When I returned to the restaurant to say I would be taking Chloe home, Claire’s expression stiffened for a split second, while Ryan gave a knowing smile.

“Do you need me to come with you?” Claire asked, though she did not move from her seat.

“No, you can keep Mr. Zane company.”

I deliberately emphasized the word Mr. Zane. “He does not often come back to the country.”

Ryan rose to his feet and extended his hand. “Mr. Carter, nice to meet you. Hope we get a chance to talk alone sometime.”

I shook his hand, feeling the pressure in his grip. “Anytime.”

On the way to take Chloe home, she leaned against my shoulder the entire time, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns across my chest.

“Adrian,” Chloe said suddenly, “if my sister does not want you anymore, would you consider me.”

I slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched sharply against the road.

“You are drunk.”

My voice was cold. At the same time, her phone screen lit up. It was a message from Claire:

[Don’t push it too far.]

Chloe giggled and reached for her phone, accidentally opening her photo album.

For a brief second, I saw it. A photo of Ryan and Claire.

They were wearing bathrobes. The background was unmistakably a hotel room.

The timestamp showed last year—on the anniversary of my relationship with Claire, the night she said she was attending a friend’s single party.

“Ah!” Chloe hurriedly locked the screen, but it was already too late.

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

Suddenly, all the fragments snapped into place. Her overtime. Her girls’ nights. The nights I could not reach her.

“Adrian, are you okay.” Chloe’s voice turned unexpectedly clear.

I took a deep breath. “We are here.”

When I helped her out of the car, Chloe rose on her tiptoes and whispered into my ear, “Claire does not know I saw that photo. And I do not know if you were supposed to see it either. However, if you want to know more, come to my apartment tomorrow at eight.”

She slipped a piece of paper into my hand, then staggered toward the entrance, turning back with a meaningful glance before disappearing inside.

On my way back, my phone rang.

It was Claire.

“Honey, did you get Chloe home safely.” Her voice was as gentle as ever.

“Yes.” I gave a brief reply.

“Ryan just left,” Claire continued. “He said he really admired you.”

I almost laughed. “Is that so.”

“Yes… oh, let us go try on wedding dresses together tomorrow night, okay. You said last time the waist needed adjusting.”

Tomorrow night at eight o’clock. The same time Chloe invited me.

“All right,” I heard myself say. “I am looking forward to it.”

After hanging up, I pulled over and unfolded Chloe’s note.

Besides the address, there was one more line:

[Bring a bottle of wine. I know you have questions.]

In the distance, the city lights shimmered like stars. Each one perhaps hiding a secret no one else knew.

The next evening, at a quarter to eight, I stood downstairs at Chloe’s apartment building.

In my hand was a bottle of Bordeaux from two thousand fifteen. It was the vintage Claire loved most, and the same year we first met.

Ironically, it had originally been meant for our wedding anniversary.

As the elevator rose, I kept replaying what happened after I got home last night.

Claire, wearing the silk nightgown I had given her, sat on the sofa flipping through bridal magazines.

She looked up and smiled at me so naturally it felt as if that hotel photo had never existed.

“You’re back? How is Chloe?” Claire set the magazine aside and walked barefoot to take my coat.

I studied her refined face, searching for even a trace of guilt. “She drank too much. Said some nonsense.”

Claire’s fingers paused on my tie. “What nonsense.”

“Nothing important,” I brushed it off lightly, then noticed her engagement ring was gone. “Where’s your ring.”

“Oh.” She glanced at her bare finger. “I took it off while cooking and forgot to put it back on.”

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation—only if I had not seen the same ring on Ryan’s hand.

When he served soup earlier, the faint mark on his left ring finger matched Claire’s exactly. They were clearly a pair.

The doorbell rang once before it opened. It was as though Chloe had been waiting behind it.

She wore a black silk slip dress. Her hair was loosely pinned up, a few strands falling along her neck, eerily similar to Claire’s usual style.

“I knew you’d come.” Chloe took the wine bottle. Her fingers deliberately brushed mine.

The apartment was small but tastefully arranged. A few embroidered cushions were scattered across the white sofa, and scented candles were lit on the coffee table.

Jasmine—Claire’s favorite scent.

The entire space felt like a careful imitation of her sister’s taste, yet laced with something more provocative.

“Sit.” Chloe poured two glasses of wine and handed me one. “I know you have questions.”

I went straight to it. “That photo. What is it about.”

Chloe took a sip of wine, leaving a faint lipstick mark on the rim. “I thought you’d ask about their engagement first.”

“I already know about that,” I lied smoothly. “Five years ago, before Ryan went abroad.”

Chloe let out a soft chuckle. “That’s what my sister told you.”

She set her glass down and pulled an envelope from the coffee‑table drawer. “Look at this.”

Inside was a stack of photos.

The top one showed Claire and Ryan kissing against a sunset in Santorini. The date read September last year.

That was when Claire told me she was attending an industry summit in the capital.

My fingers turned the photos one by one. They dined together in restaurants, leaned into each other in cinemas, and one was even taken beneath the cherry blossom tree where I proposed.

The timestamp was only one week before my proposal.