Chapter 1

On Valentine's Day, Ethan couldn't join me due to an emergency surgery.

I understood the grueling demands on a cardiothoracic surgeon, so I went alone to Aster House, the restaurant he had booked.

I had barely taken my seat when the manager approached with a warm smile. "Mrs. Cole, Dr. Cole specifically mentioned yesterday that you love our new lobster pasta. We've already prepared it for you tonight."

My grip tightened on the menu. I forced a polite smile and shook my head.

"Did he? I'm severely allergic to seafood. He should know that better than anyone."

The manager's smile froze.

"My apologies, ma'am. We'll take it back immediately."

Pushing down the rising suspicion in my chest, I dialed Ethan's number.

"Aster House," I said when he picked up. "Were you there yesterday?"

"I was there with the chief of surgery," Ethan's voice came through the line, heavy with post-op exhaustion. "His daughter loves the lobster pasta. I just mentioned it in passing."

He paused. When he spoke again, his tone shifted into that smooth, patronizing register he used to pacify me. "The manager must have gotten his wires crossed. Don't overthink it, Claire."

Flawless execution.

But the knot of unease stayed lodged in my chest.

"Okay," I said, my grip white-knuckled on the phone. "Get some rest."

I hung up. My first instinct was to drive straight to Hudson University Medical Center to confront him, but imagining him exhausted after saving a life on the operating table made me feel petty.

Ethan had always treated me well. To everyone else, we were the perfect couple.

I should trust him.

I texted him to say I was heading home.

Back at our Manhattan condo, the faint scent of the coffee he had brewed that morning still lingered in the living room.

I walked into his study. My eyes landed on his personal tablet resting on the desk.

As if acting on their own, my fingers typed in my birthday.

The screen unlocked.

The newest photo in the gallery was a selfie of us at the condo entrance. His arm was wrapped around my waist, and I was beaming.

We looked like we had a flawless marriage.

I tapped into the Recently Deleted folder.

A slender hand holding a fork, twirling a bite of lobster pasta.

The background was a booth at Aster House.

That wasn't my hand.

I kept scrolling, my fingers shaking so badly I could barely hold the tablet.

There was a scheduled reminder in his notes app.

Next Wednesday: Take Maya for her follow-up.

Who was Maya?

I scoured his contacts. No one by that name.

The sound of a key turning in the front door echoed from the hallway.

I quickly locked the screen and put the tablet exactly where I had found it.

Ethan wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Why are you still up? Didn't I tell you not to wait for me?"

His voice was thick with affection.

I turned around, pasting on a casual smile.

"Just looking at some old photos. You were so handsome back then."

"You're just as beautiful now."

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

"Let's go to bed, Claire."

He headed toward the bedroom. I wanted to follow him, to demand answers about the photo, but my gaze snagged on his coat hanging by the door.

The corner of a white receipt peeked out from the pocket.

I stepped over and quietly pulled it out.

A coffee shop receipt.

Two drinks.

One black Americano, his usual.

One caramel macchiato with three extra pumps of syrup.

Ethan hated sweet coffee. He always complained the sugar made him sick.

I tried to make excuses for him.

Maybe it was for a colleague.

Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment purchase.

But who goes to a coffee shop alone late at night and orders two completely different drinks?

I stood in the doorway, watching him brush his teeth in the master bathroom.

His familiar back suddenly felt like a stranger's.

In the mirror, he caught my eye and smiled.

"What are you looking at, Claire?"

"Nothing."

I shoved the receipt back into his pocket.

"Just a little nervous about the board meeting tomorrow."

"You'll handle it."

He walked over and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"You've always been the best."

I leaned against his chest. That was when I caught it—the faint scent of hospital sanitizer clinging to him.

It was a scent I knew so well, yet it made my blood run cold.

How far had they gone?

Chapter 1

On Valentine's Day, Ethan couldn't join me due to an emergency surgery.

I understood the grueling demands on a cardiothoracic surgeon, so I went alone to Aster House, the restaurant he had booked.

My grip tightened on the menu. I forced a polite smile and shook my head.

"Did he? I'm severely allergic to seafood. He should know that better than anyone."

The manager's smile froze.

"My apologies, ma'am. We'll take it back immediately."

Pushing down the rising suspicion in my chest, I dialed Ethan's number.

"Aster House," I said when he picked up. "Were you there yesterday?"

"I was there with the chief of surgery," Ethan's voice came through the line, heavy with post-op exhaustion. "His daughter loves the lobster pasta. I just mentioned it in passing."

He paused. When he spoke again, his tone shifted into that smooth, patronizing register he used to pacify me. "The manager must have gotten his wires crossed. Don't overthink it, Claire."

Flawless execution.

But the knot of unease stayed lodged in my chest.

"Okay," I said, my grip white-knuckled on the phone. "Get some rest."

I hung up. My first instinct was to drive straight to Hudson University Medical Center to confront him, but imagining him exhausted after saving a life on the operating table made me feel petty.

Ethan had always treated me well. To everyone else, we were the perfect couple.

I should trust him.

I texted him to say I was heading home.

Back at our Manhattan condo, the faint scent of the coffee he had brewed that morning still lingered in the living room.

I walked into his study. My eyes landed on his personal tablet resting on the desk.

As if acting on their own, my fingers typed in my birthday.

The screen unlocked.

The newest photo in the gallery was a selfie of us at the condo entrance. His arm was wrapped around my waist, and I was beaming.

We looked like we had a flawless marriage.

I tapped into the Recently Deleted folder.

A slender hand holding a fork, twirling a bite of lobster pasta.

The background was a booth at Aster House.

That wasn't my hand.

I kept scrolling, my fingers shaking so badly I could barely hold the tablet.

There was a scheduled reminder in his notes app.

Next Wednesday: Take Maya for her follow-up.

Who was Maya?

I scoured his contacts. No one by that name.

The sound of a key turning in the front door echoed from the hallway.

I quickly locked the screen and put the tablet exactly where I had found it.

Ethan wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Why are you still up? Didn't I tell you not to wait for me?"

His voice was thick with affection.

I turned around, pasting on a casual smile.

"Just looking at some old photos. You were so handsome back then."

"You're just as beautiful now."

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

"Let's go to bed, Claire."

He headed toward the bedroom. I wanted to follow him, to demand answers about the photo, but my gaze snagged on his coat hanging by the door.

The corner of a white receipt peeked out from the pocket.

I stepped over and quietly pulled it out.

A coffee shop receipt.

Two drinks.

One black Americano, his usual.

One caramel macchiato with three extra pumps of syrup.

Ethan hated sweet coffee. He always complained the sugar made him sick.

I tried to make excuses for him.

Maybe it was for a colleague.

Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment purchase.

But who goes to a coffee shop alone late at night and orders two completely different drinks?

I stood in the doorway, watching him brush his teeth in the master bathroom.

His familiar back suddenly felt like a stranger's.

In the mirror, he caught my eye and smiled.

"What are you looking at, Claire?"

"Nothing."

I shoved the receipt back into his pocket.

"Just a little nervous about the board meeting tomorrow."

"You'll handle it."

He walked over and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"You've always been the best."

I leaned against his chest. That was when I caught it—the faint scent of hospital sanitizer clinging to him.

It was a scent I knew so well, yet it made my blood run cold.

How far had they gone?