Eliza POV:
The next morning, Gavin announced his plan. "I'm heading out for a while, Eliza," he said, adjusting his watch. "Got some errands to run before I head to the office."
"Alright," I replied, my voice flat, holding back the questions that threatened to spill out.
"I might be back late," he added, without looking at me. "Could be a long day."
"Right," I managed, my hands gripping my coffee mug tighter. "Just let me know."
He left without another word, the sound of the front door clicking shut echoing in the silent house. I watched him drive away, a strange mix of abandonment and opportunity washing over me.
The moment his car disappeared from view, I moved. My fingers flew across the keyboard. This was it.
I navigated to his company's public website. I knew they had an events section. A quick search brought up an archive of past corporate gatherings.
I started scrolling. Years of photos. Faces. Smiles. And then I saw him.
Gavin. In so many of them. His smile wide, his posture confident.
And beside him, in photo after photo, was her. The woman from the Aspen picture.
She was there at the Hawaii retreat. She was there at the European conference. She was there at every single event he had ever told me I couldn't attend.
Eight years. She had been there for eight years. Every event. Every single one.
Her face was the same. Her confident smile. The sleek dark hair. Unchanged.
Chanelle Bryant. The name floated in my mind as I recognized it from one of the company's older press releases featuring key business partners.
My stomach clenched. A sharp pain ripped through me. I pressed my hand against my mouth to stifle a cry.
I wasn' t just a hidden wife. I was a ghost.
I started saving everything. Screenshots upon screenshots. A digital trail of his betrayal.
Then, I knew what I had to do. I found his unlocked work laptop. He always left it open when he was in a rush. A habit I' d never questioned. Until now.
I went straight to his messaging app. My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew this was wrong. But what he had done was worse.
I found her name. Chanelle Bryant. Her name was at the top of his recent chats.
I clicked on it. The latest messages were from earlier that morning.
"Can't wait for Hawaii, babe," she wrote, followed by a kissy face emoji. "Counting down the days."
Babe. The word hit me like a punch.
I scrolled further. Plans for the upcoming awards gala.
"Did you remember to book the suite overlooking the ocean for the awards?" she asked. "I love that view."
"Already done, my love," Gavin replied. "Only the best for my wife."
Wife. The word echoed in my skull, a cruel joke.
I kept scrolling. Old messages. Years of messages.
"Don't forget the matching cuff links for the gala," she reminded him cheerfully. "We need to look perfect for the photos."
"Never forget our special symbols, my dear," he' d written back. "Always matching."
Their special symbols. Their public life.
"I still can't believe Eliza actually thinks you're on a boring business trip when we're in Paris," she'd messaged him years ago. "Bless her naive heart."
Gavin's reply was quick. "She's... trusting. It helps maintain appearances at home."
My stomach turned. Appearances. That's all I was to him.
"Just make sure she doesn't find any of our travel pics on social media," he'd warned her. "Especially not the ones from our Santorini honeymoon."
Santorini. Honeymoon. My world spun.
My honeymoon with Gavin had been a quiet weekend upstate, a low-key affair because he said he was too busy to go anywhere extravagant. He said we could do a big trip later.
I remembered being so tired after Mia was born. Gavin said he couldn't take time off. He said he had to work.
He was in Santorini. With her.
A wave of nausea washed over me. I gasped, clutching my stomach. The air felt thin, suffocating. My vision blurred around the edges.
I closed the laptop, shoving it away from me as if it were a venomous snake. I couldn' t look anymore. Not right now.
The front door opened. Gavin was home.
He walked in, smelling faintly of cologne and something else-another woman' s perfume, faint but distinct. "Hey, I'm back," he said, a casual smile on his face. "Everything alright? You look a little pale."
I looked at him. Really looked at him. The man I' d married. The man who had lied to me for eight years. He looked so normal. So charming. So utterly alien.
"Just a headache," I managed, my voice strained. "Long day."
"Sorry to hear that," he said, setting his briefcase down. "I'll grab us some takeout tonight. You deserve a break." He moved to the kitchen, humming a tune I didn't recognize.
I watched him. His broad shoulders. The way he moved. So familiar.
Yet, a stranger. The most dangerous kind.
He opened the fridge. "We're out of almond milk," he called out. "I'll pick some up tomorrow."
I closed my eyes. Almond milk. His favorite. Her favorite.
