Chapter 2

The isolation wasn't just physical, in the sprawling, empty rooms.

It was a deeper, colder thing.

Ethan was often gone, "building the future," as he put it.

When he was home, he was a whirlwind of calls, meetings, and pronouncements about his next big move.

Sarah had tried, early on, to talk about her own work, her investigative pieces that once burned with purpose.

He' d listen with a patient smile, then steer the conversation back to Nexus, to his triumphs.

"Your little articles are sweet, Sarah," he' d said once, "but this is the real world, real impact."

Her career had stalled, overshadowed by his meteoric rise.

She felt like a ghost in her own life, an accessory to his.

The memory of his support during her father' s illness was a complicated anchor.

He had been efficient, strong, seemingly unwavering.

She' d leaned on him, grateful and broken.

He' d chosen her, he often said, over other opportunities, other women who would have been "less complicated."

The implication was clear: she owed him her stability, her comfort.

He had built this gilded cage, and he expected her to sing in it.

She walked away from the magazine, the image of his confident smile burning in her mind.

The city lights glittered below, a million lives playing out, and she felt utterly alone.

This life, the one everyone envied, was a lie.

And the lie was starting to suffocate her.

The anonymous messages started a week after the magazine article.

They appeared on a private social media account she rarely used, one Ethan didn' t know about.

"He' s not who you think he is."

Just a sentence, no sender.

Sarah deleted it, a flicker of annoyance. Trolls.

Then another came a few days later.

"Ask him about the St. Regis. Room 1204. Last Tuesday."

Specific. Painful.

She felt a cold dread creep up her spine.

She started watching Chloe Vance, Ethan' s Head of Communications, more closely.

Chloe was young, mid-twenties, with a sharp ambition that Sarah recognized.

Her Instagram was a curated stream of success: Nexus events, five-star hotels, designer clothes.

Lately, Chloe' s posts had become more... suggestive.

A photo of a particular brand of scotch, Ethan' s favorite, with the caption, "Late night strategy session. #WorthIt."

A view from a hotel balcony that looked suspiciously like the one Ethan had described from his "solo work trip" to Chicago.

Little things, echoes of Ethan' s private jokes, his preferred haunts.

Each post was a tiny, sharp jab.

Sarah told herself it was coincidence, that she was being paranoid, just as Ethan would accuse her of if she dared voice her suspicions.

But the unease grew, a knot in her stomach that tightened with every perfectly filtered image Chloe uploaded.