My name is Mia Harlow.
I'm a Virgo. That's not an excuse — it's a warning label. I notice everything. Details, patterns, that one hair that's slightly out of place. I've been like this my whole life. In college, I always knew who was hooking up with who before they told anyone. Not because I was nosy. Because I just... saw it. I couldn't turn it off.
My BFF Zoe used to make me vet her celebrity ships. "Are they actually dating or is it PR?" She'd send me photos, interviews, red carpet footage. My accuracy rate was a hundred percent. She called it a gift. I called it exhausting.
So the next morning, I FaceTime Zoe.
She's eating cereal. She doesn't even blink when I tell her.
"He changed his cologne," she says. "Big deal."
"Zoe—"
"Maybe it was a gift. Maybe the dry cleaner uses a different fabric softener. Maybe—"
"He never changes his cologne," I say. "I'm sensitive to smells. He's been using the same one for three years specifically because it doesn't bother me. He would never just randomly switch."
She puts her spoon down and gives me a look. That look.
"Mia Bear. This is Nathan we're talking about. The man who comes straight home from work every single night. The man who has turned down after-work drinks with clients approximately a thousand times because he'd rather be with you. The man who once told Forbes magazine — on record — that his wife is his favorite hobby." She tilts her head. "Do you hear yourself?"
My phone buzzes. A voicemail from Nathan. It auto-plays.
"Hey babe. I booked your massage — the one with Maya, your favorite. Last night I maybe went a little too hard, so I figured you'd be sore today." He laughs softly. "There's an opening at four. Take a nap first. Love you."
Zoe stares at me through the screen. Her expression says everything.
"That man," she says slowly, "is either the most devoted husband on earth. Or the world's greatest actor."
I don't say anything.
Because here's the thing.
Those aren't mutually exclusive.
* * *
