orwal
CLAIRE’S POV
Ethan had somehow convinced himself he was Madeline’s savior. He kept reassuring her, over and over, that he’d take care of her family and her–so long as she stayed in line and didn’t let me, his legal wife, find out.
Whenever he had free time, he’d sneak away to contact her. And after I fell asleep, he’d slip out of bed to indulge in quick, stolen moments with her.
But Ethan underestimated Madeline.
A drowning person will grab onto anything and Madeline? She was desperate.
She reached out to me first.
Madeline flooded my inbox with everything–every suggestive photo she’d taken with Ethan, leaving nothing to the imagination. There were pictures of all the luxury gifts he’d given her, screenshots of large money transfers, and candid shots of him holding flowers while waiting to
pick her up after class.
It didn’t stop there. She wrote long, detailed messages about their time together like my
chat inbox had become her personal diary.
I didn’t respond. Not a single word.
At first, my silence confused her. Then it started to enrage her.
[Claire, did you know? Ethan brought me to your house while you weren’t there.]
[Your bed is so soft. I wore your nightgown while being intimate with Ethan in your bed.]
[Ethan said you’re too rigid, that I’m the one who truly makes him happy.]
Still, I didn’t reply.
Then came a photo of her in an evening gown.
[Do you like it? This was supposed to be a surprise Ethan prepared for your wedding anniversary. But when I said I liked it, he gave it to me instead.]
[Tonight, I’ll be wearing this dress to his company’s annual gala.]
This morning, Ethan had told me to stay home and rest, assuring me he’d attend the gala alone. Now, it was obvious why. His concern wasn’t for me–it was for that dancer, Madeline
Brooks.
I changed into formal attire and headed to the hotel hosting the gala.
When I arrived, I spotted them almost immediately. Right in the center of the dance floor,
Ethan was holding Madeline in his arms as they danced.
The murmurs started before I even stepped onto the floor.
“Claire always acts so high and mighty, bragging about her ‘devoted husband.” “Guess she’s no better than anyone else. He even brought his mistress to the gala.” “Ethan doesn’t hold back. Not bringing his wife to such a formal event? Bold.”
000
“Claire always acts so high and mighty, bragging about her ‘devoted husband.”
“Guess she’s no better than anyone else. He even brought his mistress to the gala.”
“Ethan doesn’t hold back. Not bringing his wife to such a formal event? Bold.”
“Men–they all say they love you, but their bodies? They’ll love anyone. Only someone like Claire would believe a man’s promises.”
I stepped into the restroom, letting their mocking words wash over me. Then, taking a deep breath, I pushed open the stall door and made my way toward Ethan.
The moment I walked in, the room seemed to freeze, every pair of eyes snapping in my
direction.
“Claire?” Ethan’s voice cracked as he saw me. He immediately let go of Madeline, his face pale. “Claire, I can explain! I just brought a casual companion, that’s all!”
My response was a hard slap across his face.
Pulling out my phone, I shoved it in his face, showing him the endless chat records. “Ethan, what kind of ‘companion‘ ends up in your bed?”
He froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. No words came.
Madeline stepped forward, her face twisting into a smirk. But before she could utter a word, 1 slapped her too.
She stumbled back, her heel catching on the floor, and fell into a tower of champagne glasses. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the room as champagne spilled across
the floor.
And then I saw it–a stream of bright red trickling from between her legs.
“Ethan! Ethan, save me!” she screamed, her voice hysterical. “Save our baby!”
Ethan froze, staring at the red stain spreading on the floor. Then, without a second thought
he shoved me aside and scooped her into his arms.
He rushed her out of the ballroom, not even looking back.
At that moment, he chose her.
He made me into a public spectacle, a joke.
But I’d already made up my mind. I didn’t care what anyone thought of me anymore.
When I got home, I started packing for my trip to Iceland.
A few days earlier, the lab had contacted me to confirm that I wasn’t backing out of the. experiment. After finalizing everything, they sent me a new identity and plane tickets, just as I’d requested.
I was still Claire Watson–but my date of birth was now five years later than my real one.
O
O
