In our sixth year of marriage, my husband, Jackson, began doting on a pretty, fragile college girl. He even grounded a private jet for her. Everyone said he must be madly in love. But this was the same Jackson who’d come home every night and play the part of the perfect, devoted husband. Until he found out I was having an affair, too. The day it all came out, he screamed at me, his voice tearing, asking me why. “If it’s the thrill of someone new you want, I can do whatever they do for you! Anything!” 1. I was humming a little tune when I walked through the door. Jackson was just finishing up in the kitchen and looked up at the sound of my arrival. "You're back late." He approached me with that familiar, gentle smile, taking my bag and sliding a pair of slippers onto my feet. "You mentioned last week you were craving that steak from Delmonico's, so I tried to recreate it. Work was slow today. I made almond torte for dessert, too." "That's sweet of you!" I beamed, my smile not quite reaching my eyes. "But I've already eaten. You go ahead. Just toss whatever's left." I smoothed my hair back, ready to retreat to my study and finish the last pages of my script, but as I passed him, his hand shot out and clamped around my arm. His eyes were dark, unreadable. He bit his lip, a wounded look clouding his features. "Ella, I feel like… you've been distant lately." He chose his words carefully. "Did I do something wrong?" That was a great question. A slow, knowing smile spread across my face as I turned to him. "No, nothing. I've just been in a bit of a mood." I saw the relief wash over him, and just as he began to relax, I added nonchalantly, "My flight for that business trip last week? I was already on the plane when some lunatic started screaming that his woman was on board and was going to run off. He actually forced the entire plane to turn back." Jackson's expression flickered through a dozen emotions. "The flight was canceled. I had to rebook, just like everyone else. By the time I got there, the studio exec said I had no sense of professional courtesy and pulled the plug on the deal. Jackson," I said, my voice dripping with mock despair, "can you believe my luck?" He dropped his gaze, his mind clearly racing. When he looked up again, his face was a mask of weary resignation. "Ella, you never told me you were on that flight. It was Rosalie… she’d hurt her leg and was trying to run off somewhere. I was just honoring the promise I made to her brother before he died. I couldn't let her make her injury worse." He added, as if it explained everything, "A dancer's legs are her entire life." I nodded slowly. "I get it. You were afraid she wouldn't be able to make it on her own. So you bought her a condo, sponsored a university dance competition with her as the star, and rushed over to see her in the middle of the night. I get all of it." I looked right at him, my expression the very picture of empathy. "I understand completely. So, can you let go of my arm now?" Jackson stared at me for a long moment, a profound exhaustion settling over him. He rubbed his temples, shaking his head with a sigh. "Ella, you have so much already. It was just one deal. Don't be difficult about this, alright?" He reached out, trying to pull me into a hug. "Whatever deal you lost, I'll make it up to you. Just let this go." I let him hold me, my gaze fixed on the open door of my study. The wall opposite was covered with the awards and trophies I’d won over the years as a screenwriter. I could write the destinies of others with such ease, but I never imagined my own life would become such a cliché. My husband of six years, the man I’d been with for eleven, was cheating on me with his best friend's little sister. He showered her with money every month, a constant stream of gifts and support. He’d even forgotten that his own wife was deathly allergic to almonds. The one who loved almond torte was Rosalie. It was never me. I patted the small of his back, my eyes drifting away as he held me. I said nothing. 2. Jackson must have thought he’d smoothed things over, because he let out a visible sigh of relief. But then his phone rang, and he was gone in a flash. He covered the receiver as he turned, his face a canvas of undisguised urgency, but he consciously softened his voice when he spoke to me. It was the same tone he used for the person on the other end of the line—as if he were speaking to a fragile treasure that might shatter at the slightest vibration. "Ella, something's come up at the office. I have to go." He paused for a second as he grabbed his coat. "Rosalie… she's been through a lot. I’ll explain everything when I get back, okay?" After the door clicked shut, I sank onto a chair, my eyes drawn to the framed photo of Jackson and me on my desk. No, it wasn't okay. Not at all. Forcing me to rehash something I already knew inside and out would only be twisting the knife. But Jackson didn't see it that way. I remembered last week, when I first heard the flight was being grounded. Before I could even process it, a flight attendant was rushing down the aisle after a phone call, anxiously asking, "Is there a