On our fifth anniversary, I sat on the couch in our Upper East Side apartment with my dog, Mocha, and waited for my husband to insult me.

He was right on time.

My phone buzzed at 3:12 p.m. A video from Roman. I pressed play.

A hotel suite. Gold lamps. Rumpled sheets. Roman grinned into the camera, tie loose, hair perfect even now. A young woman lay across his chest, auburn hair spilling over his shirt. Chloe Bennett. I knew her name. I knew her shoe size, too.

“Happy anniversary, wifey,” Roman drawled. “Five years. Most women bore me in five months.”

Chloe giggled. The video ended.

Mocha lifted her head and looked at me. Her tail stopped wagging. Dogs know.

My jaw went tight. For one second, something old and ugly twisted in my stomach. Five years ago, I wore white and believed every word he said.

Then I smiled. Thin. Sharp.

I screenshotted the video and dragged it into a folder on my laptop. Encrypted. Labeled. Dated. Then I texted Nathan.

*He just handed me another gift. Dinner’s going to be fun tonight.*

Three dots appeared. *Want me to come break something?*

*Not yet,* I typed. *Save your energy.*

---

Roman arrived at the restaurant forty minutes late. He always did. He liked people to wait.

He wore a navy suit that cost more than most people’s cars. In his hand was a white box with a red ribbon. He set it in front of me like a king handing out a prize.

“Open it,” he said.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I know.” He leaned back and smiled. “Go on.”

I pulled the ribbon. Lifted the lid.

Black lace. Used. A heavy perfume rose from the tissue paper. Long auburn hairs were tangled through the straps, placed there on purpose.

Roman watched my face. He was hungry for it. He wanted tears. He wanted my hands to shake.

I held the lingerie up between two fingers. I tilted my head and studied the hair. Then I laughed. Not a fake laugh. A real one, low and easy, like he had told a bad joke at a dull party.

“You wrapped your mistress’s dirty laundry for me,” I said. “That’s not a gift, Roman. That’s a cry for help.”

His smile stuck in place. “Careful, Daphne.”

“Or what?” I dropped the lace back in the box and picked up my champagne. “To five magnificent years.”

I drank. I never looked away from him.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. His fingers tapped the tablecloth, once, twice. He reached for his glass and missed the stem by an inch.

Good.

---

In the car home, he stared out the window. When we stepped into the apartment, he loosened his tie and found his voice again.

“Chloe will be coming by more often,” he said. “Make yourself scarce when she does.”

“Of course.” I slipped off my heels. “Should I leave fresh towels?”

His eyes narrowed. He searched my face for the crack. There wasn’t one.

“Just stay out of the way,” he muttered.

“Always do.”

I went to the bedroom and closed the door. Mocha trotted after me and curled up on the rug.

Two new files had landed in my inbox from Marcus Thorne, my private investigator. Wire transfers. Roman’s company account sent money to a shell company in Delaware, then on to accounts I had seen before. The dates matched. The amounts matched. Every line was a nail.

I cross-checked each number. Labeled the files. Timestamped them. Saved them.

Mocha shifted and rested her warm weight across my feet. The apartment was quiet. Down the hall, my husband poured himself a drink and thought he was winning.

I had never felt calmer in my life.

---

The next morning, I took his black card to Fifth Avenue.

I bought it all. Two designer bags. Heels with red soles. A diamond bracelet that sparkled under the shop lights. The saleswoman kept smiling at me, and I smiled back.

The last stop was a costume boutique tucked behind a glossy storefront. The fantasy-warrior outfit hung in the back. Leather straps. Silver armor plates. A cape. It was cut very small in all the right places.

I held it against myself in the mirror. Whoever I was five years ago would have blushed.

“I’ll take it,” I said.

That evening, I came out of the shower and heard Roman on the couch, thumbing through his phone. A soft, pleased snort carried down the hall.

“Pathetic,” he muttered. “Trying so hard.”

He never asked for a single receipt.

I went back to the bedroom, sat on the bed, and texted Kyree Harrison. I attached a photo of the costume spread across the sheets.

*Think I’ll blend in?*

His reply came in seconds. A row of fire emojis. Then: *You’re going to stop the whole floor. I’m already nervous.*

I laughed out loud. It surprised me. Mocha’s ears perked up.

I looked at my phone and felt something warm unfold in my chest. The ice that had lived there for days cracked, just a little.

