Chapter 1
1
I had been in love with Vivian Brooks for eight years, and for eight years, she refused to marry me.
Tonight, I asked her again. Her face darkened instantly. She picked a fight out of nowhere, her irritation palpable, before slamming the door to our downtown Manhattan apartment and storming out.
Not long after, the doorbell rang.
A courier handed me a package.
I tore it open. Inside sat a large, custom mocking award plaque. The engraved words burned my eyes:
“Thank you, Ethan Carter, for taking care of my wife all these years. Thank you for willingly being the other man.”
Signed:
Caleb Brooks, Vivian Brooks’s legal husband.
The floor dropped out from under me.
She was already married.
From the very beginning, I had been completely in the dark, shoved into the role of the other man without my consent.
I sat in the dark living room all night.
At dawn, Vivian finally walked in.
She saw the custom plaque on the coffee table. She didn't panic. She just let out a soft sigh, dropped her designer bag, and sat across from me, perfectly calm.
"It’s just a marriage of convenience for our families' businesses. You know you're the one I actually love," she said.
"Don't worry about Caleb. I won't let him interfere with our lives again."
"Let's just go back to the way things were, okay?"
No.
She didn't know that the reason I proposed last night was because I had received a life-changing email.
A top-tier design firm headquartered in Paris had sent me an offer letter. A seven-figure salary. A million dollars a year.
I had wanted to marry her, to use that commitment to anchor my decision to stay in New York by her side.
Now, between her and Paris, the choice was easy.
I didn't answer her.
I just picked up that glaring red plaque and shoved it into a drawer.
Vivian walked over, reaching out to wrap her arms around my waist.
I stepped back, dodging her touch.
Her hands froze in midair. A flicker of annoyance crossed her eyes.
"Are you still pouting?"
She pulled a premium bank card from her bag and tossed it onto the table.
"Come on, Ethan. Let it go. Go buy yourself that watch you wanted. You'll feel better."
"I can't legally marry you, but I can give you the ceremony you want."
A ceremony?
I picked up the card, looked at her, and suddenly wanted to laugh.
"Keep the card. Skip the ceremony."
I turned around, opened the closet, and started shoving my clothes into a suitcase.
Vivian froze. Her expression darkened.
"What are you doing?"
I didn't stop.
She grabbed my wrist, her nails digging in.
"Eight years together, and you're just throwing it away over a piece of paper?"
I looked up at her.
"You threw it away three years ago."
The anger on her face faltered for a second before softening. She lowered her voice, shifting to that placating tone she always used.
"Ethan, just give me a little time. I'll handle him."
Eight years.
How much more time was I supposed to give her?
Just then, the doorbell rang again.
Vivian frowned and yanked the door open.
A man stood in the hallway.
He wore a plain jacket, sporting short hair and rough skin. He looked like someone who worked manual labor.
But his eyes were sharp. Calculating.
When he saw me, he didn't yell. He actually smiled.
Then he turned to Vivian.
"Vivian? I'm so sorry to interrupt. The plumbing at the house broke... I didn't know who else to call."
His voice was timid, like a child who had done something wrong.
Vivian's face turned ugly. She hissed at him under her breath.
"Go home, Caleb. I'll send a guy."
Caleb didn't move.
He looked right over Vivian's shoulder at me, his tone sickeningly mild.
"You must be Ethan. I'm Caleb Brooks. I just wanted to thank you for taking care of my wife all these years."
"I don't blame you, really. After all, you didn't even know I existed."
Every word was a knife twisting in my gut.
I gripped the edge of my shirt, my jaw tight.
Caught between us, Vivian rubbed her temples in frustration.
Finally, she grabbed her coat.
"Ethan, take some time to cool off. I'll come back tomorrow."
She pulled Caleb out the door.
Just as the door clicked shut, I heard Caleb murmur,
"Vivian? Did I say something wrong?"
She didn't answer.
I stood in the empty apartment. My phone buzzed.
An iMessage.
It was a photo. Vivian was curled up in Caleb's arms, eyes closed, fast asleep under his jacket in the passenger seat of a car.
Followed by a text:
“Every time she fights with you, she comes home to me. She says I understand her best. That I’m exactly what she needs.”
Sender: Caleb.
I stared at the photo, my fingers trembling uncontrollably.
When she stormed out last night, it wasn't to cool off.
It was to go home to her husband.
I sank to the floor, scrolling through the photos of us on my phone, one by one.
She used to be so good to me.
When I was sick, she stayed up all night watching over me. When she went on business trips, she always brought back gifts. She remembered every little thing I liked.
But every time I brought up marriage, she had an excuse.
“Just wait a little longer.”
“The company isn't stable yet.”
“Aren't we perfectly fine the way we are?”
Now I understood.
She never planned to marry me.
I curled up on the hardwood floor. I wanted to cry, but my eyes were bone dry.
As my fingers unconsciously tightened around my phone, I remembered the offer letter sitting in my inbox.
Paris headquarters. A seven-figure salary.
It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
I had been ready to throw it away for her.
But now, she wasn't worth it.
I opened my email and hit reply.
Offer accepted. Itinerary confirmed.