Chapter 2

Gretchen Rivas POV:

I walked back into my house, the silence deafening. The grand, empty rooms echoed with the hollowness of my life. I went to my study, pulled open a drawer, and took out my birth certificate, my driver's license, my passport. All the flimsy pieces of paper that proved I was Gretchen Rivas.

I carried them to the kitchen sink, a small, defiant flame flickering in my hand. One by one, I watched the flames consume my identity. The paper curled, blackened, and turned to ash. My name, almost, was gone.

A small, genuine smile touched my lips. A sense of lightness, of freedom, I hadn't felt in years.

Then, a ghost of memory. Donovan, ten years ago. We were high school sweethearts, full of dreams, building our first startup in a cramped garage. He'd promised me the world, and I believed him. We were poor, but we had each other. It didn't feel like hardship then. It felt like an adventure.

He swore he would love me forever. His words, etched once so deeply in my heart, now felt like a cruel joke. Forever. What a pathetic lie.

I went to my bedside table, pulling open the velvet-lined drawer. Inside, nestled on silk, was the vintage platinum locket Donovan had given me on our wedding day. An antique he had hunted down for months. He said the two interlocking halves represented our lives.

"This silver, Gretchen," he'd said, his eyes earnest, "is resilient. It's meant to bind us, forever. As long as it remains whole, so do we."

I held it in my palm. It felt cold, heavy, a relic from a different lifetime. I opened my hand. It dropped to the tile floor. I grabbed a heavy brass paperweight from the nightstand and brought it down. Smash. The delicate hinge snapped. The face of the locket twisted. It didn't shatter like glass, but it deformed, the clasp breaking, the metal tearing.

My breath hitched. Not from sorrow, but from a cold, quiet satisfaction. Finally.

I carefully gathered the mangled pieces, each one a tiny monument to a shattered lie. I placed them gently into a small, elegant gift box. I would add a note later. A farewell.

The front door clicked open. "Gretchen, baby? I'm home!" Donovan's voice, annoyingly cheerful, pierced the fragile silence.

He walked into the living room, a designer cake box in one hand, a bouquet of my favorite lilies in the other. He smiled, that public, performative smile. "Surprise! Fresh cannolis from that Italian bakery you love!"

He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, pressing a kiss to my neck. I instinctively stiffened, turning my head slightly away. The scent of an unfamiliar perfume clung to him, sweet and cloying. It was Keri's. I knew it.

"Not hungry," I said, my voice flat. I glanced at the pastries. He remembered. He always remembered the small things I liked. It just didn't matter anymore. He cared about my preferences, but not my heart.

He pulled back, a pout on his face. "Are you mad at me? I know I was late, but the launch ran over. And then traffic on the freeway was a nightmare." He sounded so contrite, so boyish. Such a good actor.

My stomach churned again. The perfume was suffocating. "No, I'm not mad," I murmured. It was true. I felt nothing but a cold, blank acceptance.

He beamed, relieved. He leaned in, pressing another kiss to my lips. Then he pulled out a small, velvet box. Inside, a shiny, heart-shaped car key. "And this, my love, is for you. The first 'Soulmate' off the line. My gift to the only woman fit to drive it."

He launched into a breathless monologue about the car's success, the overflowing orders, the skyrocketing stock. His eyes gleamed with self-satisfaction. He didn't notice my stillness.

I took the key. It felt heavy, a symbol not of love, but of treachery. "Donovan," I interrupted, my voice quiet. "Will you always love me?"

He laughed, a booming, confident sound. He pulled me closer, burying his face in my hair. "Of course, baby. Always. You're my destiny. My soulmate."

He'd said that so many times. It had once been music to my ears. Now, it was a grotesque insult.

"You once said," I continued, pushing gently away, "that if you ever betrayed me, I should leave. That you wouldn't blame me."

His clear, innocent eyes met mine. Not a flicker of guilt. "And I meant it, Gretchen. Of course."

Just then, his phone buzzed. A video call. Keri's name glowed on the screen. He snatched the phone, his face paling, and moved to decline the call.

"Don't," I said, a faint smile playing on my lips. "Answer it."

He hesitated, then, seeing my calm expression, relaxed. He answered, then walked out of the room, into the hallway, lowering his voice.

I didn't need to hear his words. The soft, seductive murmurs from Keri's end carried clearly through the thin walls. "Baby, you were so good last night... I miss you already..."

I closed my eyes. Then I opened them, serene. I walked into the kitchen, the warmth of the day fading with the sun.

Donovan walked back in a few minutes later, looking pleased with himself. "Everything alright, honey? Just a quick work call. Nothing important."

He held out his hand. "Come on. Let's go celebrate your birthday. I booked that fancy French place you love."