Miss Rosalie Dubois on board?" Rosalie, dressed in a flowing white dress, stood up, a vision of fresh-faced independence. The attendant quickly escorted her off the plane. There was only a thin curtain separating business class from economy. If she had just glanced up, she would have seen my stunned face. Through the window, I watched as my husband grabbed her wrist, his voice sharp and scolding. Tears streamed down Rosalie's beautiful face, and in the next second, Jackson cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. Some of the other passengers, oblivious to the full story, were more captivated by the real-life drama than annoyed by the flight delay. They started recording on their phones, murmuring about what a perfect couple they made. If the man in the video hadn't been my husband, I might have thought it was a scene from some classic romance movie, too. But all I could do was watch as Jackson, after that passionate kiss, swept Rosalie into his arms and carried her away, leaving nothing but his back turned to the world, and to me. I lit a cigarette, the ember glowing red as it burned down to the filter. When Jackson and I first got married, Rosalie’s brother was our best man. She was only in high school then, watching us from a distance. She was so teary-eyed, so moved, I thought she was just an overly empathetic kid. I even joked that she should save some of those tears for her own wedding. How had I been so blind back then? How had I missed the undisguised ache in Jackson's eyes when he looked at her? At the thought, a wave of nausea churned violently in my stomach. I bolted upright and ran for the bathroom. After a session of dry heaving left me exhausted, I leaned against the washing machine, my mind a blank haze. Then, my own phone started ringing. "Ella, my star writer! You busy? Just caught some fresh trout. Want me to bring them over?" It was Leo, an actor who’d recently started making a name for himself. He was an influencer-turned-actor, and while he had the looks, a built-in fanbase, and even some decent acting chops, he couldn't seem to land the right script to break out of the C-list. We’d exchanged numbers at a wrap party, and he’d been texting me ever since, asking me out, making his intentions clear. After all, a role tailor-made for him could launch a nobody into a household name. I was about to say no, but as the word formed on my lips, I caught a glimpse of my own haggard reflection in the mirror above the sink. Instead, I gave him my address. "Be right there!" Leo sounded ecstatic. He said a quick goodbye and hung up. I clutched my phone, staring at my reflection. A bitter, ugly smile twisted my lips. If you can keep making excuses for your betrayal, Jackson, then why can't I? 3. By the time Leo arrived, I had just finished scraping every last bit of the food Jackson had cooked into the trash. When I opened the door, a stunningly handsome face greeted me. Leo held up two still-flapping trout in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. "Haven't eaten, have you? Good thing I'm a decent cook. Let me show you what I can do." He had a way of making himself at home instantly. The moment I gave him a sliver of an opening, he slipped right inside. I watched him put on a pair of Jackson’s slippers and almost told him to change them, but I let it go. "No gigs lately? You have time to go fishing?" "I'm a nobody, Ella. The agency signs me and then forgets I exist. But hey, no work means I have plenty of time to cook for a brilliant, beautiful woman." Leo shot me a wink. Within minutes, he had one of the fish cleaned and prepped. As he dumped the scraps into the trash, he paused. I knew he’d seen the feast I’d thrown away. He just pursed his lips. "Whoever cooked this clearly doesn't know you. This stuff is way too rich. Didn't you just have your appendix out? You're supposed to be eating light, right?" I blinked, momentarily caught off guard. I didn't correct him. He was right. I’d been rushed to the hospital with acute appendicitis not long ago. When they needed a family member to sign the consent forms, Jackson was unreachable. He finally showed up the next day, after the surgery was over, rushing in with tears in his eyes, telling me how sorry he was. He’d been exhausted from work, fallen asleep at the office, and hadn't been there for me. If I hadn't seen the post on Rosalie’s private social media account—if I hadn't known the day of my surgery was her birthday, and that Jackson had been with her the whole time—I probably would have believed him. After all, I used to trust him so, so much. Leo was happy to play chef, and I was in no mood for small talk, so I went back to my study to finish my script. "Dinner's ready!" Leo burst into the study, wearing an apron Jackson had tossed on the sofa before he left. He brandished a pair of chopsticks and shot me a playful look. "Seriously, Ella, I'm a pretty great cook. If you ever write a chef character, you have to recommend me to the director! I'm not afraid of hard work!" "You talk too much," I grumbled, but a small smile touched my lips. As I walked into the living room, I realized Leo