I stood in front of the full-length mirror, carefully smoothing the silk of my emerald dress. It was simple but elegant—the kind of outfit a wife chooses for a four-year anniversary dinner, something meant to feel special. But the woman staring back at me didn’t look celebratory. She looked empty. Like she was only waiting for something to go wrong.
When I stepped into the living room, Cassie was just coming out of the guest room.
She wore something barely worthy of being called a dress—thin red fabric clinging tightly to her body, the neckline dipping far too low, the hem barely brushing mid-thigh. It was loud, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
Marcus, standing near the door and checking his watch, lifted his head the moment she appeared. His expression shifted instantly—first surprise, then something darker.
“No,” he said sharply. “Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?”
Cassie only smiled, tugging at one of her straps as if it needed fixing. “Out,” she replied breezily. “I’m going to enjoy myself. It’s suffocating here with you two acting like a married couple in a romance movie.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Marcus cut in, stepping toward her. His tone turned harsher. “That outfit is way too much. You look…” He hesitated, jaw tightening. “You look cheap, Cassie. Change it.”
She tilted her head, unimpressed. “Why? Since when do you get to decide what I wear?”
“Because I’m looking out for you,” he said through clenched teeth. “Nathan would flip if he saw you like that. Your brother would never approve.”
From the hallway, I watched in silence.
To anyone else, it might have looked like concern—like a protective friend worried about his best friend’s sister. But I saw the truth in the way his gaze lingered too long, the way his jaw tightened, the possessive edge hidden beneath his words. It wasn’t protection. It was ownership. He didn’t want anyone else seeing her.
Cassie rolled her eyes. “You’re not my boyfriend, Marcus. And you’re not my brother either. I’m staying here because Nathan asked you to watch me. That’s it. You don’t control me.”
Without another word, she grabbed her bag, pushed past him, and left, her heels striking hard against the floor. The door slammed behind her.
Marcus didn’t move at first. His hands were clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles went pale. He stared at the door like he could burn straight through it.
I cleared my throat.
He startled, quickly turning toward me. For a brief second, his irritation was still visible before he forced it away into something softer.
“Ready, love?” he asked, though his voice was strained.
**
The drive to the restaurant felt suffocating.
Marcus held the steering wheel too tightly, his knuckles pale. His phone was constantly in his hand, his eyes flicking between the road, the mirror, and the screen. His leg bounced restlessly like he couldn’t sit still.
“If you’d rather not go,” I said quietly, watching the passing lights outside, “we can just go back.”
He let out a tense breath. “No, it’s fine.” Then after a pause, he added, “I’m just worried about Cassie. If anything happens to her, Nathan’s going to lose it. I promised him I’d keep an eye on her.”
“Is that really all it is?” I asked, turning slightly to study his profile.
He glanced at me quickly, forcing a calm expression. “Of course. What else would there be?”
I gave a small smile, almost tired. “Alright.”
The restaurant was beautiful in the way memory makes things cruel. Candlelight flickered across polished glass, a violin played softly in the background, and the scent of expensive wine filled the air. It was the same place where he had once proposed to me.
But tonight, Marcus wasn’t really here.
His body sat across from me, but his attention was somewhere else entirely—somewhere with a girl in red.
His phone lit up constantly. Every few seconds, he checked it again. He barely touched his food, barely acknowledged anything I said. When I tried to talk about anything at all—the weather, a book I’d read—he only responded with empty sounds.
“Mm. Yeah. Right.”
Then his phone buzzed again.
He grabbed it so fast his glass nearly tipped over. The moment he read the message, his face changed.
“I have to go,” he said immediately, standing.
I blinked, fork frozen halfway. “Marcus… we haven’t even ordered dessert.”
“It’s work,” he said, already reaching for his coat. “Something crashed. A server issue. I need to handle it right now.”
“On our anniversary?”
“I’m sorry, Nora.” His voice softened just slightly, but his movements didn’t slow. He placed money on the table without looking at me. “I’ll make it up to you. Take a cab home. I love you.”
And just like that, he was gone.
The words “I love you” lingered in the air long after his presence disappeared.
The waiter approached hesitantly. “Ma’am… should I bring the next course?”
“No,” I answered quietly. “Just the bill.”
The house was dark when I returned.
I thought I’d be alone.
But as I stepped into the living room, I stopped cold.
Cassie was sprawled across the couch, her red dress wrinkled, makeup smudged, laughing loudly as if the world was spinning with her. An almost empty bottle of tequila sat on the table.
And Marcus—he was kneeling beside her.
Not at work.
Not fixing anything.
Fixing her.
He wiped her face gently with a cloth, careful and patient, like she was something fragile.
“You’re a mess,” he said softly, almost fondly. “I told you not to go out like that.”
“I just wanted to have fun,” she giggled, reaching out to touch his face.
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm.
Then he saw me.
His body stiffened. He stood up quickly, putting space between them as if that would erase what I had just seen.
“Nora,” he said too fast. “I—I got a call. She was drunk at a bar. The bartender used her phone. I had to pick her up. It was urgent.”
So that was the emergency.
Not work. Not anything real.
Her.
She called, and he came running.
I stood still. “I see.”
“I’m sorry about dinner,” he added quickly, stepping toward me. “I was just about to—”
I walked past him without stopping.
No shouting. No tears. No reaction he could use.
“It’s fine,” I said quietly. “I’m tired.”
I went straight into the bedroom, closed the door, and locked it behind me.
Leaning against it, I listened to his voice outside—low, soft, telling her to quiet down, helping her up, guiding her toward the guest room like she belonged there.
My phone vibrated.
One email.
From Simon.
The divorce papers were ready.
Before I could breathe properly, another notification appeared.
Immigration Office.
Visa approved.
I stared at the screen, unmoving.
And for the first time that entire night, the tears that had been threatening to fall… simply stopped coming.
