Adrian finally looked up from the stove. His brows drew together, not in panic, not in guilt, but in annoyance.
He was about to speak when his phone rang.
It was the special ringtone he had set for Chloe.
The moment he saw her name, the cold, professional mask on his face softened into a smile.
"What is it, princess?" he said, his voice low and gentle. "I'm already making the soup. If you're bored, play with the baby for a while."
He paused, glanced at me, and said into the phone, "She doesn't know. Don't worry."
Then he hung up and turned back to me.
"Chloe doesn't know I told you everything," he said. "Act like you don't know. She doesn't want to lose you as a friend."
With that, he packed the soup into a thermos and headed for the door.
"Divorce," I said again.
Adrian stopped and looked back at me as if I had said something absurd.
"We registered our marriage yesterday. Why would we divorce now? Do you want us to become a joke in front of everyone we know? Be professional, Evelyn. Stop making a scene."
I picked up a crystal vase from the table and smashed it at his feet.
"I'm making a scene?" My voice cracked as the tears finally spilled over. "When I nearly snapped my spine filming that high-altitude fall, I was in the ICU for three days. You were the first person I wanted to see when I woke up. And where were you? In a hotel with her, celebrating her new single hitting the charts. Did you show me any respect? Any dignity?"
For one second, guilt flickered across Adrian's face.
Then impatience buried it.
"You're crazy," he said coldly.
He slammed the door and left.
I sank to the floor.
A few minutes later, my phone began buzzing with messages from Chloe.
"Eve, you left before I even woke up."
"Did you see your godson? Isn't he cute?"
"When are you and Adrian going on your honeymoon? He's so mean, making you get married right when I'm giving birth. Now you can't even stay with me during recovery. Ugh!"
Then another message appeared.
"But don't worry about me. The baby's father is here taking care of me."
A photo followed.
In the picture, a man's long fingers were holding a baby bottle. On his ring finger was the same custom wedding band I wore.
They hadn't even bothered to take it off.
My hands shook so violently I almost dropped the phone.
At the same time, Chloe posted an Instagram story with one line:
"If I asked you to stay this time, would you?"
Seconds later, Adrian texted me.
"Go on the honeymoon by yourself for now."
Something in my chest tightened until I could barely breathe.
I opened Chloe's post and typed a comment beneath it.
"No need for the hints. You can have him."
After I hit send, I went upstairs to pack.
This house had been decorated piece by piece by me. Every vase, every curtain, every framed photo had once felt like part of a future I was building. Now I couldn't stand to stay in it for another minute.
Before leaving, I saw Adrian's work laptop on the desk.
For the first time in my life, I gave in to a dark impulse.
I typed Chloe's birthday.
The screen unlocked.
The photo albums were full of her.
Chloe sleeping. Chloe pouting. Chloe crying as she was wheeled into the delivery room.
One photo after another. A private archive of her entire life.
The cruelest part was that I appeared in some of those pictures too, always in the background. A blurred, ridiculous ghost smiling as I helped my "best friend" hold up her dress, completely unaware that I was only a prop in their love story.
Adrian had taken tens of thousands of photos of Chloe.
In three years, he and I didn't have a single private photo together, apart from our wedding portraits.
He had told me he wanted to keep things low-profile in the industry.
I believed him.
I put the laptop back.
My tears had dried.
Then I texted my manager, Janice.
"I have a plan. Arrange for Paul to pick me up."
