CHAPTER ONE

TRICIA'S POV

“Five years already! You two make marriage look effortless,” someone said, handing me a bouquet of white lilies.

I smiled that polite, practiced kind of smile that photographs well and squeezed Oliver’s hand.

He stood tall beside me in his charcoal suit, charming as ever, the perfect husband every woman admired.

To everyone else, we were flawless.

To me… we were porcelain, smooth, polished, but fragile.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dale, a toast!” another voice echoed through the speakers.

Oliver’s friend, Marcus, raised a glass.

“To five years of love, loyalty, and laughter.”

Love, loyalty….the words stabbed me in ways I couldn’t show.

The crowd clapped as Oliver slipped his arm around my waist with his lips brushing my temple.

“Happy anniversary, my love,” he whispered for the cameras, and I leaned in like a good wife should.

But his eyes didn't carry warmth anymore…. Just calculation.

The night went on with laughter and wine.

Guests moved from table to table, dropping wrapped gifts and envelopes with our names scrawled in silver ink.

My sister, Priscilla, was among them standing in a crimson gown that drew every pair of eyes in the room.

She always did love attention.

When she approached me, her lips curved into that sugary smile that never reached her eyes.

“This one’s for your eyes only,” she said, handing me a small, neatly wrapped box.

Her tone carried a strange weight.

I felt it…that kind of warning that hides beneath sweetness.

I chuckled lightly, trying not to overthink.

“You’re always full of surprises, Priscilla.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she murmured, before walking away to hug Oliver.

It was a hug that lasted a moment too long.

Something twisted inside me but I brushed it off.

Tonight wasn’t the night to feed my paranoia.

The speeches went on, the music softened, and I kept smiling through every photograph, every toast, every kiss that landed on my cheek like a stranger’s touch.

“Hey baby, are you sure you are okay?? You have been acting off." My husband said.

“Yes I am…probably just tired." I said with a smile.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the lights dimmed and most guests had left, that I found a quiet corner to open Priscilla’s gift.

It was a small black box…Simple and elegant.

Inside was a neatly folded envelope with no note.

My heart pounded as I slid the photos out.

The first image hit me like a physical blow.

Oliver, My husband…In bed naked.

He was next to a woman whose face was blurred.

His arm draped around her waist and his smile unmistakable.

The world instantly tilted.

My hands shook violently as I flipped through the others…each one worse than the last.

My throat closed and my stomach twisted.

The edges of my vision blurred with heat and disbelief.

No…This couldn’t be real…He would never..

But deep down, I knew.

The distance, the sudden secret calls, the perfume that wasn’t mine….the cold excuses.

I shoved the photos back into the box and snapped it shut, pressing it against my chest like I could crush the truth back into silence.

When Oliver returned to my side, wrapping his arm around me and whispering something about thanking the caterers, I smiled…it was a wide, flawless and empty smile.

Every photo burned behind my eyelids, but I smiled because this was not the place for tears.

Not tonight.

---

The ride home was suffocating.

Oliver hummed along to the radio, oblivious, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

I stared out the window, my reflection trembling against the city lights.

When we finally pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Oliver,” I said quietly.

He turned, smiling faintly.

“What’s wrong, darling? Too much champagne?”

“Who is she?” I asked as my voice trembled.

“Who?” he asked as he raised his eyebrow.

“The woman in those pictures.”

The color drained from his face for half a second before he composed himself.

“What pictures?”

I walked to my purse, pulled out the box, and threw it onto the couch.

“These pictures!” I snapped.

My voice cracked, echoing through the room.

“Don’t pretend, Oliver. Don’t you dare.”

He opened the box slowly, glancing through the photos with unsettling calm.

Then he looked up, his expression carefully arranged.

“Tricia…” He sighed deeply, stepping toward me.

“You can’t believe everything you see.”

“Don’t gaslight me.”

“Those are fake,” he said smoothly, his tone soothing like silk over a wound.

“You know how many people envy us? Someone’s trying to destroy what we have.” he said as I laughed.

“So now you’re the victim?”

“Look at me,” he said firmly, grabbing my shoulders.

“You think I’d throw away five years for a random woman? After everything we’ve built?”

My heart wanted to believe him but my mind didn’t.

“You’ve been different, Tricia..

Cold and distant,” he continued softly.

“Maybe this is your guilt talking….Maybe you’re unhappy, and now you’re finding reasons to blame me.”

Tears filled my eyes.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m your husband,” he said gently, cupping my cheek.

“Don’t let rumors destroy us.”

His touch burned and for a moment, I almost fell into it….that old, familiar comfort.

The man who once loved me…the man I thought I knew.

But something inside me whispered: He’s lying.

Still, I nodded weakly, my throat tight.

“Maybe I… overreacted.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

That night, I lay beside him, staring at the ceiling while he slept peacefully, his arm lazily thrown over me.

My tears slid silently onto the pillow.

He had turned me into a stranger in my own home.

Days turned into weeks, and the doubts only grew darker.

Oliver’s late-night calls continued.

He started working “extra hours.”

The scent of another woman lingered on his shirt again…an expensive perfume which was not mine.

I tried to tell myself I was imagining things…and that it was love but love doesn’t hide behind locked phones.

Love doesn’t turn away when you cry.

The final straw came one rainy Thursday.

I left the office earlier than usual.

Something in me…I don't know if it was instinct, fate, or sheer desperation pulled me to follow him.

His car was parked outside a luxury hotel downtown.

Room 406.

My hands trembled as I pressed the elevator button, heart pounding so loud I could barely hear the soft chime of each passing floor.

When the door opened, I walked down the hall like someone moving through a dream.

Then I stopped…The door was slightly ajar.

I pushed the door open.

And my world shattered.

Oliver.

My husband.

In bed.

With Priscilla.

Her laugh froze midair as our eyes met.

His body jerked upright, panic flashing across his face.

“Tricia…”

The word barely left his mouth before I turned away, the sound of my own heartbeat roaring in my ears.

The room suddenly blurred and the walls spun.

The betrayal was no longer whispers or photographs.

It was flesh, it was breath and it was real.

And in that moment, the woman who once believed in forever finally died.