Chapter 5

Adrian remembered our anniversary three days before it arrived.

I almost laughed when his secretary called me that afternoon and said he had arranged for something to be delivered to the house.

"Mr. Cross asked me to make sure you're home when it arrives."

I thanked her and hung up.

For seven years, I had waited for Adrian to remember dates that mattered to me.

He had forgotten our second anniversary because of a business crisis. On our fourth, he had been overseas. On our sixth, he had sent flowers through his assistant because he had been too busy to come home.

I had always made excuses for him.

This time, however, I already knew why he remembered.

The seven-year deadline was approaching.

A little after five, a black velvet box was delivered to the house.

I knew what it was before I opened it.

Inside was a necklace.

A delicate gold chain held a blue sapphire pendant surrounded by tiny diamonds. It was elegant, expensive, and exactly the kind of jewelry Adrian usually chose when he wanted to make an impression.

I stared at it for several seconds.

Then I noticed the design.

My fingers went cold.

I had seen it before.

Not around my neck.

Around Vivian's.

I had found the photograph the night I searched Adrian's private files. Vivian had been standing beside him at a charity event, wearing a necklace with the same pendant.

I remembered because I had stared at that photograph for a long time.

The necklace in the photograph had a small teardrop-shaped sapphire surrounded by diamonds.

The one in my hand was almost identical.

Almost.

There was only one small difference.

The pendant Adrian had given me had a tiny diamond engraved into the back.

I turned it over.

There was an inscription.

E.V.

Elena Vale.

For anyone else, it would have looked romantic.

Adrian had supposedly taken something beautiful and made it personal for his wife.

I should have felt touched.

Instead, I felt as though someone had handed me a beautifully wrapped reminder that I had spent seven years living in another woman's shadow.

When Adrian came home that evening, he found me sitting in the living room with the necklace around my neck.

He smiled.

"You got it."

I touched the pendant lightly.

"It's beautiful."

"I thought you'd like it."

"I do."

He walked behind me and adjusted the chain, his fingers brushing against the back of my neck.

"You've always liked sapphires."

I looked at his reflection in the mirror.

"Have I?"

He paused.

"Of course."

I smiled.

"Where did you get the idea for this design?"

His hands stopped.

It was only for a moment, but I noticed.

"I saw it somewhere."

"Where?"

Adrian stepped away from me.

"I don't remember."

I turned toward him.

"Really?"

He gave a small shrug.

"I just thought it would suit you."

There it was.

The simplest answer.

The easiest lie.

I smiled again.

"Thank you."

His expression relaxed.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

"Happy anniversary, Elena."

"It's not our anniversary yet."

"I know."

He smiled.

"I wanted to give it to you early."

I looked at him.

Seven years ago, that smile could have made me forget every doubt I had ever had.

Now all I could think about was the photograph of Vivian wearing the original design.

I didn't say anything else.

That night, after Adrian went to bed, I took the necklace off and placed it carefully inside its box.

Then I returned to my study.

I opened my laptop and began searching through the archived photographs again.

I knew exactly what I was looking for.

Vivian's necklace.

I found the photograph within minutes.

It had been taken eight years ago.

Vivian was standing beside Adrian at a private dinner. She was wearing a simple black dress, her hair tied back, and the necklace resting against her collarbone.

I enlarged the photograph.

The design was unmistakable.

The same sapphire.

The same arrangement of diamonds.

The same delicate chain.

I opened another photograph.

Seven years ago.

Vivian was wearing the necklace again.

Another.

Six years ago.

The necklace was still there.

Then I found a photograph from five years ago.

Vivian was no longer wearing it.

I looked at the date.

It was taken only weeks before Adrian gave me my fifth-anniversary necklace.

My heart sank.

I opened the jeweler's archived records.

The original design had been commissioned nearly nine years ago.

The notes beside it contained a description.

I read it slowly.

The necklace had been designed around a keepsake Vivian had received from her mother as a child.

It had been customized specifically for her.

Then, years later, the same design had been reproduced.

For me.

Only my initials had been added.

I stared at the screen.

For a long time, I couldn't move.

It wasn't about the necklace.

That was what I kept telling myself.

A piece of jewelry was just a piece of jewelry.

But it wasn't the necklace that hurt.

It was what the necklace represented.

I remembered Adrian giving it to me on our fifth anniversary.

I had been so happy that I cried.

He had laughed and wiped my tears with his thumb.

"I saw it and thought of you."

Those words had stayed with me for years.

Now I knew he hadn't thought of me first.

He had thought of Vivian.

Maybe he always had.

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.

The house suddenly felt different.

I looked around my study.

The painting Adrian had bought when we moved in.

The perfume he had chosen for me.

The apartment.

The necklace.

The places we had traveled.

How many things had he selected because he knew I would like them?

And how many had he chosen because Vivian had once liked them?

The realization settled slowly, painfully.

Adrian wasn't replacing Vivian with me.

He had been keeping Vivian alive inside our marriage.

He had taken pieces of her and quietly built them into the life I thought belonged to us.

The home I loved had her preferences.

The necklace I treasured had her design.

The anniversary he claimed to celebrate with me was approaching the same deadline that would finally release him from our marriage arrangement.

Even his romantic gestures had begun to feel borrowed.

I thought about the girl I had been seven years ago.

She had believed she was becoming Adrian's wife.

She had no idea that she might have been stepping into another woman's unfinished story.

I opened the drawer beside my desk and pulled out my private notebook.

It was where I kept things I never shared with Adrian—plans, business ideas, small goals, and thoughts I didn't want anyone else to see.

I turned to a blank page.

For several seconds, I held the pen above it.

Then I wrote:

I will leave with nothing that belongs to her.

I stared at the sentence.

Then I looked toward the velvet box sitting on the desk.

I closed the notebook.

The necklace could stay.

For now.

But when I left Adrian, I would take my own life with me.

Nothing else.