My body had always betrayed me when it came to conception. For eight years, that quiet shame was the invisible wall keeping me from saying yes to Gavin. Then came the eighth year. The third cycle of IVF finally took.

When the clinic handed me the confirmation, I hid the lab results in the bottom drawer of my desk, determined to wrap the positive test in a ribbon and hand it to him on our wedding night.

So, when he dropped to one knee by the bay window of our brownstone, I said yes.

Gavin’s eyes had gone bloodshot with tears as he pulled me against his chest, his grip so tight my ribs ached. "You promised," he whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying, possessive fervor. "No taking it back, Audrey.

You never, ever get to leave me." The very next evening, I stood outside his dimly lit office and watched through the frosted glass as he reeled his intern into his arms.

The woman pouted, her hands creeping up his chest. "Now that she finally agreed to marry you, does this mean you’re cutting me off?" Gavin’s fingers wrapped around the slender column of her throat, tilting her face up.

He let out a low, indifferent chuckle. "Audrey is my life. But as long as you know your place, having a little fun on the side isn't out of the question." That night, I scheduled an appointment at the clinic for seven days later.

Inside the quiet office, the amber glow of the desk lamp blurred the sharp edges of her face.

She draped herself over Gavin’s shoulders, pressing her lips together in an exaggerated sulk. "Even if I’m just a distraction to you, I still think of you as my boyfriend." My fingers curled into tight fists, nails digging into my palms until the skin split.

Kelsey Ward. The girl whose college tuition I had paid out of my own pocket for four straight years. The talented, underprivileged art student I had mentored.

The "boyfriend" she used to blush about over coffee was the very man I had just agreed to marry. "Boyfriend?" Gavin scoffed, his tone dripping with condescension. "Keep dreaming." Kelsey paused, her fingers trailing down his tie. "Audrey agreed to the wedding.

Does that mean the IVF finally worked?" "No," Gavin said, exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke into the quiet room. "Kids or no kids, it doesn't matter.

I only want her." Kelsey’s voice pitched upward, playfully coy. "Well, since you locked her down, shouldn't we celebrate? I bought this new lace bunny lingerie—barely covers anything.

Want to come over to my place tonight, master?" Gavin’s hand slid down from her neck, coming to rest firmly against the curve of her waist.

His voice dropped an octave, rough and gravelly. "Depends on how well you behave." The sharp, stinging pain in my palms anchored me to the floor, pulling me out of the suffocating numbness.

Down in the lobby of the highrise, I pulled out my phone and tapped open my chat with Gavin. His last text had come in two hours ago: Stuck in budget meetings late tonight. Ordered dinner to the house for you. Don’t wait up, sweetheart.

Directly underneath was a live GPS pin. I scrolled up. Over the past few years, whenever he stayed out late, a live location pin always accompanied his texts. I had never once questioned it, never once clicked through to verify.

Looking at them now, every blue bubble read like a jagged blade. Gavin had wagered everything on my absolute, unconditional trust. And he had won. Her voice echoed in my head like a siren. My thumb trembled as I dialed his number.

He picked up on the second ring, his voice saturated with tender guilt. "Hey, babe. Tonight’s going to run really late. Go to sleep, okay?

Don't wait for me." I could barely drag the air into my lungs. "Are you coming home at all?" Hearing the tremor in my voice, he let out a low, indulgent laugh. "My wife is at home missing me—how could I not come back? Be good.

I won’t be too late." I hung up without another word. For the first time in eight years, I logged into our shared vehicle app and pulled up the GPS history.

Gavin had visited so many places I had never heard of: boutique fivestar hotels across town, private membership lounges in the meatpacking district, and a luxury loft complex only three miles from his firm.

An hour later, Gavin stepped out of the glass lobby doors. Kelsey trailed half a step behind him, clutching a bouquet of crimson roses, her eyes brimming with shy delight.

Before he reached the driver's side of his sedan, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth. A flash of distaste flickered across Gavin’s features, but he didn't pull away. Kelsey ignored his icy detachment.

She giggled, leaned in, and brazenly plucked the lit cigarette from his lips, putting it between her own teeth to inhale before blowing a smooth ring of smoke into the cool night air.

Gavin tilted his head, watching her, a faint, almost imperceptible amusement curling in his gaze. I shrank back behind the massive concrete pillar of the parking structure, my heart seizing as if clamped in a vice.

Gavin didn't drive to her apartment after all. Instead, he pulled his car into an openair lot just two blocks away, parked beneath the dim glow of a flickering streetlight.

Inside the shadowed interior of the car, silhouettes blurred together in a tangle of limbs and whispered breath. I stood fifty feet away in the darkness, watching them like some twisted voyeur, some pathetic trespasser in my own life.

