Chapter 2

Natalie Smith POV

Late that night. Our high-rise apartment in the middle of the city.

I sat in the unlit living room like a hollow statue that had lost its soul.

The clock on the wall read two in the morning. Finally, the front door beeped, the fingerprint lock disengaging.

Ethan walked in, carrying the cold night air and the faint scent of chamomile perfume. Vivian's favorite.

He noticed the dark figure on the couch and stopped for a second, then flicked on the light. A small crease formed between his brows. "Why are you still up? Don't you have work at the firm tomorrow?"

He walked over and set a sleek velvet jewelry box on the table. His tone carried a coaxing undertone. "I should have talked to you before today. This Van Cleef & Arpels necklace is a limited edition. Consider it my way of making it up to you. Let's put the villa behind us."

I looked down at the box and didn't touch it.

Making it up to me.

The Ethan I used to know would never have handed me something like this to smooth things over.

I remembered one birthday, years ago, when I mentioned offhand that I'd love a hand-carved wooden miniature of a house.

Ethan, the CEO of a billion-dollar empire, turned down a full week of business engagements, cut his fingers a dozen times on a carving knife, and handcrafted a breathtaking small-scale model just for me.

He'd said, "Natalie, my time, my effort, they belong to you and no one else."

Now his time and his effort belonged to Vivian Lynn. What was left for me was this, cold, expensive, and bought with a credit card.

"I don't want it," I said. My voice came out rough.

Ethan paused mid-reach as he was pulling off his jacket. His expression closed over. "Natalie, how long are you going to keep this up? I told you, Vivian is sick. Her brother gave his life for mine. Looking after her is my responsibility."

"Your responsibility?" I lifted my head and met his eyes. "So your responsibility means letting her walk all over me? Treating my dignity like it's disposable?"

"You're being completely unreasonable!" Ethan threw his jacket onto the couch, his eyes hard and cold. "When did you turn into someone like this? Vivian wouldn't hurt a fly. What exactly do you think she's taking from you? Are you seriously going to compete with someone who's battling depression?"

Something inside me flinched.

So in his eyes, standing up for myself, fighting for our relationship, made me petty and bitter.

I drew a slow breath and forced down the tightness rising in my throat. "Ethan, if Vivian ever decided she wanted to be your wife, would you ask me to step aside for that too?"

The room went completely still.

Ethan's pupils contracted sharply. Something flickered across his face, panic quickly buried under anger. "Are you out of your mind? That's insane. You are my wife. You will always be my wife. That will never change."

"Will it?" I stretched my mouth into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Because Ethan, look at yourself right now. Is there anything left in you that still loves me?"

Ethan yanked open the top two buttons of his shirt, his voice clipped with irritation. "I'm not doing this right now. I'm exhausted. I'm going to shower."

He retreated into the bathroom like he was fleeing.

The water came on.

I sat quietly on the couch, and my gaze drifted to his phone, left carelessly on the table.

The screen lit up. A text message.

No contact name saved.

"Ethan, I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see my brother covered in blood. I'm so scared."

Then another one right after.

"Natalie looked at me so coldly today. Does she hate me? If my being here is causing fights between you two, I'd rather just die."

I read both messages without moving. The tips of my fingers had gone numb.

The shower cut off. Ethan came out wrapped in a robe, and the first thing he did was reach for his phone.

The moment he saw the messages, the color drained from his face. Without even toweling off his hair, he grabbed his car keys and started for the door.

"Where are you going?" I spoke from the shadows, my voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan stopped but didn't turn around. "Vivian's not in a good place. I'm worried about her. I'll just check on her quickly. Go to sleep."

"Ethan." I called after him. "Today is our third wedding anniversary."

His back went rigid.

He turned and looked at me, something complicated moving through his expression. His lips parted. Then he closed them again.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. "I'll make it up to you tomorrow."

The door shut behind him with a dull thud.

I sat in the empty living room, and the tears I had been holding back finally fell without a sound.

Make it up to me.

Some things, once broken, can never be made whole again.