Chapter 2

"Chloe? What are you—didn't you say your flight was tomorrow?"

Isla Vance was the first to speak, her voice trembling with panic.

I stood in the entryway, the wheels of my suitcase still spinning quietly.

The entire living room was filled with the rich aroma of garlic butter ribeye steak and creamy carbonara. It was a smell I hadn’t encountered once in our three years of marriage. Ethan never cooked. He always said the kitchen grease gave him a migraine.

Yet, on the stove, there was a massive spread that clearly took two people to coordinate.

I replied calmly, "My flight got bumped up."

Ethan finally pulled his hands back. He casually put some distance between himself and Isla, took two steps toward me, and naturally took the handle of my suitcase.

"You must be exhausted. Did you eat on the way?"

Isla’s eyes were already turning red. She grabbed my wrist tightly. "Chloe, listen to me, it’s not what you think. Ethan saw me eating instant ramen alone in my apartment, so he offered to come over and teach me how to cook a few dishes. I’m just so clumsy and couldn't tie the apron, so he—"

"Isla," Ethan interrupted her. "Go home first. I’ll drive you."

Isla froze, seemingly caught off guard by his words. Her lips parted, but she didn’t argue further. She lowered her head and walked to the entryway to change her shoes.

As she passed me, she lightly brushed the back of my hand. "Chloe, let’s talk tomorrow, okay?"

The sound of the front door closing was very soft.

I walked over to the dining table. Two sets of forks, two glasses of warm water, a side salad, and the perfectly seared steak.

Ethan’s fork had been used. The salad was half gone.

"You’re teaching her how to cook?" I pulled out a chair, sat down, and picked up a fork to take a bite of the steak. I chewed slowly. "Tastes good. When did you learn how to make this?"

Ethan leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching me, his brow furrowing. "Chloe, cut the sarcasm. She’s having a hard time living alone. I went to check on her and made a quick meal. Is there a problem with that?"

"No problem."

I took another bite. "It’s just that in three years, this is the first time I've eaten your cooking. I didn't know you were such a chef."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

I put down my fork and looked up at him. "Ethan, you used to tell me that kitchen smoke triggered your migraines, so I did all the cooking. Three months ago, before I left for London, I stuffed the freezer with all your favorite meals. I wrote down the heating instructions for every single container on sticky notes."

"You didn't touch a single one, did you?"

He was silent for a few seconds. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, but stuffed it back in without lighting one. "What exactly are you trying to say, Chloe?"

"I'm saying you tie apron strings very quickly. It didn't look like your first time."

After I said that, a heavy silence settled over the living room.

From somewhere outside, the distant, tinny music of an ice cream truck drifted through the window. The cheerful, out-of-tune melody paired with the suffocating silence in the room felt ridiculously absurd.

Ethan walked over and sat down across from me, crossing his hands on the table. "Chloe, I’m only going to say this once. There is absolutely nothing going on between Isla and me. If you don’t trust me, go ahead and check my phone. Check whatever you want."

He looked me dead in the eye, his gaze steady and resolute, like he was making a sacred vow.

But vows were something I had long stopped believing in.

Years ago, my dad was scammed out of everything by his business partner. Overnight, we went from high society to social pariahs. Our relatives and friends vanished faster than ghosts. Even my own mother packed her bags and abandoned us. In that dark world, Isla was the only one who shoved a debit card into my hand. She told me it was the savings from her last four years of work, and if it wasn't enough, we'd find another way.

Later, I gritted my teeth, finished my master's degree, got a high-paying corporate job, and married a successful husband. I honestly believed the greatest stroke of luck in my life was having her as my best friend.

So, when her ex-husband's family played dirty and coerced her into signing away her daughter's custody, leaving her shaking and sobbing in the hospital hallway, I didn't hesitate for a single second.

I owed her a debt I could never fully repay.

"I trust you," I finally said.

Ethan’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

"But Ethan—"

I stood up, taking the dishes to the sink, keeping my back turned to him.

"The next time you go to her apartment, could you at least let me know first?"

There was no reply from behind me.

I turned on the faucet. The rush of running water drowned out everything that should and shouldn't have been said.

***

#### 0