I unlocked my phone and dialed his number again. The ringtone barely completed a cycle before the call connected. "Hey, baby. What's wrong?" His voice was as smooth, as effortlessly gentle as it had been for eight years.

It took me ten seconds to force a sound past the lump in my throat. "When are you coming home?" Hearing the hollow crack in my tone, his voice softened with genuine concern. "We're wrapping up the final deck now.

I'll be home before midnight, I swear to you." I forced the corners of my mouth upward into a silent, grotesque smile. "Okay..." "Wait, don't hang up yet." Through the windshield, I saw Kelsey squirming in the passenger seat, teasing his collar until Gavin’s hand shot out, pinning her neck against the headrest. "Did you forget what day it is?" he murmured into the receiver, his laugh low, intimate, and impossibly sweet. "Happy eighth anniversary, Audrey."

2 When I got home, I immediately called my fertility specialist. "Ms. Mercer," the doctor said, her voice heavy with caution over the line. "A termination at this stage, coupled with your history of scarring, could result in permanent damage.

Your chances of conceiving naturally or through future cycles will drop significantly.

I strongly urge you to take some time to reconsider—" "There's no need," I interrupted quietly. "My mind is made up." I sat in the dark living room until the moonlight slipped behind the oak trees outside, plunging the room into pitch blackness.

When I woke up, Gavin was already curled around me, his arm draped possessively over my waist. His brow was slightly furrowed, as though even in sleep he couldn't find peace.

The thought of his mouth on another woman's skin sent a violent wave of nausea surging up my throat. I shifted, trying to pull away. "You're awake?" A heavy arm reeled me straight back against his chest.

Gavin’s voice was sleepthickened, laced with immediate tenderness. "Why did you sleep on the couch last night?

What if you caught a cold?" I looked into his eyes and asked softly, "Gavin, do you love me?" "Of course I do." He looked down at me, his gaze dark, heavy, and consuming. "I only love you, Audrey. And you're only allowed to love me." I didn't answer.

He buried his face into the hollow of my neck, his tone turning coaxing and soft. "I'm sorry, okay? I swear I won't work that late ever again." I reached out and pushed him off.

His hand stalled in midair, his eyes dropping to my bare wrist. "Where’s your red cord?" "I took it off before my shower last night." "Where is it?" Without waiting for an answer, he scrambled out of bed and rushed into the master bathroom.

When he emerged, he held the woven silk band—the one he had hiked three hours up a mountain monastery in Kyoto to get blessed for my health—and carefully tied it back around my wrist.

Only then did the tension drain from his shoulders. "The monk said this brings protection," he murmured, his eyes rimmed with red as he smoothed the cord against my pulse point. "Even when you’re mad at me, you are never allowed to take it off." Watching the raw, desperate panic in his eyes, I almost wanted to laugh aloud.

How could a man look so painfully sincere while spending his nights tangled in another woman's sheets? "Are you still upset with me?" he asked gently. "No," I replied, staring past him at the gray morning light. "I was just thinking about when I was ten.

How my dad abandoned my mother and me to run off with the woman he’d been hiding for years... Gavin, do you really think people like us can make it to the end?" Loving someone for eight years is an exhausting feat.

Unloving them is a slow mutilation. "Are you lying to me, Gavin?" A faint flicker of hope fluttered in my chest. Even if the foundation of our entire adult life was crumbling to ash, I wanted him to tell me the truth. Just once.

To give these eight years a clean, dignified death. Gavin froze for a split second, then pulled me violently into his arms, crushing me against his ribs as if trying to fold me into his own skin. "Are you getting cold feet because of the wedding?

Hey... look at me. I am nothing like your father." His voice caught in a genuine sob against my hair. "We are never going to separate. I swear to God, Audrey, I will never let anyone hurt you." I lowered my eyes and let the silence swallow us.

While Gavin was in the shower, my phone vibrated on the vanity. It was a text from Kelsey: Audrey, I finally landed a job at a top design firm! I’m in my probationary period now. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me!

I read those lines over and over until my vision blurred with a hot, stinging ache. Was it the job she loved, or the man running the company? I sat on the edge of the bed, the memories washing over me like cold water.

Five years ago, when I was an adjunct instructor covering a graduate studio class, I found Kelsey sitting in the back row, secretly auditing lectures.

Her family was broke; after high school, her parents used all their savings to send her younger brother to prep school, leaving her to work double shifts at diners while trying to build an art portfolio. She had real talent.

I couldn't bear to see that spark snuffed out, so I paid her full tuition for four years, bought her supplies, and introduced her to gallery curators.

