The golden glow of the evening sun poured through the arched windows of the penthouse, casting a warm hue on the freshly arranged lilies and flickering candles that adorned the dining table. Everything was perfect.
Clara Bennett stepped back and admired her work, a soft smile playing on her lips. The rich scent of vanilla from the candle centerpieces mixed with the aroma of the chef-prepared three-course meal she'd ordered—his favorite dishes, of course. Lemon butter salmon, truffle mashed potatoes, and the red velvet cake from the bakery where they'd shared their first date.
Her heart fluttered nervously as she adjusted the sleeve of her silk dress—deep burgundy, the color he said made her look like royalty. She glanced at the wall clock. 6:47 PM.
He was late.
But he was always late. Ever since he got promoted as the youngest director at Greyson Corp., late dinners had become normal. Still, tonight was special.
It was their third wedding anniversary.
Clara smoothed the table runner again, even though it didn't need fixing. The diamond pendant around her neck sparkled, a gift from her husband on their second anniversary. The engraved "Forever, Liam" on the back of the pendant was starting to feel like a lie lately—but she quickly shoved the thought aside.
No. Don't think like that. He's just stressed. Men change under pressure. It doesn't mean he doesn't love me.
Her phone buzzed.
Bestie Jules 💄:"Hey babe! Late night at work. Can't call now. Miss you though 💋"
Clara smiled at the message. Julianne had been her best friend since college. She was family. The only person who'd stood by Clara when she married Liam and her adoptive family cut ties with her. Julianne always had her back.
She grabbed her phone and began to type a reply when another message popped up.
This time from an unknown number.
Unknown:"If you want to know the truth, go to Eden Hotel, Room 1803. Now."
Her fingers froze mid-type. Her brows furrowed. What kind of joke was this?
Her heart thumped a little faster. Clara quickly deleted the message and tossed the phone onto the couch. She hated pranks.
But the message replayed in her mind like a broken record.
Room 1803. Eden Hotel.
No name. No explanation. Just a dare from a faceless number.
She tried to focus on the soft music in the background—Ed Sheeran's love ballads—but they no longer comforted her. The warmth of the apartment felt suddenly suffocating. And the aroma of the red velvet cake now made her nauseous.
What if something was actually wrong?
What if he was hurt?
What if…
No. That was ridiculous. Liam wouldn't—he couldn't...
Another message popped up.
Unknown:"Your husband is not stuck in traffic. He's stuck in bed—with someone else."
Clara's stomach dropped.
Her hands shook as she grabbed her purse and coat. She barely noticed she'd left the candles burning or the food untouched. All she could hear was the pounding of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears.
Thirty minutes later…
Clara stood outside Room 1803 on the 18th floor of the Eden Hotel. Her knees were weak, her throat dry. The hallway was quiet except for the faint hum of elevator music.
She stared at the door.
This was insane. She shouldn't be here. She should go home. Talk to Liam. Ask him calmly. Maybe it was a prank.
But something—intuition?—told her not to turn away.
Her hand raised to knock… but the door wasn't shut all the way.
It creaked open with a gentle push.
Inside, laughter floated through the air. Moans followed. Clara's feet felt glued to the ground.
She took a step forward. Then another.
And that's when she saw them.
Her husband, Liam Carter.
Her best friend, Julianne Woods.
Entwined in white sheets, wrapped around each other like lovers who'd known each other far longer than they should've.
Julianne's legs were wrapped around him, her head thrown back in laughter. Liam kissed her neck with the passion Clara hadn't seen in months. And for a moment, time stopped.
Clara felt her world crumble in slow motion.
A gasp escaped her lips.
Liam's head shot up.
Julianne froze, her smile vanishing.
"C-Clara…?" Liam scrambled off the bed, fumbling for the blanket. "What are you—how did you—"
Clara didn't reply. She didn't scream. She didn't cry.
She just… stared.
And in that silence, everything shattered.
Ten minutes later…
Rain poured as she stumbled out of the hotel, soaked and shaking. The world around her blurred. Not because of the rain—but because of the tears she refused to let fall.
She walked aimlessly through the city, shoes clicking against wet pavement. Her mind raced, but her body moved without thought.
Memories came in flashes.
The vows.The anniversary dinners.The nights she waited for him.The lies.
It had all been a farce.
She reached a quiet alley and finally leaned against the wall, sliding to the ground.
Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it.
Then another buzz.
And another.
She finally looked.
One message from Julianne.
Julianne:"I didn't mean for you to find out like this. You were always too soft, Clara. Too naive. Liam needs a real woman now."
Clara read it once.
Twice.
And then she laughed.
Not a normal laugh—but a broken, hollow sound that bounced off the alley walls.
Naive?
Maybe she had been.
But not anymore.
She wiped her tears, stood up, and looked at her reflection in a storefront mirror.
Her hair was wet, her makeup smudged, her heart in pieces.
But her eyes—her eyes were filled with something new.