in a few days, begging you to let her come home. They always come crawling back when you freeze them out."

Jason stared at the empty doorway. Then, a smug smile tipped the corner of his mouth. "You're right. Let her freeze out there. She'll realize how good she has it."

He turned his back to the door. He grabbed Zoe's waist and pulled her flush against him.

I didn't stay to watch the rest.

I yanked my car door open, slid into the driver's seat, and shoved the key into the ignition. I sped out of the neighborhood, leaving the thumping bass behind.

I drove aimlessly for twenty minutes before pulling into the parking lot of the Oakridge Country Club. Jason used to drag me here for his corporate dinners. The grand stone building sat completely dark at this hour.

I parked my sedan, stepped out into the crisp night air, and leaned against my car door. I needed to feel the solid ground under my feet.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the only person I trusted.

"Hello?" Maya's sleep-heavy voice answered on the second ring.

"I need a place to stay," I said, staring out at the empty golf course. "I'm coming back to Seattle."

Silence stretched over the line for a second. Then, rustling sheets. "Clara? What happened?"

"Jason cheated on me."

"I'm going to kill him," Maya snapped, her voice turning sharp. "Where are you right now? Are you safe?"

"I'm standing outside the Oakridge Club."

"Get to the airport," she ordered. "I'll pay for the ticket. Just get out of there."

"I have enough money," I told her.

"How? He controls all your accounts."

"I've been selling my old jewelry online for the past six months. I kept the cash in a secret app."

"Good," Maya said. "Book the flight. Do not answer his calls."

"I won't."

"Promise me, Clara. Don't look back."

"I promise. I'll text you my flight details."

I ended the call. Standing alone outside the silent club, I opened a travel website.

I typed in Seattle.

"One way. Tonight."

I found a red-eye flight departing in two hours. I hit purchase. The confirmation screen loaded, displaying my booking code in bright green letters.

I locked my phone and dropped it into my pocket. I was really doing this.

Suddenly, a pair of headlights swept across the pavement.

A sleek black SUV pulled into the empty lot. It didn't park in a designated space. It drove straight toward me and stopped a few feet away.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Did Jason follow me? Did he realize I wasn't coming back?

The driver's side door opened. A tall figure stepped out into the dim glow of the streetlamps.

He wore a tailored dark suit. He didn't move like Jason. He walked with a quiet, terrifying authority.

He stopped a few paces from me, his hands sliding into his pockets.

"Are you going to get on that flight, Clara?" he asked.

I tightened my grip on my phone. "Who are you?"

"Someone who hates your husband as much as you do," the man said, his piercing gray eyes locking onto mine. "Get in the car. We have a lot to discuss."