I remembered how Gavin used to complain about her back then, calling her needy and burdensome whenever she called for advice. Perhaps they had started four years ago. I had simply trusted them both so blindly that I never bothered to look.

As soon as Gavin left for work, I opened my laptop and pulled up the finalized design for my custom wedding gown. Every stitch carried months of my dedication, laced with Gavin’s specific requests for lace and silhouette.

My finger hovered over the delete key. At the last second, I pulled back. Instead, I stripped away every single detail Gavin had asked for, paring the design down until only my original vision remained. I hit save.

My phone screen lit up with an incoming message: Can’t get time off from the London branch this season. Won’t make the ceremony. Sent a gift to your studio. It was Owen Pierce, my childhood best friend. I typed back: The wedding’s off.

How much was the gift? I’ll Venmo you. Within five seconds, Owen’s name flashed across the screen as an incoming call. "Why the hell is it off?" he demanded the second I picked up.

My voice came out like sandpaper. "Why would I marry a dirty man?" There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line. "Redeye flight tonight. I’ll be in the city by tomorrow evening." Before I could tell him not to bother, the line clicked dead.

That afternoon, when Gavin stopped by the house to grab his briefcase before heading back to the office, I called out to him. "Our college alumni dinner is tomorrow night.

Are you still coming?" Gavin pinched the bridge of my nose affectionately. "Of course. I’m not letting you go to those things alone." I looked at him and said nothing.

3 Thirty minutes before the alumni dinner began, Gavin had still not shown up. I had already known the answer, yet I had stubbornly sat in the living room, waiting. Right on cue, my phone buzzed with a text: Huge client emergency at the firm.

We’re hosting an impromptu closing dinner. I can’t break away for the reunion, babe. I’m so sorry. I stared at the screen for two seconds, then set the phone face down. I walked over to the understair closet and slid my packed suitcase inside.

Over the past fortyeight hours, I had quietly couriered all my professional portfolios, sketchbooks, and specialized oil paints to my private studio downtown. Everything tied to Gavin, I left behind. One single rolling suitcase held my entire life.

At the restaurant in SoHo, I smiled and relayed Gavin’s apologies to our old classmates. Everyone nodded with knowing grins. "You two are literally the only couple from our graduating class that survived the real world.

Eight years and going stronger than ever. Next month’s wedding is going to be the party of the decade!" I let my lips curve faintly. "Gavin’s schedule has been insane lately.

We’ll see if the wedding even happens." "Oh, come on, Audrey," an old roommate laughed, patting my hand. "He’s grinding to build a future for the two of you." I took a sip of water and said nothing.

Halfway through the dinner, the chatter among the women at the far end of the table abruptly died out. One by one, their gazes shifted toward me, thick with uncomfortable pity. My pulse skipped a beat. A cold premonition crept up my spine.

One of the girls hesitated, clutching her phone. "Audrey... have you checked the group chat?" It was a private group for our alumni circle. A girl whose marketing firm frequently partnered with Gavin’s company had just dropped a video into the thread.

On the screen, two figures were locked in a ravenous, breathless kiss against a plush leather banquette. The heat radiating from them practically burned through the glass.

In the background, bottle girls in skimpy corsets wove through a private VIP lounge. It was clearly not a corporate closing dinner. Throughout the entire clip, Gavin’s arm was hooked possessively around Kelsey’s waist.

Her hair had been styled into glossy, cascading waves. She wore a backless black silk slip dress, the sides slashed with glittering sapphire stripes. I forced the muscles in my face to stay completely still.

Hanging in my closet at home was an identical dress. Gavin had bought it for me last Christmas—the very first time in eight years he had ever purchased lingerieinspired clothing for me.

He had whispered in my ear that I was only ever allowed to wear it in the dark for him. A dry, quiet laugh slipped from my throat. So that was where he had acquired the taste. The video circulated around the long table within seconds.

The room plunged into an agonizing, suffocating silence. "Gavin’s out of his damn mind..." someone muttered under their breath. "Audrey is sitting right here, and he’s out at a club acting like that?" I swirled the cranberry juice in my glass, keeping my tone light, airy, and entirely unbothered. "It’s just an affair.

What man doesn't crave a little variety after eight years? He wanted to test the waters outside. I completely understand." The silence stretched on, thick and deadly, suffocating the air out of the room. Suddenly, a long shadow fell over the table.

A heavy wool coat was tossed effortlessly over the back of my chair, followed by a warm hand resting firmly on the wood behind my head.

A man leaned down, halfcaging me in an easy, familiar embrace. "Did I miss the appetizers?" The entire table stared up in stunned silence. "Right on time," I said, ignoring the dozens of wide, searching eyes around us as I gestured to the empty chair beside me—the one reserved for Gavin. "Everyone, this is Owen." Owen gave a casual nod to the room, sliding into the seat with practiced grace. "Owen Pierce.

