Chapter 2

My alarm woke me right on time the next morning.

Nothing in the kitchen had been touched. Everything looked exactly the way it had the night before.

Normally, I'd already be in there making breakfast for Ethan.

He had acid reflux, and anything too spicy or acidic could trigger it.

But that morning, I didn't go into the kitchen.

I went into the bathroom and put on some light makeup instead.

Ethan emerged from the bedroom with his hair a mess. When he saw that I was already dressed and ready to leave, he frowned.

"You didn't make breakfast? You know my stomach can't handle just anything."

I pulled a pair of heels from the shoe cabinet by the door.

"I've got an early meeting. I don't have time. Order something or have some toast."

He stood there without moving.

Clearly, he hadn't expected me to dismiss him so casually.

Before, even if I had a 102-degree fever, the second he complained about his stomach, I'd drag myself out of bed and make him plain scrambled eggs.

"Delivery is garbage."

His expression darkened, irritation obvious in his voice.

"You can't even throw something together real quick?"

I slipped on my shoes and straightened, meeting his eyes.

"I said I don't have time. You want something home-cooked, make it yourself."

The words came out sharper than I expected.

I braced myself for the guilt that always hit whenever I pushed back.

But this time, there was nothing.

Just silence inside me.

And God, what a relief that silence was.

I opened the door and walked out, leaving a stunned Ethan behind.

At the office, I started handing off my work.

The Paris branch across the Atlantic would be a completely new challenge, and I needed to organize and archive every project file I had here.

I spent the entire morning in conference rooms coordinating with department heads.

I barely had time to drink water.

It wasn't until lunch that I finally checked my phone.

Two notifications were waiting.

The first was from Ethan.

"Pick up my suit from the dry cleaner on your way home."

The second was a charge notification.

I'd set up spending alerts on our joint account.

We'd originally opened it for household expenses—utilities, groceries, everyday necessities.

The statement showed a $600 charge from a high-end private chef service.

The note read:

Custom low-acid meal. No citrus or tomatoes.

I stared at the transaction for a long time.

That morning, Ethan had complained that delivery was unhealthy and insisted I should cook for him.

By lunch, he was perfectly willing to spend $600 on a private chef.

But I already knew the meal wasn't for him.

It was for Sophie.

After work, I didn't stop at the dry cleaner.

I went straight home.

Ethan had beaten me there.

He was sitting on the couch, speaking quietly into his phone.

"Drink the soup while it's hot. I specifically told the chef not to use cilantro. I know you're allergic. I remember everything about you. Stop worrying about work. Your health comes first. Don't stay up late. Take care of yourself, okay?"

I stood in the doorway and silently listened to him say those things to another woman.

I couldn't help remembering what he'd said when I'd had stomach problems.

He'd barely looked at me.

"You're an adult, Grace. Learn to take care of yourself."

How ironic.

A mocking smile touched my lips.

Hearing the door, Ethan quickly ended the call and turned toward me.

His gaze immediately dropped to my empty hands.

"Where's my suit?"

I changed into slippers and tossed my bag onto the couch.

"Forgot it. Go get it yourself."

His face darkened instantly.

"Forgot it? I specifically texted you this morning to remind you, and you're seriously telling me you forgot? You know I have an important industry gala this weekend."

I stopped and turned to face him.

"I did forget."

"My job keeps me busy too. I don't have room in my head for every little errand you give me. If the suit is so important, why didn't you pick it up yourself? The dry cleaner is two blocks from your office."

Ethan stared at me in disbelief.

Like he didn't recognize the woman standing in front of him.

"What is wrong with you today? You're acting like a completely different person. I just asked you to pick something up on the way home."

I couldn't be bothered arguing anymore.

I walked straight into the closet and pulled out a large suitcase.

Starting today, I would slowly remove everything that belonged to me from this apartment.

I opened the closet.

I pushed aside the ties, shirts, and watches I'd bought him, then took out my own clothes one by one, folded them, and placed them in the suitcase.

Ethan appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame.

"What are you doing? Spring cleaning?"

Without looking up, I stuffed several winter pieces into compression bags.

"Sorting seasonal clothes. Getting rid of some things I don't wear anymore."

"Up to you. Just don't mess up my files."

There it was again.

"Up to you."

He didn't even offer to help.

Ethan yawned and started walking away, then suddenly stopped.

"Oh, right. You're coming to the gala with me this weekend. You're my plus-one."

My hands paused.

Then I shoved a coat into the suitcase.

"I'm busy. I have to work this weekend."

Ethan turned around, a warning look entering his eyes.

"I said it's an important industry event. You have to go. Don't start with me right now."

I straightened and looked at him coldly.

"And I said I'm busy. You want a plus-one, find someone else."