Chapter 2

The painkillers finally kicked in, dragging me into a heavy, dreamless sleep on the bar's sticky surface. When I stumbled home hours later, the house was dark. I collapsed onto the sofa, too exhausted to make it to the bedroom.

Eleanor came in around 2 a.m. She moved quietly, a shadow in the moonlight filtering through the large windows. She saw me on the sofa and came over, gently pulling a blanket over me.

"Jeff, you should have gone to bed," she whispered, her hand brushing the hair from my forehead.

For a moment, the gesture felt real. It was a painful echo of how she used to be, how I thought she was. A flicker of warmth, quickly extinguished by the cold truth.

She had always been a perfect wife on the surface. She remembered my favorite foods, bought me expensive art supplies I no longer used, and always, always presented a united front in public.

She was thoughtful. She was kind. She was a brilliant actress.

I used to think these small gestures were love. I cherished them, collected them like treasures. Now I knew they were just part of her performance. Payments for the debt she felt she owed me.

Hudson's arrival in our lives had shattered the illusion. His presence made her drop the mask, revealing the cold calculation underneath.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked, her voice laced with a faint, almost imperceptible annoyance. "You look pale."

I didn't open my eyes. "Just tired."

"You can't be 'just tired,' Jeff," she said, her tone hardening. "We have the press brunch tomorrow. You need to look presentable. Don't make things difficult."

A warning. A command. Keep up the act.

"I have your anniversary gift," she said, her voice softening again, trying to sound sweet. She dropped a small, velvet box onto my chest. "I hope you like it."

I waited until I heard her footsteps go up the stairs before I opened my eyes. I picked up the box. Inside, nestled on the velvet, was a single diamond earring. Just one. I was confused for a second.

Then the front door opened.

Hudson Stewart walked in like he owned the place.

And on his left earlobe, winking in the dim light, was the matching diamond stud.

The air left my lungs. The gift wasn't for me. It was a shared thing between them. I was getting the leftover, the second-hand piece. A symbol of my place in her life. An afterthought.

I remembered our wedding day. A small, quiet affair at City Hall. She had promised me forever. She had promised to protect me. Now she was giving me her lover's cast-offs.

A wave of nausea washed over me, and the pain in my side returned with a vengeance.

"Well, well, look what we have here," Hudson said, strolling over to the sofa. He stood over me, a smug smile on his face. He nodded towards the kitchen. "Eleanor says you make a fantastic omelet. I'm feeling a bit hungry."

He was playing the part of the man of the house. My house.

"No," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Hudson's smile widened. He turned to Eleanor, who had come back downstairs. "Ellie, darling, your husband is being rude. I just asked for a little something to eat." He pouted, a childish, manipulative gesture.

Eleanor's face hardened as she looked at me.

"Jefferson, don't be childish," she snapped. "Hudson is our guest. Go make him an omelet."

The command was absolute. The look in her eyes told me there was no room for argument. She had chosen. She would always choose him.

I felt a profound weariness settle into my bones. I was tired of fighting, tired of the pain, tired of the humiliation.

Slowly, I pushed myself off the sofa and walked into the kitchen. My hands trembled as I took out the eggs and the pan. I felt like a servant in my own home.

As I was cooking, my hand slipped. The hot pan clattered against the stove, splashing scalding oil all over my arm. I cried out, a sharp cry of pain.

Eleanor and Hudson rushed in.

But Eleanor ran past me. She went straight to Hudson, her hands fluttering over him.

"Hudson, are you okay? Did you get burned?" she asked, her voice filled with panic.

Hudson, who was several feet away and completely unharmed, clutched his arm dramatically. "I think a little bit splashed on me, Ellie. It stings."

She didn't even glance at me. She didn't see the red, blistering skin on my arm. She didn't see the pain in my eyes.

She fussed over Hudson, her back to me, cooing and checking his perfectly fine arm. "Oh, my poor baby. Let's get some ice on that."

She led him out of the kitchen, her arm around his waist, guiding him as if he were the one who was truly hurt.

I was left alone, standing in the middle of the kitchen, my burned arm throbbing. The smell of scorched eggs filled the air.

I remembered her promise, whispered in a hospital room years ago. I'll always protect you, Jeff. Always.

The memory was just another lie.