Chapter 1

It was 10:30 PM. The wind on Sycamore Road reeked of booze and spun my milkshake bag around in my hand.

I stood outside a bar named Ember Voyage. In my left hand, I held a hot milkshake. In my right, I squeezed a pack of lower back heating patches I'd bought for my boyfriend, Alex Carter.

I looked like some caring vendor fresh from restocking at the convenience store.

Half an hour ago, he texted me: [I'm doing a DUI check tonight. Don't wait up for me. Get some sleep early.]

I replied: [Then I'll bring you something warm. Although you're working, you deserve a little comfort.]

He didn't reply.

I figured he was busy. Night DUI duty meant standing in the wind, flagging cars down, saluting, and giving breath tests, all while sucking in exhaust fumes by the roadside. I got it.

Then, a black off-road vehicle pulled up at the bar's side entrance. Alex got out of the passenger seat, not in uniform. His arm was wrapped tightly around a woman.

*****

She wore a silver slip dress. Her stilettos dangled from her toes, and her hair nuzzled his neck. She looked like a mermaid fished out of a champagne flute.

The milkshake bag in my hand trembled, and the chocolate chips at the bottom thudded dully.

Alex leaned down and mumbled something. The woman giggled, looped her arms around his neck, and traced her fingers lightly across the nape of his neck.

She moved so naturally, like she'd done this a thousand times without the need for a second thought.

I stood under the streetlight, and my heart sank gradually.

A designated driver standing nearby had a cigarette hanging from his lips. He glanced at me, then over at the pair, and mumbled, "Miss, is that your boyfriend?"

I answered, "From what I can tell right now, he's another guy on the road."

The driver nearly dropped his cigarette from laughing.

Alex carried the woman inside. The doorman held the door open for him like an old friend, skipping the standard check.

I didn't storm over. If I did, I'd look like those women on urban drama shows who lost their minds and confronted cheating men.

I'd mess up my makeup and twist an ankle. Some bystander might film the whole thing for a short video with captions saying I finally lost it.

I set the milkshake down on a bench by the road, pulled out my phone, and called Alex.

From over 30 feet away, I saw him stop, take out his phone, glance at the caller info, and then swipe it away.

The robotic female voice came through the phone. "The number you have dialed is busy."

He wasn't on another call. He merely didn't want to pick up.

The woman tilted her head up at him, her voice sickly sweet enough to make one's teeth hurt. "Who's that?"

Alex replied, "A colleague."

I glanced down at my phone. Alex's name was there, with a tiny red heart emoji next to it.

It was nice. After four years of dating, I got upgraded from girlfriend to colleague. Even civil service jobs wouldn't come with this kind of security.

I stood there for about half a minute and then turned to leave. A stray cat brushed against my leg, its nose bumping the milkshake bag.

I stuck a straw in and pushed it toward the cat, but then realized cats shouldn't drink milkshake, so I snatched it back.

"Forget it," I told the cat. "Sweet stuff is not for you. It'll get you hooked."

The cat had no clue. It flicked its tail and strolled off, more carefree than I could be.

*****

As I reached the intersection, my phone lit up.

Alex texted me: [Wrapped up work a second ago. Have you gone to bed?]

I stared at the message and let out a bitter laugh that even I thought felt icy.

I replied: [Not yet. Where are you doing the DUI check?]

Alex texted back instantly: [Southville Intersection.]

Southville Intersection was about 4 miles from Ember Voyage. Two overpasses and endless traffic lights sat between the two spots.

I stood under the bar's neon glow, looking up at the blue-purple sign.

Ember Voyage was such a fitting name. It was a pit stop for people who'd lost their way, and for liars too.

I slipped my phone back into my bag and hailed a cab.

The driver asked, "Where to?"

I gave him my home address.

As the car pulled away, I glanced at the bar entrance in the rear-view mirror.

Alex was gone. Only the doorman stood there yawning. The neon lights flickered, casting shadows on the ground that looked like a crumpled traffic ticket.

*****

When I got home, the living room light was still on.

On the coffee table sat the blue folder Alex had brought over a few days ago, next to the grapes I'd washed.

He always said his work stuff was off-limits, and I used to respect that by treating those documents like they were top secrets.

But that night, I wasn't so obedient. I sat on the couch, tossed the pack of lower back heating patches into the drawer, and opened the folder.

Inside, it wasn't a duty roster. It was a confirmation slip for a bar member event. Alex's name was filled in the name box, and the accompanying guest line showed Sophie Norton.

I stared at the name, my fingertips pausing at the edge of the paper. I knew Sophie.

She was Alex's ex, the woman he always claimed he'd cut all contact with ages ago. He said she was only a high school classmate he'd blocked on Instagram.