Chapter 2
Ethan stepped forward, smoothly pulled his phone from his pocket, typed a quick line, and turned the screen toward me.
[Happy Anniversary, baby. Why are you up so early?]
The screen cast a pale, cold glare.
I looked at the words, then lifted my gaze straight into his eyes.
"The weather is lovely today," I said.
Because I hadn't spoken much lately, my voice sounded a bit raspy.
The lingering suspicion in Ethan's eyes dissolved completely.
He assumed I hadn't heard a single thing—that I was still that pitiable wife who could only read his lips and stare at phone screens.
He reached out and affectionately tousled my hair, just as he had done countless times before.
Then, right in front of me, he turned to Lily and spoke in a perfectly casual tone:
"Go pour her some warm water, and bring up her ear medication."
He offered me a warm smile, then leaned slightly toward Lily, murmuring under his breath:
"She has no idea. What are you rushing for?"
From where I stood, I could only see the back of his head.
Yet I heard every syllable crystal clear.
Lily bit her lip, holding the empty glass as she brushed past me.
As she passed, her shoulder knocked lightly against my arm on purpose, a flicker of naked contempt and disgust flashing in her eyes.
Under normal circumstances, I would have reached out to steady her, asking softly if something was wrong.
This time, I merely shifted half a step to the side.
Ethan tapped another line into his phone:
[I booked a table at Harborview tonight. Just the two of us.]
He held the screen up to my face, his eyes gleaming with the devotion of a romantic lead.
Over the past few months, I could manage basic lip-reading for simple phrases, but anything longer required him to type it out.
I looked down at the glowing screen.
Then, meeting his gaze, I offered a faint, serene smile.
"Sounds wonderful," I said. "I'm looking forward to tonight."
At the Harborview restaurant, our window table offered a panoramic view of the dark, rolling waves of Boston Harbor.
White candles flickered on the table alongside aperitifs and polished silver cutlery.
We had agreed on an intimate dinner for two, yet when we got into the car, Ethan had naturally brought Lily along.
His excuse was flawless: Lily had worked so hard taking care of me, she deserved a nice meal, too.
Now, Lily sat directly across from me.
She wore a low-cut red silk slip dress, draped loosely with my off-white cashmere cardigan.
It had been Ethan's birthday gift to me last winter; on her frame, it hung loosely, sliding off her shoulder.
Ethan sat beside me.
After the waiter served the main course, Ethan picked up his phone, typed swiftly, and pushed it across to me.
[Seven years, Claire. You are still the strongest, most beautiful woman I've ever known.]
Every word dripped with affection.
I stared at the text, trailing a fingertip over the icy glass.
Right then, Ethan turned his head toward Lily.
He didn't bother hiding, speaking in a completely relaxed tone:
"Stop sulking tonight."
His voice wasn't loud, yet every word struck my ears with stinging clarity.
"Once we get home and she's asleep, I'll come straight to your room."
Lily's steak knife paused for a fraction of a second.
Beneath the drape of the tablecloth, the tip of her red stiletto rubbed nonchalantly against Ethan's trouser leg.
She glanced up at me with a smirk, whispering back:
"You say that every time, and you always end up staying in the master bedroom with her."