Chapter 3Waking Up to His Rival

My chest tightened. "Why would you ask that, sweetheart?"

Maisie twisted her little fingers together, her brow furrowing in that terribly serious way four-year-olds have. "At drop-off... Mrs. Jenkins was talking to another teacher. She looked at me and said Daddy doesn't live with us anymore. She said you were a mistress... and a home-wrecking bitch."

Maisie looked up at me with large, unblinking eyes. "Mommy, what’s a bitch?"

My nails bit into my palms until the skin nearly split. The rage was an electric current burning behind my ribs. Ethan and Haley hadn't just humiliated me—they were poisoning the air my child breathed.

Before I could answer, my phone vibrated violently against the kitchen counter.

It was the Vice President of Human Resources at the environmental consulting firm where I had spent the last six years as a senior analyst.

"Lauren?" Her tone was stiff, stripped of its usual warmth. "I’m calling because the executive board just concluded the partner review."

"And?" I asked, though my stomach had already plummeted.

"I’m sorry. Your promotion to Regional Director has been rescinded." A heavy sigh came through the receiver. "An anonymous dossier was sent to the board members this afternoon. Photographs, court records, allegations of gross moral misconduct and an unstable domestic situation. In an executive-facing role, optics matter. The board decided to freeze your advancement indefinitely."

I stood there, the room humming in my ears.

For twelve months, I had lived out of an aluminum trailer in the rust-belt wetlands, conducting soil and water toxicity studies, breathing in sulfur and dust, missing bedtime stories with Maisie—all to earn that partnership. And with one click of a send button, Haley had incinerated it.

I hung up without saying goodbye.

Almost immediately, my screen lit up with a notification from an unknown number.

An attachment. No text.

I clicked it.

The photograph showed Haley lying on white linen sheets in a sunlit bedroom. Ethan was leaned over her, his eyes closed in serene devotion, his cheek pressed against her bare, swollen abdomen while his hands cradled her belly.

Beneath the image was a single line: His real family is waiting.

The air in my chest went entirely cold.

I didn't yell. I didn't cry. I carried Maisie to her bed, tucked her under her quilt, and kissed her forehead until she drifted back to sleep. Then I walked out to the garage, got into my car, and drove directly to the luxury high-rise on 54th Street where I had tracked Haley’s residence a week ago.

I didn't bother using the call box. I followed a food delivery courier through the security doors, rode the elevator to the eighteenth floor, and stood before apartment 18B.

I kicked the heavy oak door with the heel of my boot. Twice.

The lock clicked, and the door swung inward. Haley stood there in a silk dressing gown, her damp hair wrapped in a towel, looking annoyed.

The moment she recognized my face, the smirk died on her lips.

I didn't give her time to scream. I grabbed the bottle of Kentucky bourbon I had pulled from my trunk, twisted off the cap, and dumped all seven hundred milliliters directly over her head.

Haley shrieked like a scalded animal, flailing backward into the foyer.

Ethan rushed out from the open kitchen, clutching a dish towel, his eyes wide with horror. "Lauren! What are you doing? Are you insane?"

He dragged Haley into the adjoining guest bathroom, frantically turning on the shower to wash the stinging liquor from her eyes and raw skin.

I walked into the apartment.

The living room had expansive floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Manhattan skyline. In the corner sat an imported Scandinavian crib made of bleached beechwood, a hand-stitched nursery mobile, and above the marble dining table hung a stunning teardrop crystal chandelier.

Every single detail in this room was something I had pinned to our shared dream board. Every promise Ethan had made to me—promises delayed by 'lean years' and 'tight budgets'—had been purchased and assembled here for Haley.

From the bathroom came the sound of retching, followed by Haley’s hysterical sobs. Ethan came out a few minutes later, clutching an empty blister pack of Benadryl, his shirt soaked and his hair disheveled.

He looked at me, his voice cracking in utter exhaustion. "Lauren... please. What do you want from her? What will it take for you to stop?"

I met his bloodshot gaze with absolute stillness.

"I want her to terminate the pregnancy," I said, my voice conversational and flat. "I want her on her knees in front of my daughter, confessing every lie she ever told. And I want a full public retraction sent to my company board, admitting she manufactured the smear campaign. If she doesn't, I will hire a forensic accountant to audit your clinical practice, and I will plaster your fraudulent marriage all over the state licensing board."

Ethan’s jaw trembled. He slowly removed his wire-rimmed glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Is there really no other way, Lauren?"

"None."

"Then I’m sorry," he whispered. "You leave me no choice."

Before I could register the shift in his posture, Ethan lunged.

His weight knocked the wind out of me, pinning my shoulders against the wall. A sharp, icy sting bit into the muscle of my neck.

I looked down. His hand was pressing the plunger of a clinical pre-filled syringe—a concentrated sedative.

"I'm sorry, Lauren," he muttered, tears spilling over his cheeks as the room began to dissolve into spinning grey static. "I'm so sorry... I'll fix this. I'll make you forget again..."

As the darkness dragged me under, a final thought flared through the fog: Three times. You tried to erase me three times.

When consciousness slowly seeped back into my limbs, I was lying in my own bed, the morning sun filtering through the blinds.

Ethan was sitting in the armchair beside me, holding a warm mug of tea, his knuckles white with tension. When he saw my eyelids flutter, he leaned forward, holding his breath.

"Lauren? Honey... how are you feeling?"

He watched my pupils, testing the waters. "Do you... do you remember anything about yesterday? About... Haley?"

I blinked slowly, letting my expression soften into the vacant, gentle innocence he had trained into me for years.

"Haley?" I tilted my head, my voice small and puzzled. "Who is Haley, sweetie?"

A violent shudder ran through Ethan’s shoulders. The breath left his lungs in a ragged, trembling gasp of pure relief. He dropped the mug onto the side table and threw his arms around me, burying his face in my hair, weeping openly.

"It’s okay, baby," he sobbed, kissing my temple over and over. "We’re going to start fresh. Just you, me, and Maisie. I promise."

I rested my chin on his shoulder, staring blankly at the beige wall behind him. My face was completely devoid of emotion.

What Ethan didn't know was that forty minutes earlier, while he was downstairs making that tea, I had already regained consciousness.

And on my bedside table, my phone screen had lit up with a single encrypted message from a number with a Virginia area code—the first message in four long years.

Four months, Lauren. I’m coming home.

Four months. I could play his devoted little doll for four months.

And when the time came, I would burn his entire world to the ash it belonged to.