At six-thirty in the morning, the Bay Area was still wrapped in a thin veil of fog. The first strands of sunlight pierced through, scattering like gold dust across the immaculately trimmed lawns of Woodside's luxury estates.
In the kitchen of a two-thousand-square-foot villa, Luna Chen stood before the marble island. Her slender fingers worked with practiced precision, measuring out Blue Mountain coffee beans into the grinder.
She wore a champagne-colored silk robe, embroidered with tiny pearls along the collar. Ethan had picked it up for her during last year's Paris Fashion Week. The hem brushed her ankles as she moved, her freshly painted nude toenails peeking out from beneath. Ethan adored that understated elegance, the way every detail about her was polished but never loud.
The villa itself had been Ethan's victory trophy three years earlier, when Nova Tech closed its Series A funding. Beyond the towering windows stretched the golf course, and farther still, San Francisco's skyline shimmered faintly in the fog, like a dream out of reach.
Luna remembered spending three months selecting every piece of furniture—every lamp, every painting, every color palette. She had once adored the abstract painting on the wall, a piece worth six figures. Now, staring at it while the coffee brewed, she struggled to remember what exactly she had loved about it.
The toaster clicked. Two slices of whole wheat bread sprang up, and Luna moved with elegant efficiency: mash half an avocado, spread it across the toast, top with a perfectly poached egg. She set the plate on fine china etched with the initials "E.W."
Ethan's breakfast was always the same—avocado toast, coffee with two sugars and one cream, served at exactly 149 degrees Fahrenheit. He claimed that was the temperature at which the coffee's aroma was "fully released."
Once, Luna had believed that memorizing these little details was proof of her devotion. But as she set the cup on the table, a chill crept through her hands.
She reached for her phone to text him, then noticed the blazer Ethan had tossed carelessly across the entryway cabinet last night.
Charcoal gray. Brunello Cucinelli. A jacket she had helped him choose in New York not long ago.
She picked it up to hang, but when her hand slipped into the pocket, her fingers brushed something hard. She froze, pulled it out.
A pearl earring. Five millimeters wide, glowing faintly pink under the morning light.
Not hers.
Her earrings were heirloom pearls or diamond studs. Never dangling, never pink.
The earring burned cold in her palm. She remembered clearly—Ethan had shrugged off this very jacket last night, right in front of her. She had brushed lint off his shoulder. Nothing had seemed out of place.
"What are you looking at?"
The voice behind her made her start.
She spun around, quickly closing her fist around the earring. Ethan walked toward her in gray silk pajamas, his blond hair tousled, eyes still hazy with sleep. He slipped an arm around her waist, lowered his chin to her shoulder, and murmured, "Why're you up so early?"
She forced a smile, sliding the earring into her robe pocket. "I wanted to make you breakfast. You said you had a board meeting—thought you'd be in a rush."
He kissed her forehead, fingers brushing her waist. "You're always so thoughtful."
The cologne on his skin—Terre d'Hermès, the one she had chosen for him last year—was familiar. But beneath it lingered another scent. Sweet. Fruity. Not hers.
"Oh, by the way," Ethan said casually, settling at the dining table with his coffee, "tonight's Nova Tech's launch party. You'll come with me."
Luna froze. Last night, he had only mentioned a board meeting. Nothing about a launch. She smoothed her expression, nodding lightly. "Of course. I'll be ready."
She sat across from him, watching the sunlight sharpen the lines of his face. Her mind drifted back to the auction house in Manhattan where they had first met, the way his eyes had sought hers across the crowd. The whirlwind courtship, the promises, her decision to leave New York and follow him to Silicon Valley. Somewhere along the way, Luna Chen had blurred into nothing more than Ethan's wife.
The avocado toast turned to ash in her mouth.
The questions—the earring, the perfume, the sudden launch party—rose to her lips but never left. In Silicon Valley's glittering social world, appearances were everything.
By ten, Ethan had left for work. Alone, Luna wandered into the walk-in closet. His side overflowed with tailored suits, rare sneakers, and watches displayed like museum treasures. Her side sparkled with dresses and jewelry—nearly all gifts from him. She opened her jewelry box. No pink pearls.
Her thumb hovered over Mia's contact. Her outspoken college roommate, now a Hollywood makeup artist, had never trusted Ethan. "His ambition outweighs his love," Mia had once warned. But Luna didn't call. Not yet.
That evening, she slipped into a black velvet gown, diamonds glittering at the neckline—an anniversary gift. She chose her mother's freshwater pearls for her ears. At seven, Ethan appeared in a tailored black suit, every movement sharp, flawless.
The Four Seasons ballroom dazzled with Silicon Valley's elite: venture capitalists, startup founders, fashion icons. Ethan moved with effortless charm, admired and envied. Luna followed at his side, poised, smiling.
And then she saw her.
A tall blonde in a fiery red gown. Pearl earrings swaying with every step, gleaming pink under the chandelier lights.
"Ethan! Congratulations, the launch was fantastic!" Chloe Davis beamed, her hand brushing Ethan's sleeve. That sweet, fruity perfume hit Luna instantly.
Introductions were made. Chloe's smile was polite, but her eyes—sharp, assessing—lingered on Luna with a flash of cold triumph.
In that instant, Luna understood.
Later, when Luna quietly confronted Ethan, he brushed her off. "Probably a client's earring. You're overthinking."
But his eyes, evasive and guarded, told her otherwise.
The music swelled. Glasses clinked. Laughter filled the glittering ballroom.
To everyone else, it was a celebration.
To Luna, it was a cage gilded in gold.
She slipped out onto the terrace, phone trembling in her hand, tears blurring her vision.
"Mia," she whispered when her friend answered. "I think I made a mistake."
Beyond the terrace, the Golden Gate Bridge stretched across the bay, glittering against the night.
But for Luna, the world had already gone dark. The moment she found that earring, her marriage had cracked. Now she needed the courage to shatter the golden cage for good.