Chapter 2
The apartment still smelled like him.
I pulled my suitcase from the closet—the expensive one he'd bought me, the one I'd never used because we never traveled together publicly. I opened it on the bed and started packing.
Three years of a life fit into surprisingly little.
His things were everywhere: his watch on the nightstand, his jacket on the chair, his cologne lingering on the pillows. But mine? A few dresses. Journals. My medical textbooks from the residency I'd abandoned.
I folded clothes mechanically, my hands steady even as my mind replayed the gala.
*"The woman I've loved since college—Serena."*
Since college. Before me. During me. After me, presumably.
My phone lit up. Ethan. I let it ring.
It rang again. And again.
The fourth time, a text:
*"Where are you? I told you to wait."*
I typed back: *"At the apartment. Packing."*
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
*"Don't be dramatic. Come back. I'll send a car."*
I almost laughed. Dramatic. Three years of silence, obedience, invisibility—and the first time I act on my own, I'm dramatic.
*"No need. I contacted David about the divorce."*
This time his call came instantly. I declined it.
Another text: *"Olivia. Stop. We'll talk when I get home."*
I didn't reply. I zipped my suitcase and looked around the apartment—the apartment where I'd cooked his meals, ironed his shirts, waited up past midnight for him to come home.
The apartment that was never in my name.
I left my key on the kitchen counter, beside the note I'd written:
*"Thank you for three years. I won't bother you again."*
The elevator opened to the parking garage. No car. I'd forgotten—I left the keys at the gala.
So I pulled my suitcase onto the street and hailed a cab.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
I almost said Ethan's other property. Or the café where I used to study. Then I remembered: none of those places were mine.
"The airport, please."
In the cab, I scrolled through my phone. The company's social media had already posted photos from the gala—Ethan and Serena, golden and glowing. Comments poured in: *"Power couple!" "She's stunning!" "Finally official!"*
One comment made me pause:
*"Didn't someone say Ethan was already married? Guess it was just a rumor."*
The reply beneath it: *"Married? Him? No way. He's been single forever—everyone knows he was waiting for Serena."*
A rumor. Our marriage—a rumor.
My thumb hovered over the photos. Serena looked radiant, her hand on his chest, exactly where I'd rested my head last night.
I closed the app.
The cab passed the gala venue. Through the windows, I could see the party still blazing. Somewhere inside, Ethan was probably searching for me—or maybe not.
Maybe he was still dancing with her.
My phone rang again. Not Ethan this time.
David, the lawyer.
"Mrs. Cole, I've prepared the documents. But I must inform you—Mr. Cole called me. He's... not pleased."
"Is the paperwork ready?"
"Yes, but—"
"Email it. I'll sign digitally."
A pause. Then, carefully: "Mrs. Cole, under the prenup, if you initiate divorce, you leave with nothing. No settlement. No property. The NDA remains in effect for five years."
I knew. I'd read every line of that contract when I was twenty-four and stupid and in love.
"Send it."
"He's asked me not to—"
"David. I'm your client too. Send it."
Silence. Then: "Sent."
I opened the email, scrolled past pages of legal text, and signed on the final line.
*Olivia Chen.*
My maiden name. The name I'd almost forgotten.
When I looked up, we'd arrived at the airport. I paid the driver, grabbed my suitcase, and walked in.
Behind me, my phone exploded—call after call, text after text.
I turned it off.
At the counter, I bought the last seat on the red-eye to New York.
Boarding began in twenty minutes. I sat at the gate, suitcase beside me, and finally let myself feel.
Nothing. I felt nothing.
Maybe that was worse.
Then—a single tear. Just one. I wiped it fast.
The gate agent announced boarding. I stood, straightened my dress, and walked onto the plane.
Somewhere in San Francisco, Ethan Cole was probably just discovering his wife was gone.
I hoped Serena made him happy.
I hoped he'd never find me.
I pulled my suitcase from the closet—the expensive one he'd bought me, the one I'd never used because we never traveled together publicly. I opened it on the bed and started packing.
Three years of a life fit into surprisingly little.
His things were everywhere: his watch on the nightstand, his jacket on the chair, his cologne lingering on the pillows. But mine? A few dresses. Journals. My medical textbooks from the residency I'd abandoned.
I folded clothes mechanically, my hands steady even as my mind replayed the gala.
*"The woman I've loved since college—Serena."*
Since college. Before me. During me. After me, presumably.
My phone lit up. Ethan. I let it ring.
It rang again. And again.
The fourth time, a text:
*"Where are you? I told you to wait."*
I typed back: *"At the apartment. Packing."*
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
*"Don't be dramatic. Come back. I'll send a car."*
I almost laughed. Dramatic. Three years of silence, obedience, invisibility—and the first time I act on my own, I'm dramatic.
*"No need. I contacted David about the divorce."*
This time his call came instantly. I declined it.
Another text: *"Olivia. Stop. We'll talk when I get home."*
I didn't reply. I zipped my suitcase and looked around the apartment—the apartment where I'd cooked his meals, ironed his shirts, waited up past midnight for him to come home.
The apartment that was never in my name.
I left my key on the kitchen counter, beside the note I'd written:
*"Thank you for three years. I won't bother you again."*
The elevator opened to the parking garage. No car. I'd forgotten—I left the keys at the gala.
So I pulled my suitcase onto the street and hailed a cab.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
I almost said Ethan's other property. Or the café where I used to study. Then I remembered: none of those places were mine.
"The airport, please."
In the cab, I scrolled through my phone. The company's social media had already posted photos from the gala—Ethan and Serena, golden and glowing. Comments poured in: *"Power couple!" "She's stunning!" "Finally official!"*
One comment made me pause:
*"Didn't someone say Ethan was already married? Guess it was just a rumor."*
The reply beneath it: *"Married? Him? No way. He's been single forever—everyone knows he was waiting for Serena."*
A rumor. Our marriage—a rumor.
My thumb hovered over the photos. Serena looked radiant, her hand on his chest, exactly where I'd rested my head last night.
I closed the app.
The cab passed the gala venue. Through the windows, I could see the party still blazing. Somewhere inside, Ethan was probably searching for me—or maybe not.
Maybe he was still dancing with her.
My phone rang again. Not Ethan this time.
David, the lawyer.
"Mrs. Cole, I've prepared the documents. But I must inform you—Mr. Cole called me. He's... not pleased."
"Is the paperwork ready?"
"Yes, but—"
"Email it. I'll sign digitally."
A pause. Then, carefully: "Mrs. Cole, under the prenup, if you initiate divorce, you leave with nothing. No settlement. No property. The NDA remains in effect for five years."
I knew. I'd read every line of that contract when I was twenty-four and stupid and in love.
"Send it."
"He's asked me not to—"
"David. I'm your client too. Send it."
Silence. Then: "Sent."
I opened the email, scrolled past pages of legal text, and signed on the final line.
*Olivia Chen.*
My maiden name. The name I'd almost forgotten.
When I looked up, we'd arrived at the airport. I paid the driver, grabbed my suitcase, and walked in.
Behind me, my phone exploded—call after call, text after text.
I turned it off.
At the counter, I bought the last seat on the red-eye to New York.
Boarding began in twenty minutes. I sat at the gate, suitcase beside me, and finally let myself feel.
Nothing. I felt nothing.
Maybe that was worse.
Then—a single tear. Just one. I wiped it fast.
The gate agent announced boarding. I stood, straightened my dress, and walked onto the plane.
Somewhere in San Francisco, Ethan Cole was probably just discovering his wife was gone.
I hoped Serena made him happy.
I hoped he'd never find me.