Chapter 3

Emily’s fingers froze on the zipper of the leather duffel, the rasp of it still echoing in her ears like a gunshot in the quiet bedroom. 

Don’t breathe too loud. 

But the bed creaked behind her, and James’s voice sliced through the dark.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she tasted copper. He can’t know. Not yet. Not like this. 

The clothes she’d chosen, old jeans, sweaters from before him, felt like fragile armor in her hands. She forced her voice steady. “Just… sorting old clothes. Things that don’t fit anymore. I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake you.”

Please believe me. Please stay blind just a little longer. She prayed within.

James’s jaw tightened, fury flashing hot in his eyes for a terrifying second. The same sharp look he gave subordinates who disappointed him. Emily’s stomach clenched. This is it. He’ll see the lie. But then he exhaled, rubbing his face wearily. “Christ, Emily. At this hour?” His tone softened into familiar impatience. “Fine. Just come back to bed. We’ll deal with your spring cleaning tomorrow.”

Relief mixed with shame flooded her as she shoved the bag deeper into the shadows and went straight for the bed. His arm pulled her close under the covers, heavy and claiming as she lay rigid beside him. How many more nights like this? How long can I pretend I’m still his perfect wife while planning to disappear? His steady breathing mocked her racing pulse. 

She couldn't sleep a wink. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as she made a list in her head of everything she needed to do.

Find a lawyer. Open a bank account. Pack my things. Hide the money and disappear by this week, she had a clear plan.

….

The next morning came.

Emily stood at the window until James’s car disappeared down the driveway, gravel crunching under tires like bones breaking. The moment the gate closed behind him she began to move. 

Her hands shook as she opened her laptop in the sunlit study, the leather chair cool against her thighs.

Divorce lawyers. She typed furiously into the search bar, each click a small act of defiance. 

Rebecca Lang’s profile stared back. A shark specializing in high-asset divorces. Emily saved her number under a fake name. M. Harper and booked a consultation for the following week.

This is real now there was no turning back at this point.

She opened a new bank account online. Using her maiden name, Emily Carter, the name she'd had before she became Mrs. James Whitmore. It felt like shedding skin, like becoming someone else but stronger.

She walked through the mansion, cataloging what she'd leave behind and what she'd take. The diamonds James had gifted her? She'd leave them on the dresser. The designer dresses? She'd leave them in the closet. The life he'd built for her? She'd leave it all behind.

She found the emergency cash in the safe room behind the study. Fifty thousand dollars. James kept it there for emergencies, thinking she'd never find it. She took five thousand just enough to get her started but not enough for him to notice.

She was about to close the safe when her phone buzzed.

It was an unknown number. She nearly swiped it away, but the preview froze her: You really think he’s faithful?

She tapped on the message and a video appeared. Emily's thumb hovered over the screen as she played the video.

The video was dark, grainy and shot in a hotel room. A woman's voice, breathy and laughing. James's voice was low as he moaned in absolute pleasure. The camera panned over tangled sheets, bare skin and the unmistakable shape of two bodies entwined.

Emily's stomach lurched. She wanted to look away and throw the phone across the room. But she couldn't, instead she watched the entire thing with her hands shaking as her throat closed tight.

Intimate pictures followed, his wedding band glinting mockingly. He moans your name sometimes when he finishes. Cute. How long until you figure out you’re just the placeholder?

Nausea burned Emily’s throat. She gripped the phone until her knuckles ached, the woman’s taunting laugh echoing in her skull. How dare you. How dare he. Hate surged through her hot and clarifying. Disgust for James twisted like a knife: the man who had promised safety and delivered betrayal in cheap hotel rooms.

I hate you, she thought, tears stinging her eyes. Emily saved every single one but she didn't know why. Maybe because she needed proof and needed to remember, when the doubt crept in.

She sat on the cold floor of the safe room, surrounded by cash she'd never earned and evidence of a marriage that had never been real, and she let herself feel it. The hate. The disgust. The rage that burned so hot it felt like it might consume her.

“I will leave him and that's final.” She murmured to herself

She stood, wiped her eyes, and walked out of the safe room. She had work to do.

The sun had begun to set.

The kitchen was filled with the savory scent of seared steak and roasted herbs. Emily stirred the sauce, the wooden spoon warm and steady in her grip. 

Emily heard the front door slam, his footsteps heavy on the marble floor, as he dropped his briefcase. He walked into the kitchen looking like he hadn't slept in days, his tie loosened, his eyes rimmed red.

"Dinner's ready," Emily said, her voice soft. "I made your favorite."

James looked up, surprise lifting his eyebrows at the prepared plate, she felt a twisted satisfaction. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to." She smiled, hoping that he doesn't see through her. "You work so hard and you deserve it."

He headed for the dinning and pulled a seat as he picked the spoon ready to eat. 

James ate hungrily, complimenting the food, telling her about his day. Emily sat across from him, watching him eat with satisfied groans as he praised her between bites, completely unaware.

She nodded at his every word with her hands clasped in her lap. 

He finished the meal in no time and she offered softly, “You look tired. Let me give you a massage.” Inside, revulsion coiled tight in her chest. His skin on me after being with the woman from the hotel.

James's eyebrows shot up. He opened his mouth, then let out a short laugh.  

"Yeah," he said, nodding before he even realized it. "Yeah, let's do it."

"Emily," he said as she worked her fingers into the tension in his shoulders. "You've been... different lately."

She tensed. "Different how?"

"I don't know." He sighed, leaning into her touch. "Sweeter, I guess. More attentive. It's nice."

Emily's stomach churned. She wanted to dig her nails into his skin, to scream at him. But she kept her voice steady and her hands gentle.

"Maybe I've just realized how much you do for me," she said. "I don't tell you and show you enough."

It was the biggest lie she'd ever told, her mind screamed: This is the last time I touch you like this. I play the part and get what I need then leave.

At exactly 10:40 p.m., the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Emily said, pulling her hands away from James's shoulders, grateful for the interruption. She walked to the front door, her bare feet silent on the cold marble floor. 

Cool night air brushed her face as she opened the door. The woman stood there, same dark hair, same red lips curved in a polite, knowing smile. She dangled a set of keys. “James left these at the hotel. Thought I’d return them personally.”

Recognition slammed into Emily like ice water. The woman at the hotel. Here. At their home. The same woman from the video, now bold enough to stand on her doorstep at this hour. Disgust and fury roared through her, but she kept her face neutral even as her nails dug into her palm.

James’s footsteps approached from behind. “Who is it, babe?”

The woman’s eyes met Emily’s with cool amusement, as if daring her to react.

Emily’s mind raced. She’s testing me. One wrong word, and everything could crumble.