Chapter 3

"I'm filing for divorce, Sarah. And I'm moving to Austin. We're starting Keystone Architects."

The words felt liberating, spoken aloud to my old friend.

"Amy, that's the best news I've heard all year!" Sarah's voice was warm with genuine excitement. "Austin is ready for you. We'll build something amazing."

We talked for an hour, brainstorming, planning. For the first time in so long, I felt a flicker of my old self, the ambitious architect, return.

The following weeks were a blur of activity.

I immersed myself in architectural journals, sketched designs, researched Austin's building codes and emerging neighborhoods.

My small apartment, the one Ethan had rented for me after we married because his penthouse was "too tied to his bachelor days" (and Olivia, I now knew), became my command center.

Blueprints and swatches covered every surface.

It was a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest.

It was our third wedding anniversary when Ethan finally came home from the hospital.

He walked into the living room, leaning heavily on a cane, his arm still in a sling.

He looked tired, but his eyes, when they found me hunched over a drafting table, held a flicker of surprise.

"Amy? You're... drawing?"

He hadn't seen me touch a drafting pencil since before we were married.

"I'm reviving my career," I said, not looking up from the blueprints for a community center in East Austin.

"Your father would be proud," he said quietly.

The words were a dull ache. My father, who had trusted him.

I almost asked him about the divorce papers Ms. Albright was finalizing.

But then his phone rang. Olivia's distinctive ringtone.

He took the call, his voice softening. "Liv? Are you okay? ...No, no, stay put, I'll be right there."

He hung up. "That was Olivia. She's a little shaken, her new place... some minor issue. Nothing serious."

He looked at me, a strange, almost hesitant expression on his face.

"It's our anniversary," he said. "Let's go out for dinner. My treat."

I was too stunned to refuse. A part of me, a foolish, dying ember of hope, wondered if this was an olive branch.

The restaurant was "Vance," Olivia's newly reopened place after the fire.

Coincidence? Or was I just a pawn in their ongoing drama?

Ethan, despite his injuries, was attentive as we were seated.

Then, he presented a large, iconic orange Hermès box. Not to me.

He gestured to a waiter, who brought a massive bouquet of white peonies. My favorite.

For a wild second, I thought they were for me. I even reached out.

But Ethan smiled, a charming, dazzling smile I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

"Olivia! Happy reopening!"

Olivia Vance emerged from the kitchen, beaming. She rushed to our table.

Ethan handed her the Hermès bag. "A little something."

Then he gave her the peonies. "And your favorites."

"Oh, Ethan! You remembered!" Olivia gushed, burying her face in the flowers. "The Birkin! And peonies! How did you know?"

He always knew.

I sat there, invisible. The dinner wasn't for our anniversary. It was for him to see Olivia.

I was just the cover story. The wife. The fool.