He tried her phone. Once. Twice. Three times. But no response from his wife. He tried again for the fourth time and luckily, it picked. Relief flooded him.“Amelia? Where are you? The dinner’s getting cold—”A man’s laughter cut him off, loud and boisterous, filled with the clinking of glasses and background chatter. “Hey, beautiful! It’s your… what did you call him? The ‘house manager’?” The man’s voice was intimate, possessive.Leo froze, his knuckles white around the phone. “Who is this?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm. “This is Amelia’s number.”.The video was shaky, shot in a glamorous hotel ballroom. There was Amelia, more radiant than she had been on TV, laughing, her face flushed with victory and drink. And next to her was a man—tall, handsome, with the easy confidence of someone who owned every room he walked into. It was Julian Thorne, her college sweetheart, the one who had left for a banking career in London years ago. The one who had returned six months ago,

He tried her phone. Once. Twice. Three times. But no response from his wife. He tried again for the fourth time and luckily, it picked. Relief flooded him.“Amelia? Where are you? The dinner’s getting cold—”A man’s laughter cut him off, loud and boisterous, filled with the clinking of glasses and background chatter. “Hey, beautiful! It’s your… what did you call him? The ‘house manager’?” The man’s voice was intimate, possessive.Leo froze, his knuckles white around the phone. “Who is this?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm. “This is Amelia’s number.”“It is indeed,” the man chuckled. “She’s a little busy right now. Celebrating her massive success? You know, the thing she actually worked for? Hold on.” There was a muffled sound. “Mia! Your husband is on the phone. He seems worried about dinner.”He called her Mia. A name Leo never used. A wave of cold dread washed over him.When Amelia came on the line, her voice was sharp, laced with annoyance and the distinct slur of expe

Leo sat there, the phone still pressed to his ear, listening to the dial tone that echoed the hollow emptiness in his chest. The carefully set table, the candles, the ruined food—it was all a pathetic tableau of his own delusion. He was about to put the phone down when it vibrated with an incoming message. An unknown number. A video.With a sense of foreboding, he tapped the screen.The video was shaky, shot in a glamorous hotel ballroom. There was Amelia, more radiant than she had been on TV, laughing, her face flushed with victory and drink. And next to her was a man—tall, handsome, with the easy confidence of someone who owned every room he walked into. It was Julian Thorne, her college sweetheart, the one who had left for a banking career in London years ago. The one who had returned six months ago, swooping in as a consultant for Apex.The camera zoomed in as Julian, amid cheers and raised glasses, pulled Amelia into a deep, passionate kiss. Then, still holding her, he dropped to

The lobby of the Aurelian Hotel was a temple to modern opulence. Soaring ceilings held cascading crystal chandeliers that scattered light like diamonds across polished marble floors. The air smelled of white lilies and luxury. For Elara, who had spent the last month navigating the grim, fluorescent-lit offices of debt collectors and the stark silence of her emptied bank account, the sheer grandeur was almost physically disorienting. She felt like a ghost trespassing in a palace.She kept a half-step behind Leo, her borrowed clothes—a simple, elegant sweater and trousers Olivia had procured—feeling flimsy.Leo, in contrast, moved through the gilded space with an unthinking ease, as if he were strolling through a park. He didn’t seem to notice the awe his presence inspired in the staff, who nodded with deep deference as he passed.“The penthouse is a separate lift,” he said, his voice low, guiding her toward a discreet, bronze-doored elevator tucked away from the main thoroughfare. He

Leo sat there, the phone still pressed to his ear, listening to the dial tone that echoed the hollow emptiness in his chest. The carefully set table, the candles, the ruined food—it was all a pathetic tableau of his own delusion. He was about to put the phone down when it vibrated with an incoming message. An unknown number. A video.With a sense of foreboding, he tapped the screen.The video was shaky, shot in a glamorous hotel ballroom. There was Amelia, more radiant than she had been on TV, laughing, her face flushed with victory and drink. And next to her was a man—tall, handsome, with the easy confidence of someone who owned every room he walked into. It was Julian Thorne, her college sweetheart, the one who had left for a banking career in London years ago. The one who had returned six months ago, swooping in as a consultant for Apex.The camera zoomed in as Julian, amid cheers and raised glasses, pulled Amelia into a deep, passionate kiss. Then, still holding her, he dropped to