Chapter 2
The door swung open.
The bedroom sat in the dark with the curtains pulled tight.
I flipped the switch.
The light came on.
The room looked completely different.
Half of my clothes had been cleared out of the walk-in closet.
Dresses and coats I had never seen filled the space where my things used to hang.
My skincare had been pushed into one corner of the vanity.
A different set of bottles, brands I didn't use, took up the rest.
On the nightstand, my picture frame lay face down.
A small diffuser sat beside it.
That was what had filled the room with the same sweet, heavy scent.
I crossed the room and picked up the frame.
I turned it over.
It was our wedding photo.
Edward was smiling in it, easy and warm.
I stood it back up.
Then I opened the wardrobe.
My clothes had been stuffed into storage bins on the bottom shelf, crammed in the way people pack up trash.
I shut the door.
I took out my phone and photographed the room.
Then I photographed the closet.
The vanity came next.
I worked carefully and got every corner of it.
I didn't miss a single corner.
When I finished, I sat down on the couch.
I waited.
Half an hour later, I heard a car engine downstairs.
The front door opened a moment after.
Edward was home.
His footsteps came fast up the stairs.
He pushed the bedroom door open, saw me, and stopped cold.
"What are you doing here?"
His first words were the ones I had expected.
He didn't say welcome home, and he didn't ask if I was tired.
He went straight to an accusation.
I looked at him.
His suit was pressed sharp.
The look on his face said I had interrupted something.
"This is my house. Why wouldn't I be here?" I said.
He swallowed hard.
His eyes went to the frame I had set upright, then came back to my face.
He stepped inside and pulled his tie loose.
"Charlie, let me explain," he said.
He called me Charlie.
My full name was Charlotte Sinclair.
"Fine. I'm listening," I said.
I nodded and leaned back into the sofa.
"That invitation was Emily pulling a stunt," he said.
He started to explain.
"We've got a deal in the pipeline, and the partner side wanted it sealed with a marriage. I asked her to play along for the optics. I never thought she'd take it seriously and start mailing cards."
What a perfect excuse.
It put the whole thing on an assistant who didn't know any better.
"Play along," I repeated.
"Yes. Play along," he said with a firm nod.
"Did the act require changing the code on my house?" I asked.
His face locked up.
"The code? I never touched..."
"You never touched it. So the lock changed itself?" I cut in.
"Does the act require hiding my slippers?
"Does it require emptying my closet and filling it with her dresses?
"Does it require turning our wedding photo face down? Who exactly is that performance for?"
I fired one question after another and gave him no room to breathe.
My voice wasn't loud.
Every word went into his story like a nail.
His expression slid from annoyance to shock, and then to a panic he couldn't cover.
"Charlie, all of this..."
He was reaching for a story that would explain how any of it got there.
Just then, his phone rang.
He glanced down before he could stop himself.
The screen lit up with one name. [Em.]
He silenced it fast.
He moved too quickly, the way people move when something needs covering.
"Why not take it?" I asked, watching him.
"Nobody important," he said, shoving the phone back into his pocket.
"Is that right?"
I took out my own phone.
The picture of the closet came up on the screen.
I zoomed in.
One dress in that row was familiar.
Emily had worn it to a cocktail party with Edward the month before.
Edward had told me his assistant needed to look the part, so the company covered the dress.
I turned the screen toward him.
"Is this a prop too?"