Eliza POV:
I walked through the door of our house later that afternoon, numb. The smell of something savory filled the air. Gavin was in the kitchen, humming.
"Hey, you're back," he said cheerfully, turning from the stove. "Dinner's almost ready. How was your client meeting?"
"It was... fine," I mumbled, dropping my bag by the door. "Long."
"Find what you were looking for?" he asked, a casual question that felt like a trap. "You mentioned shopping earlier."
"Just browsing," I replied, my voice flat. "Didn't buy anything."
He nodded, seemingly satisfied. He didn't press. He never pressed. That's how he kept his lies safe.
We sat at the dinner table. Mia was already asleep, oblivious. I stared at the plate in front of me, picking at my food. Every bite felt like ash.
I needed to talk. But how? How did you confront a man who had built an entire second life on lies?
I decided not to start with the big guns. Not yet. I needed to see his reaction. I needed to watch him squirm.
"You know," I said, my voice quiet, "I've really been thinking about that awards gala. I think I'd actually like to go with you this year."
Gavin stopped mid-chew. His fork clattered against the plate. His eyes, usually so warm, now had a flicker of something I couldn't quite place. Fear? Surprise?
"The gala?" he asked, clearing his throat. "Why the sudden interest, Eliza? It's really just a stuffy corporate thing."
"Well, you know," I said, trying to sound light, "Mia's getting older. I want her to see her dad celebrated. See what you do."
He hesitated, then picked up his fork, fiddling with the food. "Eliza, you know I told you. Company policy. Spouses aren't really... encouraged for that kind of event. It's strictly business."
"Really?" I asked, my voice deceptively calm. "Because Jamie told me something different today."
His face drained of color. The fork slipped from his hand, hitting the plate with a loud clang.
"Jamie told me that spouses are not only allowed, but actively encouraged to attend," I continued, my voice gaining strength. "She said it's a huge event for families."
Silence. Thick and suffocating.
"She also told me, Gavin," I went on, my gaze locked on his, "that you never go alone. Not to the gala, not to the retreats, not to any of the company events."
More silence. He wouldn't look at me.
"She told me you always bring a woman," I said, my voice
soft, but laced with steel. "A woman you introduce as your wife."
He dropped his head into his hands. "Eliza, please."
"Who is she, Gavin?" I asked, my voice rising, but still controlled. "Who is this woman you've been calling your wife for the past eight years?"
He slammed his hands on the table. "She's a client, Eliza! A very important client! It's for business!"
"A client?" I scoffed. "And you introduce your clients as your wives? Is that how you conduct business, Gavin?"
He ran a hand through his hair. "It's for appearances, Eliza! For client relations! You wouldn't understand."
"Appearances?" I repeated, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Oh, I understand perfectly."
I pulled out my phone, sliding it across the table. Photos flashed on the screen. The Aspen ski trip. The Hawaii retreat. The European conference. Photo after photo. Eight years of photos.
"Eight years, Gavin," I said, my finger tracing the image of him and Chanelle, arm in arm. "Eight years of 'client relations.' This same 'client' at every single event. Every single one."
His face was ashen. His eyes wide with disbelief, then panic.
"I can explain, Eliza," he stammered, his voice a desperate plea.
"Explain what, Gavin?" My voice trembled, the raw pain finally breaking through. "Explain how every single lie you've told me for the past eight years was a cover for another woman? Explain how you made me believe I wasn't good enough to be seen with you, while she was by your side at every glamorous event?"
I paused, taking a shaky breath. "Who is she, Gavin? Really?"
"She's... no one important," he insisted, his voice barely a whisper. "Just a business partner. I swear."
"No one important?" I repeated, my voice dripping with scorn. "Is that what you call it when you send her love notes? When you plan romantic getaways to Hawaii? When you call her 'my love' and 'my wife' in text messages?"
I flashed the screenshots of their private chats. The intimate exchanges. The plans for their secret life. His eyes darted across the screen, a look of utter shock and defeat on his face.
He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected me to find everything.
"Do you have anything else to say, Gavin?" I asked, my voice cold and steady now. "Any more explanations for your 'business partner'?"
He just sat there, mouth agape, eyes fixed on the evidence. He had nothing.
I stood up, pushing my chair back with a scrape. I walked to the bedroom, pulling out a suitcase.
He followed me, stumbling. "What are you doing, Eliza? Where are you going?"
"I'm leaving, Gavin," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "I can't stay here. Not anymore."
"No, wait! Please, Eliza! Let's talk about this!" he pleaded, grabbing my arm. "I can fix this, I swear!"
I shook his hand off. "There's nothing to talk about. There's nothing to fix."
I started pulling clothes from the closet, folding them methodically.
"For eight years, I was your dirty little secret," I said, not looking at him. "The wife you kept hidden away, while Chanelle Bryant got to be your proud, public partner. Your wife."
"No, Eliza, that's not... It' s complicated," he stammered, trying to find words. "It' s different."
I turned to face him, my eyes blazing. "Different? How is it different, Gavin? Explain it to me. Explain how I was never good enough to meet your colleagues, to attend your events, to be acknowledged as your wife. While she was by your side, living my life."
"You... you didn't like those events, Eliza," he stammered, his eyes darting away. "You're more of a homebody. A quiet person."
"A homebody?" I scoffed, tears welling in my eyes. "Is that what you told yourself, Gavin? That I was too boring to be seen with? Too quiet? Too... inconvenient?"
I felt a tear slip down my cheek. "It wasn't about me, was it? It was always about you. About having your cake and eating it too. A stable home life with me, a glamorous public life with her. You wanted both. And you just took it."
He just stood there, silently. His silence was deafening.
"I was never your wife, was I, Gavin?" I whispered, looking straight into his eyes. "I was just your housekeeper. Your babysitter. Your hidden mistress. While Chanelle was your real wife."
