Mae Ruiz had her eye on the prime apartment in a newly developed complex. After eagerly waiting for it to go on sale, she was informed by Alexandra Stewart, the manager, that it had already been reserved.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Perry, but this apartment is already spoken for," Alexandra explained. "Mr. Perry instructed us to hold it for an important investor before the sale started."

Disappointed, Mae decided to move on. A few days later, she received an invitation to a housewarming party from her friend, Maggie Parker. To her surprise, the party was being held in the very apartment she had wanted.

The hostess exuded elegance, with her composed demeanor and a tiny beauty mark accentuating her nose, reminding Mae of a sketch she once saw tucked away in her husband's safe.

As Alexandra apologized once more, Mae reluctantly accepted the situation but couldn't shake the feeling of unease. She had mentioned her interest in the apartment to her husband, Jamison Perry, several times. He was usually generous, and it puzzled her that he hadn't fulfilled this simple request in their three years of marriage. This investor must have been someone significant.

Mae jokingly complained to Jamison over the phone. Later that day, he sent her several contracts for other apartments in the same complex. They were all nice, with good locations and views, but none held the same charm as the one she originally wanted, being quite some distance away from it.

She thought her connection to that apartment was over. But when Maggie invited her to another housewarming party of a new acquaintance, Mae couldn't resist attending, especially since it was in that same apartment. Wanting to maintain good relations with the investor, she dressed meticulously for the event.

Unexpectedly, the woman who greeted her challenged her assumptions of who the investor might be. She wore a white cashmere dress, her long hair tied in a low ponytail, exuding a grace reminiscent of a serene country landscape. The woman handed Mae a cup of coffee with elegantly simple hands.

Caught off guard, Mae graciously accepted the coffee, her attention drawn to the woman, Celeste Taylor, standing before her. The resemblance was uncanny, especially with that beauty mark. If not for Jamison's firm assurance that the model in his treasured sketch was just a passerby, Mae would have instantly assumed Celeste was the woman in the drawing.

Celeste acknowledged her with a slight nod, seemingly unfazed by Mae's scrutiny. A strange feeling lingered in Mae's mind. Could there really be such coincidences? She shook her head at her own anxious thoughts.

After exchanging pleasantries, Mae assumed Celeste was related to Jamison's investor and habitually took out her phone to add her contact details. When Celeste's profile picture appeared, Mae felt a pang of unease. The sunset and silhouette were eerily similar to Jamison's profile picture, like a couple's coordinated photos.

"Is something wrong?" Celeste asked.

Mae shook her head casually and proceeded to add her contact. Celeste's expression remained unchanged, as if she were completely unaware of the coincidence. Or perhaps, fully aware.

The discomfort within Mae doubled. She wasn't one to hold back, ready to confront Celeste about her relationship with Jamison. Just then, a surprised voice interrupted her.

"Sis...Sis, what are you doing here?"

The voice caught Mae's attention. She turned to see Cayden Simmons, Jamison's childhood friend, looking astonished to see her.

"Can't I be here?" Mae replied.

"No, no, of course you can." Cayden stammered awkwardly. "I just didn't expect you to know each other."

The conversation veered off track, and Mae lost her chance to directly address her doubts. Her instincts screamed that something was off. If Cayden knew Celeste and this apartment was especially reserved for her, then the connection with Jamison's sketch couldn't be a mere coincidence. If she wasn't a stranger, what was the nature of their relationship that he had to conceal it so carefully?

A phone call jolted Mae from her thoughts. She answered it.

"Honey, where are you? I can come to pick you up."

Jamison's deep, charismatic voice came through the receiver, but for the first time, it felt unfamiliar to Mae. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Celeste leaning slightly in her direction, possibly listening.

Mae paused for a moment, then followed her instincts. "I'm at Celeste's housewarming party. Do you want to join me?"

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a heavier breath. "Sure, I'll be there soon."

Mae's heart sank. He hadn't asked for the address or who Celeste was. This couldn't be the casual acquaintance he had described.

In about ten minutes, Jamison arrived. Although his office was close by, it would normally take him half an hour to get there. Mae glanced suspiciously at Cayden; perhaps Jamison had been informed by him all along.

