My husband's mistress, Chloe Monroe, cornered me in a public spectacle of her own making.

"I love Cole so much. Can't you just let me have him?"

Cole sat quietly to the side, but texted me, "Just say yes. Humor her for now."

So I did. Then I started packing my bags, ready to leave the penthouse we shared.

On my way out, I heard his friends joking over a poker game. "Clara's surprisingly obedient. Hey Cole, you think if you told her to get rid of the baby so you could go on that ski trip with Chloe, she'd actually do it?"

Cole raised an eyebrow, looking nonchalant. "Want to bet?"

"I bet she'll cry and make a scene at the clinic, but in the end, she'll still go through with it."

I didn't say a word. I just opened a chat with someone else.

"Will you marry me?"

"I will."

————————

1

A message flashed on my screen: "Are you serious?"

A happy emoji followed. I locked my phone without replying. Not yet.

The laughter from the living room roared on, relentless. "If Clara gets rid of the baby, you can drive my new Porsche for three months!"

"Only three months? I say a full year!"

"It's a deal!"

The noise swelled as the men in the living room cheered the bet.

Back in the bedroom, I frantically shoved anything I could grab into a suitcase. I slammed my calf into the sharp corner of a table, the sudden, searing pain finally tearing a sob from my throat.

Cole Harrington had fallen in love with Chloe Monroe, a model seven years his junior. He bought her luxury homes and cars and whisked her away on lavish vacations around the world.

However, Chloe wouldn't even let him hold her hand in public. She would always dissolve into tears, whimpering, "You're married. I can't do this to Clara!"

Her tears must have broken Cole's heart. He came home demanding a divorce, a grand gesture meant to appease her.

I fought him on it, refusing to accept such an absurd reason. But he just pulled me into his arms, his chest warm against my back. "It's just for show, baby," he murmured. "We'll remarry as soon as it's over. Okay?"

A few days later, Chloe appeared before me. She was a mess of pitiful tears as she collapsed into Cole's arms. "I love Cole so much. Can't you just let me have him?"

Cole's friends told me to be the bigger person and not make a fuss over a "young girl" like Chloe. Cole said nothing, his show of reluctance just a cover for the text he was secretly sending me. "Just agree with her. You don't have to mean it. Just humor Chloe for now."

I gave in. Again.

Another text popped up on my phone. "Are you really, really serious, Clara? You're not lying to me, are you?"

Heat flooded my cheeks. I typed back before I could second-guess myself. "Yes. I'm serious. I'm not lying."

Shortly after I finished packing, Cole drove me to a private clinic. He was in a good mood the whole way, even trying to discuss his upcoming ski trip with Chloe. It was a high-profile trip, the kind that would officially turn our marriage into a public joke.

"Honey, I've looked at a few ski resorts, and they are absolutely gorgeous. Which one do you think Chloe will like?" he asked, then pecked me on the cheek. "Silly me. I forgot you never liked skiing. We'll just book the best suite in Aspen!"

It wasn't until we got out of the car that Cole noticed the tear tracks on my face. He reached out to wipe them, but I slapped his hand away without a word. It wasn't until he was leading me towards the obstetrics and gynecology department that he finally tried to comfort me.

"Don't be angry, honey. We can always have another baby. You know how dramatic young women like Chloe can be when they throw a fit," Cole said smoothly.

The doctor seemed unfazed by Cole's words, simply asking me a few questions before telling me to wait in the reception area for the procedure. Cole sat next to me, but I saw him using his tablet to book a couple's spa treatment for Chloe.

I glanced at his tablet. He was texting Chloe. Alright, be good, he typed. This kind of thing takes a while. I'll be back as soon as she's out. You said you'd let me kiss you today. You can't go back on your word, okay? A sigh escaped him. Chloe was probably whimpering for attention again.

Seemingly satisfied with my silent obedience, Cole shot to his feet. "I have to go, honey. After the surgery, just grab a cab and head to the new place I arranged for you."

He left in a hurry, his words rushed. He was gone before I could even respond.

Lying on the operating table, a hollow ache spread through my core. The faint flutter of life I'd carried was gone, replaced by a chilling, unfamiliar silence.

As soon as I left the operating room, an email popped up on my phone. It was a flight ticket confirmation from Seattle to Aspen Falls, accompanied by a short text: "Wait for me."

Instead of the apartment Cole had arranged, I went back to my old studio, the one I'd had before we were married.

Breathing in the familiar, dusty air of my old life, my mind drifted back to when I first met Cole.

I used to sketch designs in a little coffee shop, and one rainy day, Cole and his friends moved in down the street. It wasn't long before he started wandering over to my table to chat.

When he found out I loved jazz, he showed up at my doorstep with two front-row tickets to a sold-out show at an exclusive jazz club, knocking until I answered. I opened the door to find him leaning against the frame, a bright smile on his face.

Cole squeezed past me, waving the tickets. "Come on, let's go," he boasted smugly. "Be careful, the bassist there is heartbreakingly good."

My heart hammered as I took the tickets. He squeezed past me into the apartment, his face only turning red when he seemed to realize how close he'd gotten.

After that, I went to a university on the East Coast for further studies, while Cole expanded his finance business on the West Coast. We were long-distance, but every quarter, rain or shine, he would fly out to see me, two jazz club tickets in hand.

He’d tell me all about the bands, playfully grumbling about the expensive airfare, though his voice never held any genuine bite.

Dating felt natural, and soon after, we were married. He launched his own successful business, we moved into that penthouse, and the jazz clubs stopped. Instead, he would ask, puzzled, "Haven't you gotten tired of that noisy music after all these years?"

I had believed his love was real. But hearts change.

