Chapter 4

The silence in the room stretched, taut and fragile. Ethan stared at the red lingerie, then back at my face, his own a mask of conflict and confusion. He looked cornered, trapped between my fury and his own misguided sense of loyalty.

"I... I'll talk to her," he finally managed to say, his voice barely a whisper.

"Talk to her?" I scoffed. "What are you going to say? 'Willow, did you send this? Please don't try to destroy my marriage again, thank you' ?"

Before he could answer, the sound of a key in the lock made us both freeze. The front door swung open and Willow breezed in, humming a cheerful tune. She was carrying a shopping bag from a high-end boutique, a purchase I was sure was made with the credit card Ethan had given her.

She stopped dead when she saw us, her eyes darting from the open box on the table to the thunderous look on my face. Her cheerful mask dropped for a split second, replaced by a flicker of panic.

"Oh," she said, her voice small. "Did I interrupt something?"

Ethan turned on her, and for the first time since she' d arrived, his expression was not one of sympathy, but of cold, hard suspicion.

"Where were you, Willow?" he asked, his tone clipped.

"I... I was just doing a little shopping," she stammered, holding up the bag as if it were proof of her innocence. "You said I should get out of the house more."

"Did you stop by a lingerie store called 'Fleur Sauvage' ?" Ethan pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Willow' s face went pale. "What? No! Why would I go there?"

"Then can you explain this?" I said, stepping forward. I picked up the lace and dangled it from my fingers. "It was delivered here, for me. With a note meant for my husband."

Willow stared at the lingerie, her eyes wide with what looked like perfectly rehearsed horror. She brought a hand to her mouth, her acting skills kicking into high gear.

"Oh my god," she breathed. "Scarlett... you don't think I...?" She turned to Ethan, her eyes filling with tears. "Ethan, you have to believe me. I would never do something like that. This is horrible! Someone is trying to frame me, to make you hate me!"

She started to sob, her shoulders shaking. It was the same performance she' d given a dozen times before, the damsel in distress, falsely accused and heartbroken. But this time, it didn't work.

"Stop it," I said, my voice cutting through her fake sobs like ice. "Just stop. The act is old, Willow. We're tired of it."

She looked at me, her tear-filled eyes radiating pure hatred for a moment before she masked it again.

"Scarlett, how can you be so cruel?" she whimpered. "I thought we were... friends."

"We were never friends," I stated flatly. "You have been a guest in my home, and you have abused that privilege at every turn. This," I said, dropping the lingerie back into the box, "is the last straw."

Ethan, who had been watching the exchange silently, finally stepped in. He looked at Willow, not with anger, but with a deep, profound disappointment. It was as if a switch had finally flipped in his brain.

"Willow," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I think it would be best if you went to your room."

"But Ethan..." she began, reaching for his arm.

"Now," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

Defeated, Willow shot me one last venomous look before turning and scurrying to the guest room, slamming the door behind her.

The silence that descended was different this time. It wasn't angry; it was somber. The fight had gone out of Ethan.

"You were right," he said quietly, not looking at me. "I've been a fool."

I didn't say 'I told you so.' There was no satisfaction in it. There was only a vast, aching emptiness where my trust in him used to be.

"I need you to understand something, Ethan," I said, my voice regaining its strength. "More than anything else in this world, I hate betrayal. I hate lies."

I walked over to the window, looking down at the city lights. "I grew up in a house where trust was a commodity, not a given. I saw firsthand what secrets and deception can do to a family, how they can poison everything from the inside out. I promised myself I would never, ever live like that."

I turned back to face him, my expression unyielding. "When I married you, I chose you because I thought you were different. I thought you were a man of principle, a man of integrity. I thought my trust was safe with you."

I let the words hang in the air, letting him feel their full weight.

"This isn't just about her, Ethan. It's about you. You failed to protect me. You failed to protect us. You brought this into our home and you let it fester."

I took a deep breath. "You need to fix this. Not with apologies, but with action. I want her gone. And if anything like this ever happens again, we are done. There will be no more chances. Do you understand me?"

He looked at me, his face etched with regret. He saw the finality in my eyes, the hard line I had drawn in the sand.

"Yes," he said, his voice hoarse. "I understand."

The next morning, while I was at my studio, Ethan called me.

"She's gone," he said.

"Gone where?"

"I bought her a plane ticket back to Ohio. I gave her some money to get settled. I drove her to the airport myself."

A small part of me felt a sliver of relief, but it was overshadowed by a lingering weariness. The battle was over, but the damage was done. The peace we had now felt fragile, like a crack in a vase that had been hastily glued back together. You could still see the lines. You knew it would never be as strong as it was before.

"Okay," I said. "Good."

"Scarlett," he said, his voice hesitant. "Can we... can we start over?"

"I don't know, Ethan," I said honestly. "I really don't know."