The artillery fire behind me turned the night into a blinding, hellish noon. I sent a message to my husband, Bradley Lawrence:

"I’ve arrived. Let me take you home."

He didn’t reply.

I scrambled to call his assistant, Wesley Cole. The voice on the other end was hesitant, stuttering.

"You... you actually went to the Middle East?"

The thunder of an explosion rattled my skull. My vision blurred with tears and desperation. "Which sector is he in?"

Silence stretched for several agonizing seconds.

"The truth is, he never left the country."

A freezing gust of wind whipped into my collar, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Wesley’s voice dropped to a low, heavy mumble. "He told you he was on a business trip. He lied."

I hung up, and a notification pinged on my phone. An image popped up—dated today.

Bradley was grinning, his eyes curved into crescents, his arms wrapped tightly around a woman as they blew out the candles on a birthday cake.

I recognized her instantly.

It was Lacey Rose. The woman Bradley had knelt on the floor three years ago to swear he’d never see again.

Bradley seemed to have forgotten that today was my birthday, too.

My phone buzzed again.

"Madeline, the truth is, he never actually cut her off. You two always looked so happy as a couple that I didn't have the heart to tell you."

I stared at the screen, at the message I had typed earlier: *I’ve arrived. Let me take you home.*

It hadn't gone through.

If that was the case, I wouldn't be waiting for him to come home either.

...

"Ma'am, please move to the evacuation point. Do not linger here."

The airport announcement echoed through the terminal. I took one step and my legs gave out, crumpling beneath me. I don't know how many layovers I endured, or how many miles I traveled to get back.

When I finally stepped onto the plane bound for home, I couldn't hold it back anymore. I sobbed until my chest ached.

Back in the city, smelling of gunpowder and exhaustion, I went straight to the law firm.

In the elevator, I heard a voice behind me, dripping with playful annoyance.

"Who swiped those lace panties of mine? I came here completely bare because of you, you prick."

"I’m waiting, then. Let’s see how you’re going to punish me later."

I turned, my heart hammering against my ribs.

It was Lacey Rose.

She was still on her phone, voice airy and mocking. "Is there enough protection left in your drawer?"

The elevator doors began to close, the mirrored interior reflecting two faces.

One was youthful and vibrant, her makeup flawless, the corners of her eyes crinkling with laughter. The other was a ghost—skin sallow, eye sockets sunken, lips cracked and bleeding, my hair a matted, tangled mess.

No wonder she didn't recognize me. After the smoke and the fire, I barely recognized myself.

A low, familiar chuckle drifted through the phone receiver.

"Depends on who it is. With you? It’s never enough."

She teased back, her voice dropping into a sultry, upward lilt. "Careful. If I scream loud enough, your whole office will know Bradley Lawrence is cheating again—and that I'm the one he’s doing it with."

He laughed again on the other end. "If you’re bold enough to make a scene, I’ll file the divorce papers today."

The elevator doors pinged open.

Bradley stood there, immaculate in a tailored suit. He stepped forward, hooked an arm around Lacey’s waist, and pressed his mouth to hers.

He moved with a desperate, starving intensity, like a fish that had finally found water.

Lacey giggled, trying to pull away, but he hauled her back in, kissing her deeper. She slapped his chest weakly, her voice muffled. "There are people around..."

Bradley finally pulled his head back.

I panicked, turning to hide my face, my eyes stinging.

"Let them look," he spat. "I’m kissing the woman I love. Why should I hide?"

Lacey nestled into his chest, shaking with laughter.

He stripped off his coat to wrap around her.

"If I hadn't needed to come back to the office for files, I wouldn't have spent a single second away from you," he murmured, sighing. "I just worry that if I show my face here, my wife will find out by tomorrow."

Lacey purred, "Fine, fine. I’ll do whatever you want today. Consider it comfort for your stress."

The elevator descended to the basement level. I followed them, moving like a machine, trapped in a waking nightmare.

Then, I watched them climb into that luxury sedan—the one with the license plate that matched my birthday.

A moment later, the car began to sway rhythmically.

I stood in the shadows, a chill racing up my spine that bit deep into my marrow.

Nobody knew this but us.

The first time Bradley and I were together, it was in the back of that exact car.

He had been so nervous his palms were slick with sweat. He kept asking if I was in pain. When I told him I was fine, he’d just smile and say, *How did I get so lucky to have you?*

"Madeline," he had whispered, "don't worry. I will never let you down."

Afterward, he’d bundled me into his coat and cranked the heat to the max. I leaned on his shoulder, joking that when we were rich, we’d buy the most expensive car in the world.

He said, *Sure. And I’ll put your name on the title.*

Later, he found success. We married, and we spent three years in what I thought was a perfect life.

Until I found him and his assistant, Lacey, tangled in our bed.

I chose to leave, even if it meant walking away with nothing. The day we signed the divorce papers, he jumped from a balcony.

He didn't die. He just shattered a leg. He spent months in a hospital bed, begging for my forgiveness, pleading for one more chance.

I was soft. I took care of him for half a year until he recovered. When we remarried, he treated me better than he ever had before. He swore he would never hurt me again.

But now.

This heart, which he had broken and which had only just begun to scab over, was being ripped open all over again.

Blood was everywhere.