Chapter 1

It was the day before New Year's Eve, and the north wind was biting, making my face sting.

The streets were soaked in festive spirit: decoration everywhere, golden symbols of good fortune, and the scent of fried snacks mixed with a hint of fireworks drifting through the air.

I was lugging two big bags of holiday groceries from the supermarket, my fingers numb from the weight, but there was a small ember of warmth in my chest.

Tomorrow was New Year's Eve, and Brian Cole had promised to come home tonight so we could stay up together and ring in the new year.

Our place was in a quiet, older neighborhood on the west side of the city.

It was a small two-bedroom apartment that Brian took out a loan for in his second year at work, and I paid for the remodeling and furnishings.

He always said it was our little nest.

On the shoe cabinet by the door, there was still a photo booth strip from last year's trip to the amusement park, Brian pulling a goofy face, and me smiling so wide my eyes practically disappeared.

The elevator crept upward, and my reflection in the mirrored walls showed just how worn out I was, yet there was still hope in my eyes.

My hair was windblown and messy, my nose red from the chill. Tonight, I would make him some soup. He had been saying he was tired a lot lately.

I slid the key into the lock, turned it, and the door swung open.

The place was pitch dark, curtains pulled tight, and a thick wave of perfume smacked me in the face as soon as I walked in.

I frowned, and the little flame of hope in my chest wavered, almost snuffed out.

I called out, "Brian?" but nobody answered.

I dropped the bags and fumbled around until I found the light switch.

The harsh white light flooded the room, and everything looked the same as always, but something just felt off.

His jacket was tossed casually on the couch, and there were two used glasses on the coffee table.

My eyes swept over the room, and then froze on a bright, eye-catching shade of rose-red lipstick on one of the glasses. That wasn't my shade.

It felt like a cold hand was slowly squeezing my heart, making it harder to breathe.

I stood there, my ears ringing, blood rushing to my head and then draining away, leaving my fingertips cold.

I took a deep breath, and that sickly sweet perfume seeped into my nose, invading my senses and making my stomach turn.

I walked up to the bedroom door, my hand resting on the doorknob for a few seconds, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't open it.

Instead, I turned and headed for the bathroom. His razor was still sitting by the sink, and my skincare products were lined up the way I left them.

I looked in the mirror, and my face was so pale it freaked me out.

I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, letting the droplets run down my chin.

Suddenly, I needed to get out.

I needed some air, needed to figure something out, or maybe I just needed to escape.

I grabbed his keys.

That black SUV—he always said the passenger seat was mine. He'd always made sure the seat was set just right for me, adjusting the angle and the backrest so it was perfect.

He always said, "Nobody but you gets to touch it."

The parking garage was dimly lit, and the car sat there in silence.

I unlocked it, opened the door, and slid into the driver's seat.

That same perfume lingered inside the car, even stronger now, seeping from the air vents.

I started the engine; its low rumble filled the garage, and the dashboard glowed with a chilly light.

Out of habit, I reached to adjust the passenger seat, but as my fingers touched the controls, my hand stopped mid-motion, a sudden chill running through me.

The seat was all wrong. Someone had definitely pushed it back, and the backrest was way more reclined than I ever set it.

This wasn't how I left it, absolutely not.