Chapter 2
I "came home"—or at least, that was what it looked like.
I returned to the apartment that Mark and I had shared for five years.
That evening, I showed up at the entrance in flawless makeup, wearing a dress in Claire's signature style and heels.
Mark was in the security booth, head down, scrolling on his phone.
I cleared my throat and called out softly in Claire's voice, "Mark."
His head shot up.
The second he saw me, his eyes lit up like fireworks.
He practically bolted out of the booth, his face glowing with raw excitement and obsession.
"Claire? What are you doing here? You look incredible today."
His burning gaze swept over me.
Inside, I was laughing. Outside, I kept that signature sweet Claire smile plastered on my face.
"Have you found Emily yet?" I asked.
I dropped my own name deliberately—I wanted to watch him squirm.
Mark's smile faltered for a second, then he waved it off dismissively.
"Don't even get me started. Who knows what stunt she's pulling now—took off, won't answer her phone. Whatever. She'll be fine."
He hesitated, then looked at me almost nervously. "Are you... here because you care about me?"
"Of course." I stepped closer and poked him lightly in the chest—just like Claire always did.
"Who else would I care about?"
His face flushed red instantly. He was practically panting.
"Claire, you..." he stammered like some lovesick teenager.
Watching him lose it over "Claire," I just felt how pathetically ironic this was.
"Mark, I'm so hopeless with many things. Could you maybe come over tonight and help me out?"
I blinked up at him, softening my voice, letting just a hint of flirtation slip through.
Mark nodded so fast he looked like a bobblehead.
"Of course! Absolutely! Just say the word, anytime!"
Purpose served, I turned to walk away.
But suddenly, he called out, "Claire!"
I glanced back.
He was staring at me with this intense, raw emotion in his eyes. "You know, I've never met anyone like you. One look at you and I could never forget."
My heart clenched tight.
Five years of marriage, and he'd never said anything like that to me.
He'd looked at my face every single day for five years, but he never remembered me.
But Claire's face? That was burned into his brain forever.
I swallowed the rage churning inside me and gave him a perfect Claire smile.
"Oh really? Then you'd better remember me, okay?" I teased playfully.
That night, I returned to the place Mark and I shared.
He eagerly fixed my laptop, falling over himself to be helpful.
I poured him a glass of water and sat across from him.
"Mark, do you even care about Emily anymore?" I asked with studied casualness.
He froze, glass halfway to his lips, and went silent for a long moment.
"It's not that I don't care. I'm just exhausted. She's so... plain. Boring. Always in her own head. But you, Claire—when you show up, it's like the whole world lights up."
His eyes locked on mine, burning with longing.
I looked down, hiding the hatred simmering in my eyes.
Almost time.
My phone rang. I answered briefly. "Sure, I'll get my boyfriend to sign it."
I pulled a document from my bag and slid it across to him.
"Mark, the laptop repair company needs a signature to confirm the work so they can send my payment. But I hurt my hand today and can't really sign..."
I held up my finger with a Band-Aid, giving him helpless puppy-dog eyes.
I'd carefully folded the document so only the signature line showed.
The heading "Divorce Settlement Agreement" was hidden under another paper.
Mark didn't even glance at it—just grabbed the pen without hesitation.
"No problem! Where do I sign?" He was beaming, thrilled to help the woman he adored.
"Right here—just your name." I smiled sweetly.
Suspecting nothing, he bent down and started signing.
I watched him carefully write out his name, my heart hammering in my chest.
Excitement mixed with bitter sadness.
Mark, my husband, had just signed his own "death warrant"—all for the woman he loved more than me.
When he finished, he handed me the pen with that same dopey, trusting smile.
"All done. Need anything else?" he asked.
I took the document, tucked it away carefully, and flashed him a dazzling Claire-style smile.
"That's all. Thanks, Mark."
He stared at me, completely mesmerized.
Just then, my phone rang again.
I glanced at the screen—unknown number.
I answered, and a woman's voice shrieked through the speaker, frantic and furious.
"Who are you? Why are you using my photo as your profile picture? What the hell are you trying to pull!"
It was Claire.
So, she finally figured it out.