had turned on the TV. The image on the screen made me freeze mid-step. It was Jackson, his face grim, protectively shielding a petite woman in his arms. A swarm of reporters surrounded them, shoving microphones in his face. "Mr. Thorne, sources claim you and Miss Dubois have been secretly involved for six months. Can you confirm you're having an affair?" "Mr. Thorne, we heard you grounded a jet for Miss Dubois and flew in a world-class dance coach from Europe just for her final exams. Isn't that a bit extreme?" "Mr. Thorne, your wife is the renowned screenwriter Ella Vance. Does she know about any of this?" At the mention of my name, Jackson finally looked up, his eyes flashing with a clear warning. "Shut your mouths, unless you want your entire network to go under." Jackson wasn't in the entertainment industry; he underestimated the tenacity of the press. His threats only made them bolder. "Tch. The girl he's protecting is Rosalie Dubois, right?" To my surprise, the voice came from behind me. I turned to see Leo, still meticulously wiping the edge of a serving bowl with a paper towel. Seeing me look at him, he offered a lazy grin. "I saw that Rosalie at an industry dinner once. She was with some real estate mogul. His own daughter just got married last year, and Rosalie's about the same age. She was all over that old creep, fawning over him, taking drinks for him. Later that night, she left with him and a few other investors." Leo sneered, his face full of disdain. "The girl's toxic. And that Jackson guy is blind, thinking she's some pure, innocent flower. He can't even see she's a Venus flytrap. He deserves to be played." The knot of grief in my chest loosened slightly. I glanced up at the large wedding portrait of Jackson and me hanging in the center of the living room. I pointed a thumb at it. "Hello? See the wedding photo on the wall?" "Saw it!" Leo replied cheerfully. He pulled me over to the dining table and sat me down, then leaned in close, his voice a soft, husky murmur in my ear. "Ella, your husband's got terrible taste. So why don't we get rid of him, what do you say?" "Consider me, Ella. I'll be so much more loyal to you than he ever was." I watched impassively as Leo took my hand and placed it on the smooth, pale skin of his neck. The beautiful young man in front of me held my gaze without blinking. "Choose me. I guarantee… you won't be disappointed." 4. The news of Jackson's affair vanished from the internet in less than a day, replaced by a trending story about a starlet wearing a suspiciously expensive piece of jewelry. I was lounging on the sofa of a condo I’d owned before the marriage. Beside me, Leo was meticulously de-seeding chunks of watermelon and feeding them to me while I argued with a production company on my laptop. "Ella, everyone in the business knows you don't allow changes to your scripts. And they want you to rewrite a main character? What's their angle?" Frustrated, I snapped my laptop shut. My last message to them was a simple "Let's cancel the contract." Leo had been on a tirade against the director ever since he’d heard, not even bothering to ask for a role for himself. He was just angry on my behalf. "Vent all you want to me, but be careful. That's a big-shot, award-winning director. Don't get yourself blacklisted." Leo just smiled and leaned closer, gently tucking a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. "Blacklisted, not blacklisted, who cares? I'm on your side, no matter what." He really was breathtakingly handsome. The slightest flutter of his eyelashes was enough to captivate you. It was no wonder he'd managed to break out of the influencer world and into this industry. I found myself reaching out, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. He leaned into my touch, a picture of willing submission. Then, Jackson’s call came through. "Ella? You haven't been home the last few days?" Jackson’s voice on the other end was hesitant. "I noticed the bed hasn't been slept in. Are you on a trip?" I glanced at Leo, who was still trying to get my attention. He held up a goofy novelty mask and mimicked its exasperated expression, making me let out an involuntary laugh. "Are you out right now?" Jackson asked, his tone sharpening. "Yes," I replied, my patience wearing thin. "Is there something you need? If not, I'm hanging up. I'm busy." "Wait!" he cut in urgently, taking a deep breath. "You saw the news online, right? That day, Rosalie was being falsely accused of being a sugar baby. I was just helping her out of a jam. You know how the media loves to twist things." Across from me, Leo rolled his eyes and started tapping away at his phone. "Mhm, yes, I heard. You're such a saint," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "If the media just makes things up, why did you bother paying to have the story buried?" "I didn't bury it." He was growing agitated. "Where are you? Give me an address, I'll come to you. There's something I need to discuss." I paused, glancing at the bag I’d brought with me today. "Perfect. I have something to discuss with you, too."
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