Chapter 4

Mark came home just as the sun was rising.

He tiptoed into the bedroom, thinking I was asleep. He was carrying a small white box from a fancy bakery.

"I brought you your favorite cheesecake," he whispered, placing it on the nightstand.

I didn't open my eyes.

"That's not my favorite, Mark," I said, my voice flat. "My favorite is the lemon tart. You know that."

He froze. I could feel his surprise.

"Oh. Right. I... I must have gotten them mixed up. Sorry, baby."

His smile sounded stiff, forced. He came over to the bed and tried to kiss me.

"I'm sorry about last night," he murmured against my hair. "Things got a little crazy. I wanted to tell everyone about us, but my parents thought we should focus on Olivia and the baby for now. They said it would be too much news at once."

A lie. So easy for him.

I pushed him away gently.

"Don't," I said.

He looked hurt. "What's wrong, Sarah? Are you mad at me?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, his face a mask of concern. He reached for my hand.

"I know it's a lot to take in," he said, his voice soft and persuasive. "I know I messed up by not preparing you. I'm a mess, Sarah. I'm just trying to hold everything together. For David. For the family. For us."

He was trying to make it my fault. Trying to make me feel guilty for being upset. The classic gaslighting technique he had perfected over the years.

It used to work. I used to feel a pang of guilt and rush to comfort him, to reassure him that I understood.

But not anymore.

I felt a deep, chilling sadness wash over me. I was mourning the man I thought he was, the love I thought we had. It was all a performance.

He was just an actor, and I had been his most devoted audience.

I didn't say anything. I just stared at the ceiling, letting his words hang in the air between us.

He sighed, a long, dramatic sound meant to signal his emotional turmoil.

"I'll make it up to you," he promised.

As he leaned in again, trying to look sincere, I saw it.

On the side of his neck, just below his jawline, was a faint red mark. A hickey.

It was small, but it was there. A tiny, vulgar brand marking him as Olivia's property.

The sight of it made my stomach turn.

I closed my eyes, feigning exhaustion.

"I'm tired, Mark. I just want to sleep."

He hesitated for a moment, then finally relented.

"Okay, baby. Get some rest."

He kissed my forehead and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

The moment he was gone, my eyes snapped open. The performance was over.