The sharp ding of a notification on my phone pulled me back to the present. I stared at the Instagram post from Chloe. Her slender shoulders were bare as Cole's head was buried in the crook of her neck, a luxury yacht blurred in the background. Her pale hand was clutching his back, her eyes half-closed in a look of pure intoxication.

I didn't have to guess what they were doing.

I rushed to the bathroom and dry-heaved until my stomach ached. After recovering, I immediately blocked Chloe.

Just then, a GIF of a designer sketching appeared on my phone, followed by a text from Rhys Covington. "What are you up to? I miss you."

Rhys was my senior project partner in college. I had been admitted to a top university with excellent grades, and at the beginning of the semester, the professor paired us up for a semester-long project.

Rhys was my partner. He had striking eyes and a sharp jawline, but the first look he gave me was so stern and unfriendly it sent a jolt of ice down my spine. My first instinct was to keep my distance.

For a long time, we didn't speak. During late nights in the design studio, I was so nervous about tiptoeing past him for water that I'd take the long way around to the fountain on the other side of the building.

That was, until one night I snuck out of the studio and slammed right into someone around the corner.

"Pfft!" I heard a soft laugh from above and looked up to see Rhys leaning against the wall, grinning at me.

Embarrassed and annoyed, I snapped, "How long have you been out here?"

"Just as you were tiptoeing out," he said, his voice slow and teasing. "I had a feeling you were going to walk into something. Guess my intuition was on point." He tilted his head, shrugged, and the grin on his face widened.

I was stunned. Suddenly, my partner didn't seem so intimidating.

After that, I started asking for his advice on design problems, and he would patiently guide me. When he realized how shaky my foundational knowledge was, he showed up the next day with a stack of professional theory books.

I looked at him, confused.

"Read these," he explained. "If there's anything you don't understand, just ask me."

I started buying him coffee to thank him for the extra tutoring, a small ritual that continued right up until graduation. Unsurprisingly, he was hired straight out of college by the Covington Group. Before we parted ways, he asked for my phone number.

But Rhys didn't text me after that. Not until a week ago, when he suddenly contacted me, asking, "How have you been lately?"

After my divorce from Cole was finalized, I was a crying mess. In my grief and confusion, I pressed the call button.

Rhys listened to me sob for half an hour without a single interruption, somehow piecing together the story of my divorce and Chloe's harassment from my broken words.

The sounds of boisterous laughter from the living room dragged me from my memories, back to that awful night. I remembered looking down at Rhys's text, at his simple question: Will you marry me? My reply had been just as simple. "I will."

From that day on, Rhys became surprisingly talkative. In college, I never would have imagined he could be so chatty. He would ask me what I was doing and what I ate every day, and send me cute emojis with puppy-dog eyes, telling me he missed me.

Talking to Rhys chipped away at the crushing loneliness.

Three days later, Cole sent me a picture. It looked like he was at his parents' house for dinner.

He texted, "Hey, honey, haven't seen you in two days. Why haven't you called? How's the new place? Having trouble sleeping because I'm not there to hold you?"

If I wasn't mistaken, that pale, slender arm that "accidentally" appeared in the frame belonged to Chloe.

I replied dryly, "You and Chloe look like you're having a great time."

"She insisted on coming. Couldn't do anything about it. But my parents really like her, think she's very charming. I should have her teach you a few tricks someday," Cole added.

After all, I was just from a middle-class family. No one ever taught me how to charm his parents. He used to know that. "You married me, not my parents," he'd once said. "You don't need to win them over."

The bitterness and resentment I had tried so hard to bury resurfaced. I didn't respond. At night, he called, his voice demanding. "My housekeeper said you never showed up at the new apartment. Where are you?"

I sighed. "I didn't want to go."

Hearing the dissatisfaction in my tone, Cole laughed. "What's wrong, honey? Picking up Chloe's tantrums? I told you this was all an act. When I get tired of her, we'll go back to how things were. Come on, tell me where you are, and I'll come find you."

After a moment's thought, I decided a clean break was for the best. "I'm at my old place," I said softly. "The one from before we got married. You know where it is."

Cole was impulsive. I worried he'd show up the second he hung up, so I forced myself out of bed and waited for him in the living room.

In the end, he never came. A light drizzle misted the windowpane, and the wind whispering through a crack ruffled my hair.

It was a cold, rainy night. I closed the window and tried calling him, but he rejected it. A moment later, a voice message arrived.

A scoff. "God, she's so dramatic. I set her up in a high-end apartment, and she refuses to go, insisting on holing up in that dump she used to live in."

"I never loved her anyway. At first, I just thought her family background was decent and she had some design talent. Figured she'd look good on my arm. I didn't expect her to actually fall for me after a few jazz clubs. It's like she's never been anywhere. So naive."

He let out a derisive laugh. "I didn't marry her because I was out of options. She had the right background, and she was obedient. But she's boring as hell in bed, and I'm tired of it."

"Chloe is still the best. So vibrant and uninhibited. Come here, baby. Give me a kiss."

The voice message ended abruptly.

My heart shattered. It seemed an amicable split was impossible.

I sat listlessly in the living room until dawn. Then I heard a gentle knock on the door, followed by a man's voice. "Clara, it's me."

My mind went blank as I shuffled over in my slippers and opened the door.

I hadn't seen Rhys in years. He looked much more mature and serious than his playful online persona.

He was holding a rare, out-of-print jazz vinyl—one we used to love.

For a split second, Rhys's face overlapped with Cole's, and that horrible voice message replayed in my head. My vision blurred with rage and pain. I snatched the record from his hand and smashed it on the ground. "Go away! I don't want to see you!"