Audrey’s friend." "Boyfriend," I corrected smoothly. A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Right.

I’m the side piece Audrey keeps stashed out of state." Without missing a beat, Owen picked up my glass of cranberry juice and drained it in one long draught. Someone across the table gasped. "Wait...

Audrey, what about Gavin?" I gave an elegant shrug. "Oh, we’re great too." The dinner dissolved into awkward, hurried small talk and ended twenty minutes later.

In the passenger seat of Owen’s rental SUV, I caught him watching me in the rearview mirror, a faint smirk dancing on his lips. An irrational wave of irritation flared in my chest. "Who gave you permission to drink my juice?

Couldn't you order your own?" "Ordering takes five minutes.

Stealing yours took two seconds." He clicked his tongue, checking his blind spot. "I sat on a crossAtlantic flight for eight hours, didn't even drop my bags at the hotel, and came straight to pull you out of a burning room.

The least you could do is give me a decent smile." "I thought you said you were too busy with the London office to make my wedding," I snapped, leaning my head against the cool window. "You cancel your trip, then fly across the ocean the second I call it off.

Did you come all this way just to gloat?" Owen went quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, the teasing edge was gone. "Your mom asked me to look out for you before she passed.

And honestly... so did I." I stared out at the passing streetlights, fighting the searing heat behind my eyelids. "Owen... am I that terrible?" Ever since that night outside the office, the same poisonous questions had been clawing through my brain.

Where had I fallen short compared to Kelsey? All the tiny details I had brushed off for years suddenly snapped into sharp focus. When Gavin called me "good" and "sensible," was he really calling me boring?

When he used to critique Kelsey's art with exasperation, was he actually mesmerized by her reckless edge? "Am I just plain? Boring?

Broken?" Owen pulled the car over against the curb, shifted into park, and turned to face me. "Trash doesn't rot for a poetic reason, Audrey.

Gavin cheated because he’s weak and selfish, period." He tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, his eyes steady on mine. "You are exceptional. You always have been.

That fact has absolutely nothing to do with whether an idiot knows how to love you." The city skyline blurred into streaks of amber outside. Something deep inside my chest went stone cold.

For eight years, I had poured my entire soul into Gavin Reynolds. I had undergone hormone injections, egg retrievals, and surgeries because his traditional mother couldn't fathom a lineage ending without an heir.

He had sworn a thousand times that we would never part. Technically, he had kept his promise. He hadn't left me. He had simply made room for a third person to walk right between us.

4 The next morning, I went back to the brownstone to grab my suitcase and head to my studio for good. Before I could reach the door, my phone rang. It was the local police precinct, asking me to come down immediately.

Someone from the alumni dinner had forwarded the video of me and Owen to Gavin. Gavin had tracked the classmate down at his workplace and demanded an explanation.

It turned out Gavin was just as much of a coward as I had been; neither of us had possessed the courage to confront the person we actually loved. The classmate, furious at the confrontation, hadn't held back.

He repeated my words verbatim—that Owen was the man I kept on the side—and added with a sneer: "She’s already parading her side piece in public, Reynolds. Save your money on the wedding.

You’re going to get divorced in six months anyway!" Gavin had snapped. He shoved the man through an office glass partition. I handled the precinct paperwork with icy efficiency.

I swiped Gavin’s corporate card to cover the victim’s medical bills and property damages, signed the bail release, and walked him out the front doors.

On the drive back to the brownstone, Gavin’s face was ashen, the color completely drained from his lips. I sat in the passenger seat, casually texting Owen about studio keys, ignoring him entirely.

The moment the front door clicked shut behind us, Gavin broke. "Why?" I looked up from my screen.

His face was twisted into an expression of agonizing, ugly despair. "Why did you find another man?" I took a step back toward the foyer. "There is no 'why.'" My cold detachment completely unhinged him. "Who is he? When did this start?

Audrey, we survived the sevenyear itch! We made it through eight years! Why couldn't you hold on for just one more month?

Why right before the wedding?!" I looked at the torment in his bloodshot eyes and felt an overwhelming wave of absurdity. "I survived the sevenyear itch, Gavin.

Not 'we.' I was the only one in this relationship who stayed faithful." Gavin froze, his fury instantly clouded with confusion. A hollow laugh escaped my lips. "A single photo of me with someone else makes you lose your mind like this?

If I had actually slept with him, would you just drop dead?" The tight wire that had been holding my sanity together finally snapped. "You’ve been using Kelsey Ward as your little plaything for years, haven't you?

Gavin, you’re far dirtier than I could ever be. What right do you have to stand there and interrogate me?"