Chapter 2

The apartment was a sprawling 3,000 square feet, minimalist and cold, exactly the way Tristan liked it. There was no warmth of home, except for my ragdoll cat, Muffin, who would weave around my legs, begging for attention.

"Muffin," I said, lifting her into my arms. "Am I being stupid?"

Muffin meowed and licked my hand.

At eight, I made myself some pasta, ate alone, then sat on the couch scrolling through Facebook posts.

I scrolled until I saw a post from Claire. [Reunited after so long. Same place, same old memories.]

There was also a photo taken at a well-known upscale restaurant in Valeridge. In one corner of the image, I could see Tristan's wrist and his Patek Philippe watch.

I recognized the watch. I had saved for three months to buy it for him on our first anniversary. He had said "thanks," then put it away. He never wore it.

Now he was wearing it, to meet the woman he had never truly moved on from.

It felt like someone was squeezing my heart so tightly I could barely breathe.

I turned off my phone and hugged Muffin, staring blankly into space.

I didn't know how long I had been sitting there when the door finally opened. Tristan came in, smelling of alcohol, though his eyes were sharp and alert.

He paused for a second when he saw me. "You're still up?"

"I was waiting for you," I said.

"You don't need to wait for me. I've been tied up with client dinners lately, so I'll be coming home late." He slipped off his shoes and walked straight toward the master bedroom.

I followed him and leaned against the doorway, watching as he changed. "Is Claire doing okay?"

He paused and turned to look at me. "She's fine. She just got divorced, so she's not in the best place emotionally. If you have time, maybe check in on her."

I let out a bitter laugh. "You want me to keep her company? In what capacity? As your wife?"

He frowned. "Eva, don't be like that. Claire needs a friend right now."

"I'm not her friend," I said quietly. "Tristan, I'm your wife."

He looked at me, his expression tightening for a moment. Then he let out a sigh. "I know. But Claire is different. She—"

"She's your ex you never got over, right?" I cut him off. "So I'm supposed to be the understanding one, the generous one, and help you take care of her?"

"Eva!"

"Am I wrong?" I looked straight at him, and everything I had buried for three years finally broke through. "Tell me, Tristan. Have you ever really let her go? Not even for a day?

"You said you were busy on our anniversary, but you flew all the way to her country to see her, didn't you?

"And last year on my birthday, you stood me up at the last minute because she had a fever. You took a red-eye flight to be with her, didn't you?"

Tristan's expression shifted. "Were you spying on me?"

"No need to spy on you," I said with a bitter smile. "I already know where your heart is, Tristan. I've just been lying to myself all this time."

The silence was suffocating.

After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice cold. "Eva, this marriage was something we both agreed to. I never hid anything from you. You always knew my heart belonged to someone else. There's no point dragging this up now."

There was no point indeed. It had always been one-sided.

"Alright," I said, nodding as I turned away. "I'll sleep in the guest room."

"Eva," he called.

I didn't look back.

"Claire just got back, and I don't want to stress her out. We'll talk about it later," he said.

I stayed silent, quietly closing the door behind me.

Leaning against it, I felt the tears finally spill over.

Muffin brushed gently against my ankle, letting out a soft meow. I crouched down, pulled her into my arms, and buried my face in her warm, soft fur. "Muffin, it's just you and me now."

After that night, Tristan became even busier.

It wasn't work that kept him busy. It was Claire he was spending all his time with.