Chapter 2

I grabbed a handful of photos and threw them at Phoenix. "Look at these! Is this what you look like when you're 'handling client crises'?"

The photos scattered at his feet—Phoenix and a redheaded woman gazing into each other's eyes at a restaurant, embracing in a park, kissing goodbye at her apartment door. Each one was ironclad evidence of betrayal.

"You don't understand her situation—" Phoenix tried to make excuses.

"Her situation?" I let out a sharp laugh. "What about MY situation? But you never ask, do you?"

Phoenix looked at me confused: "Your situation? What are you talking about?"

The moment the words left my mouth, I realized I'd let something slip. Those fears I'd been bearing alone—I hadn't planned to let him know about any of that.

I walked toward the stairs with managed composure. "Forget it. We're done."

"Wait, Celeste!" Phoenix caught up. "What did you mean just now? What situation?"

I stopped halfway up the stairs, gripping the banister but not turning around. "For three years, I've been waiting for you to tell me the truth voluntarily. Now I know you never will."

"I can explain everything—"

"Explain?" I turned around, looking down at him from above. "How will you explain three years of lies? How will you explain all those stories you made up every time I asked where you were going? How will you explain the hundreds of thousands of dollars you spent on her?"

Phoenix opened his mouth to say something, but I didn't give him the chance.

"And tonight." My voice turned ice cold. "You promised to be back in an hour, but you stayed at her place for three hours. Did you think I couldn't see the lipstick marks on your shirt?"

He unconsciously touched his shirt collar, where there were indeed faint pink traces.

"I thought—"

"You thought I was an idiot." I finished his sentence. "You thought I would forever play the perfect wife role, turning a blind eye to your betrayal. You thought I would continue pretending to believe every one of your lies."

The living room fell into dead silence. Only the last few sparks in the fireplace flickered weakly.

"Celeste, please—" Phoenix's voice carried panic for the first time.

"I'm tired." My voice suddenly became exhausted. "Three years, Phoenix. For three years I've been pretending, waiting, hoping. But when I saw that card tonight, I finally understood."

"Understood what?"

"That you'll never change. That I was never your first choice. That this marriage was a mistake from the beginning."

I turned and continued up the stairs, each step feeling like walking on knife blades.

"Where are you going?" Phoenix shouted from behind.

"Away from you." I answered without looking back. "Tomorrow I'll contact a lawyer."

"A lawyer? You want a divorce?"

I stopped at the top of the stairs, hands pressed against the wall. That word—divorce—was more painful to say than I'd imagined. But at the same time, it brought a strange sense of relief.

"I want honesty." I said. "I want a partner who won't lie to me every day. I want someone who truly cares about me."

"I care about you!"

"Do you?" I smiled bitterly. "Then tell me, what's my favorite color? What am I most afraid of? What are my dreams? What have I been worried about lately?"

Silence.

Just as I expected, he couldn't answer. For three years, he'd been too busy attending to Dahlia's needs to notice anything about me.

"I thought so." I walked into the bedroom and gently closed the door.

Through the door, I could hear Phoenix pacing back and forth downstairs. Occasionally there were sounds of him bumping into things, and a few low curses.

I sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at the night view outside the window. The city lights twinkled in the distance, life continued, but my world had completely collapsed tonight.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand. A text from Phoenix:

"We need to talk. I know you're angry, but please give me a chance to explain."

I didn't reply.

Another text:

"Dahlia really is sick. She has severe depression and anxiety. I'm just helping a friend. And isn't she your sister?"

I scoffed and typed a quick reply: "She's my stepmother's child. I don't have a sister." After sending the message, I tossed the phone aside.