James POV
The documents are in a shoebox at the back of Eleanor's closet.
James isn't looking for them. He's looking for her birth certificate. He needs it to finalize the wedding plans. He needs it to put her name on official paperwork. He needs it to make her real in the eyes of the world.
What he finds instead changes everything.
A forged passport under the name Iris Campbell. A fake driver's license under the same name. Bank statements for accounts under three different identities. Credit cards registered to people who don't exist.
James sits on the closet floor with the documents spread around him and feels something crack inside his chest.
Eleanor Marsh isn't real.
His wife isn't real.
Everything falls into place in his mind at once. The way she flinches when people ask about her past. The phone calls she doesn't answer. The way she looks at him sometimes like she's saying goodbye. Like she's already leaving even while she's still there.
She played him.
She married him for his money. For his protection. For everything he could give her. Just like his mother said women do. Just like his father taught him to expect.
She trapped him.
James stands up and walks out of the closet. He's moving on autopilot. His mind is operating at a distance from his body. He's thinking very clearly about all the ways he's been a fool.
Eleanor is in their bedroom. She's sitting by the window reading a book like she's just a normal person living a normal life. Like she didn't just destroy everything with her lies.
She looks peaceful. Untouched. Like none of this is real.
The sight of her makes his anger ignite.
"Who are you?" he asks from the doorway.
She turns around and sees the documents in his hand. He's holding them like they're evidence at a trial. Like they're proof of her crimes.
Her entire face drains of color.
"James—" she starts.
"Who are you?" he repeats. His voice is cold. It sounds like a stranger's voice. It sounds like ice and betrayal.
She stands up slowly. She's trying to stay calm but her hands are shaking.
"I can explain," she whispers.
"I don't want an explanation," he says. "I want the truth. Your real name. Who you really are. Why you married me."
She looks at the documents and then back at him. And in her eyes, he sees the moment when she understands that he knows. That the lie is over. That everything is ending.
"My real name is Eleanor Marsh," she says quietly.
"That's not true," he says. "According to these documents, your real name is Eleanor Marsh but you also go by Iris Campbell. You also go by Margaret Stevens. You also go by names I don't even know yet."
"No—" she starts.
"Don't," he says, and his voice cuts through her words like a knife. "Don't try to lie your way out of this. I'm done listening to lies."
She sinks back down onto the bed. She looks like she's collapsing from the inside out.
"Why did you marry me?" he demands.
She doesn't answer.
"Was it for the money?" he continues. "Was it for the protection? Was I just a shield you could hide behind?"
"James, it's not like that—"
"Then what is it like?" he asks. His anger is a fire burning through every good thing they built. "Tell me what it's like to marry someone and lie to them for six months. Tell me what it's like to play with someone's emotions. Tell me what it's like to trap someone."
"I didn't trap you," she says, and her voice is so small that it makes him angrier.
"You married me under a fake name," he says. "You hid your past from me. You let me plan a wedding with my family. You let me introduce you to my friends. You let me believe that you were real."
"I am real," she says. She looks up at him with tears streaming down her face. "The person you love is real. That's not a lie."
"I don't believe anything you say anymore," he says coldly.
It's the cruelest thing he can think of. And he says it deliberately. Because right now, in this moment, he wants her to hurt the way he hurts.
She flinches like he hit her.
"Every moment we've had together," she says quietly, "was real for me. My feelings for you are real. That's not a lie."
"But everything else is," he says. "Your name. Your past. Your reasons for being here. All of it is a lie."
She stands up and tries to reach for him. "Please, let me explain—"
"I don't want your explanation," he says. He steps back so she can't touch him. "I want you to pack a bag and get out."
"James—"
"Pack a bag," he repeats. His voice is the voice of a man made of stone. "You have one hour. Pack what you came with and leave."
"Where am I supposed to go?" she asks.
"I don't care," he says, and he means it. At least he thinks he means it. At least that's what he tells himself. "That's not my problem anymore."
He turns and walks toward the door.
"I married you to save my life," Eleanor calls after him. "I married you because I was running from someone. Not because I wanted to trap you. Because I was desperate."
He stops at the doorway but he doesn't turn around.
"If you were desperate," he says quietly, "you should have told me the truth. You should have trusted me. Instead, you lied. You used me. And now everything we had is gone."
He leaves before she can respond.
He goes to his office and closes the door. He sits at his desk and calls his lawyer.
"I need you to draw up divorce papers," he says. "Immediately. I want my wife removed from my life completely."
"Mr. Ashford, don't you think you should take time to—" his lawyer starts.
"Now," James says. "I want her out of my life by tomorrow."
He hangs up before his lawyer can argue.
Then he sits in the darkness of his office and feels nothing. Which is worse than feeling angry. Anger is something. Nothing is just emptiness where happiness used to be.
Two hours later, Eleanor comes to his office door. She has a small bag packed. She looks like she hasn't slept in days. She looks like she's dying.
"Where will you go?" he asks, because he can't help himself. Because even now, even after everything, he cares.
"I don't know," she says. "Back to the hotel, I guess. Until I figure out what comes next."
"Take the car," he says coldly. "It's leased under your name anyway. Might as well take it."
She looks at him like he's just stabbed her.
"I'll have the papers ready by tomorrow," he continues. "We can finalize the divorce quietly. No one has to know."
"James—" she starts.
"Don't," he says. "Just go."
She leaves.
He watches from his office window as she gets into the car with her single bag. He watches her sit in the driver's seat like she's gathering strength to move. He watches her drive away from the penthouse and out of his life.
And then his phone rings.
It's Detective Samuel Price.
"Is Eleanor Marsh there?" the detective asks urgently.
"No," James says. "She just left. Why?"
"We need to get her into protective custody," the detective says. "Immediately. Marcus Holloway just made a move. He's accelerated his timeline. If we don't protect her, he's going to kill her."
James feels his blood go cold.
"What are you talking about?" he asks.
"Your wife is a witness to a murder," the detective says. "She saw Marcus Holloway kill a man two years ago. She's been in witness protection since then. She married you to hide from him. And now he's found her. He's found you both."
James looks out the window at the car that just disappeared into traffic.
He realizes he just sent his wife to face a killer completely alone.
He realizes he chose his pride over her life.
And by the time the realization hits him, it's already too late.