Chapter 1
The moment we stepped out of the city hall with our marriage license, Richard Shaw stopped walking.
"I slept with Monica."
Monica Summers was my best friend, someone I'd known since college.
Five years ago, I caught my ex-husband, Eric, having an affair with her, and Richard was the first one to tell me the truth.
He dragged me out of the darkness, piecing my shattered world back together bit by bit.
But now he told me the whole thing had been a bet.
He had bet that when I heard the truth, I would fall apart and ask why, exactly the way I had five years ago.
He won.
And the stakes were Monica.
*****
As we walked out of city hall, Richard suddenly stopped.
The September sun was bright, and he stood there in a crisp suit, holding a marriage license that still smelled of fresh ink.
"Evelyn, there's something I forgot to tell you," he said.
I turned around and smiled at him.
He was smiling too, and his tone was as casual as if we were deciding where to eat.
He said, "I slept with Monica."
The smile was still on my face, but my head went hollow and started to ring.
I asked, "What?"
"Monica Summers. Your best friend." He slid the license into his inside pocket and straightened his cuff. "Last Wednesday, at her apartment."
I stood on the steps outside city hall while people came and went around me.
Some carried bouquets, some posed for pictures.
And I was nailed to the spot.
I asked, "What did you just say?"
He said, "You heard me."
Richard looked at me, his expression calm, almost curious.
He was studying me the way a person studied a trapped animal, waiting to see what it would do.
I instinctively took a step back, my high heels slipping on the edge of the step. I almost fell.
He didn't reach out to help.
I said, "Richard, today is the day we got our marriage license."
He said, "Yeah."
I asked, "You're telling me this now?"
He said, "When else should I tell you? After the honeymoon?"
His tone was so casual.
It was so casual that I couldn't tell if he was joking or serious.
But his expression told me he meant every word.
My hands started to shake.
It wasn't anger. It was because I suddenly caught a whiff of something familiar.
Five years ago, it was the same scent.
Eric. Monica.
The same woman, the same betrayal.
Five years ago, I lost my marriage, my trust, and almost my life.
Richard was the one who pulled me out of that darkness.
And now, he was the one pushing me right back in.
I said, "Are you out of your mind?" My voice was shaking.
Richard pulled out his phone and played a voice message.
Monica's voice came through the speaker.
It was lazy and amused.
Monica said, "Richard, you won. She didn't even slap you. You were right. Evelyn always just cries."
The voice message was short, but every word was crystal clear.
Monica's laugh was unapologetically smug.
Monica said, "So that necklace next week is mine, right? You better keep your word."
Richard switched off his phone and looked at me.
He said, "I made a wager with Monica."
"What bet?" I asked, though I had no idea why I was still asking.
"On what you would do first when you found out. She said you would hit me. I said you would only ask why."
He tilted his head slightly.
He said, "I won. The first thing out of your mouth was 'What?'"
In that moment, it felt as if every drop of blood had been drained out of me.
He was betting.
Monica was betting too.
The stakes were me.
Monica's voice came through again, as if a second message had been played by accident.
Monica said, "Evelyn's just too gentle. Even when Eric treated her like that, she never made a fuss, just cried. Richard, you really hit the jackpot. You can do whatever you want with her."
My hands went completely numb.
Somewhere in the daze, the scenes from five years ago came back.
It was a sunny day, and I got off work early to surprise Eric.
When I pushed the bedroom door open, Monica was in my pajamas, propped against my headboard.
Eric came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.
Monica jumped when she saw me.
Eric only sighed, as if my coming home early were the inconvenience.
Eric said, "Evelyn, why didn't you tell me you were coming home?"
Back then, I stood there, unable to say a single word.
Finally, I managed to say, "Why?"
Monica hugged my pillow, not apologizing, not panicking.
Monica said, "Evelyn, he was the one who came on to me. Don't blame me."
After that, I signed the divorce papers.
I didn't take the house or the car. I left with nothing.
Then I took half a bottle of sleeping pills.
Richard was the one who found me.
He took me to the hospital and stayed by my side for three days and nights.
After I was discharged, he helped me rent an apartment, accompanied me to therapy, and brought me food every single day.
If I said I didn't want to eat, he would sit across from me and not eat either. "If you don't eat, I don't eat."
If I said I didn't want to live, he would take off his watch and show me an old scar on his wrist.
"I've been there too, and I got through it. So can you."
I believed him.
I saw him as my last lifeline.
I stood outside city hall now, and the sun was bright enough to hurt.
I looked at Richard, my voice hoarse.
I asked, "Was everything you did for me before just an act?"
He said, "It was real back then."
His tone was light, the way a man talked about something that had stopped mattering a while ago.
He said, "But not anymore."