Mae observed Jamison and Celeste closely, hoping to catch some indication of their connection. But other than standard greetings, there was no interaction between them.

Jamison pulled Mae to sit beside him as their mutual friends began to tease. "You two seem more in love the longer you're married!"

Jamison merely smiled without responding, focusing entirely on Mae as he played with her hair, as though she were his sole concern. But despite appearances, Mae sensed his distractedness. Since he'd arrived, Celeste had been avoiding their gaze, looking away abruptly whenever their eyes met.

There was an awkward, yet strangely familiar tension between them. Mae clenched her fists, took a deep breath, and resolved to talk to Jamison. Such doubts could harm their marriage, and with a little carelessness, could destroy their mutual trust. If Celeste was simply part of Jamison's past, a conversation would clear the air. Mae didn't mind the past; what concerned her was if the past hadn't yet passed.

"Jamison..."

As the conversation began, a sudden gasp echoed through the room. The tower of wine glasses, arranged artfully in the living room, fell apart in an instant, collapsing like a house of cards.

Celeste Taylor stood at the center, seemingly rooted to the spot by shock. Before anyone could react, Jamison Perry dashed past everyone with the speed of the wind. He rushed to Celeste, shielding her with his body, taking most of the impact and the spray of wine upon himself.

"Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously, not even bothering to wipe away the mix of wine and blood trickling down his forehead.

"I'm okay," Celeste replied, her eyes welling up with tears as she gently dabbed at his wound, wiping the liquid from his face. The air around them seemed to freeze; it felt as if they were in their own world, caught in a spotlight.

Then, Mae Ruiz's best friend, Maggie Parker, shouted out in alarm. "Mae, you're hurt!"

Mae snapped back to her senses. She realized that in her attempt to dodge the falling glasses, a shard had embedded itself in her calf. The delayed pain made her wince slightly.

Jamison released Celeste from his embrace, his eyes darting to Mae's injury with a mix of guilt, remorse, and concern. Mae found his reaction puzzling. If he was so worried, why hadn’t he hesitated before?

He approached Mae carefully, crouching down with gentle hands to lift her into his arms. "I'll take you to the ER."

As they were leaving, Mae glanced back. Celeste’s eyes stayed locked on Jamison, but his brow was furrowed, his attention fixed solely on Mae’s wound, ignoring Celeste completely. It was as if the frantic, intense man from moments ago was someone else entirely.

But then, Celeste’s soft, hesitant voice broke the silence. "Jamison, my hand is hurt too. Could you take me to the ER as well?"

Mae Ruiz and Jamison Perry were united through their families. Unlike the dramatic romances of others, their relationship had been smooth and uneventful. With all aspects of their lives seemingly compatible, they married after a year of dating. For three years, Jamison had been nothing but accommodating and devoted. Except for the lack of children, Mae had no other regrets. She once believed this was what happiness looked like. But now, because of Jamison’s sudden and intense emotion, Mae was beginning to have her doubts.

Her gaze caught Celeste Taylor’s reflection in the rearview mirror. It felt as if a sharp knife had unexpectedly pierced her heart, sending waves of pain throughout her body. Jamison’s anxious voice seemed distant as he held her hand tightly, offering constant reassurances.

“Does it hurt a lot? Hang in there, we’re almost at the hospital,” he murmured. See, he was still as attentive as ever. If it weren’t for the intense gaze from the back seat, Mae might have convinced herself this was enough.

She mustered the strength to turn around and smile warmly. “I’m sorry, Ms. Taylor, my husband tends to be overly concerned.” Celeste’s face turned ghostly pale immediately. “That’s kind of you. I’m quite envious.” The word “envious” was barely audible, an almost inaudible whisper.

Next to Mae, Jamison’s expression remained unchanged, as if everything were perfectly normal, except he didn’t notice how tightly he was gripping her hand. The silence in the car was stifling, as if Mae and Celeste were two strangers coincidentally sharing a ride, waiting for Jamison to take them to their destination.

Once they reached the hospital, Jamison carried Mae from the car and only remembered Celeste trailing behind them after some time. “Ms. Taylor, my wife’s injuries are quite severe. Please feel free to go about your business from here,” he said, nodding briefly towards her before disappearing with Mae into the hospital.