Anticipation.

I had forgotten how good it felt.

The Javits Center hummed like a beehive.

I stepped through the doors in silver armor and a red cape, and the air changed. Heads turned. A guy dressed as a robot actually stopped walking.

Five years ago, I would have crossed my arms over my chest. Today I lifted my chin.

The leather straps hugged my waist. The cape brushed the backs of my knees. Every step felt like a small, quiet *watch me.*

“Daphne!”

Kyree was waving over the crowd with both arms, like he was landing a plane. He wore a blue space-captain jacket with gold buttons. His hair was messy. His grin was huge.

Then he saw me up close, and the grin slid off his face.

He just stood there. His mouth opened. Closed.

“Say something,” I teased. “You’re scaring me.”

“Sorry. I’m trying to.” He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You look like a goddess who accidentally wandered out of a video game.”

No angle. No smirk. He said it the way you say the sky is blue.

Something warm moved through my chest. I hadn't felt it in a long time.

“Careful,” I said. “I might start believing you.”

“Good. You should.”

He took my tote bag before I could stop him. “I’ve got it.”

“It’s not heavy.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m carrying it.”

Roman never carried anything. Not my bags. Not my grief. Not his own guilt.

We wandered the floor. Kyree talked fast, pointing at everything. Banners. Swords. A giant dragon made of foam. At one booth, he stopped dead and pulled out his wallet.

“Kyree, no.”

“Too late.”

He handed me a small box. Inside was a limited-edition figurine of a warrior woman, cape flying, sword raised. She looked a lot like me.

“She’s sold out everywhere,” he said. “I’ve been hunting her for months. She’s yours now.”

My throat tightened. Roman’s gifts always came with a price tag, and a hook. This one just sat in my palm, light and honest.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

“Don’t thank me. Just let me watch you smile.”

I did.

A group of cosplayers rushed over, phones up. “Can we get a photo? You two are amazing together!”

I opened my mouth to correct them.

Kyree beat me to it. He slid his arm around my waist, firm but careful, like he was ready to let go the second I asked.

“She’s the star,” he told them proudly. “I’m just the sidekick.”

The flashes went off. I leaned into his side, only a little.

No one had looked at me like that in years. Not like I was a trophy. Like I was a gift.

---

By afternoon, my feet ached and my cheeks hurt from smiling.

We passed a small screening booth. A movie clip played on a wide screen. A couple in the rain. A kiss. Soft piano music swelling.

My steps slowed.

Five years ago, I had believed in that kind of ending. White dress. Roman’s hand in mine. Every promise he made.

My fingers curled around the strap of my cape.

I felt Kyree look at me. He didn’t ask. He didn’t say a word.

He just gently touched my elbow. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

He led me across the hall to a louder section. Drums boomed. Fans screamed over a stage. Everything glittered and shook.

He stopped at a trivia table with a bright pink banner. *Anime Lore Showdown.*

“Okay,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “I’m challenging you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re challenging me?”

“I’m very good at this. You should be scared.”

“Am I?”

“Terrified.”

The host read the first question. A name from a show nobody remembered. I answered before Kyree could blink.

Second question. Obscure spell. Season three, episode nine. Answered.

Third. Fourth. Fifth.

I had spent a lot of lonely nights in that apartment with a laptop and a dog. I knew more than I wanted to admit.

Kyree stared at me. “Wait. *Wait.* How do you know that?”

“Insomnia,” I said sweetly.

He burst out laughing. It was so loud that people turned around. He bent over, hands on his knees, and wheezed.

“You’re unreal,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes were bright with pure delight. “You destroyed me. In public.”

“I’m very good at that.”

I laughed with him.

It came up from somewhere deep. Loud. Unplanned. My shoulders shook. My eyes stung.

I could not remember the last time that had happened.

---

At the exit, the sun was low and gold. Kyree stood with my tote in one hand and his jacket over his arm, suddenly shy.

“I had fun,” he said.

“Me too.”

“Can I see you again?”

I looked at him. At his open face. At the nothing he was hiding.

“Maybe,” I said. “Ask me when you’re not holding my bag.”

He grinned and handed it over. In the shuffle, he juggled his jacket, my tote, and the figurine box. Everything swapped hands in a clumsy blur.

He waved until I reached the curb.

I sat in the back of the car and let out a long breath. My cheeks were still warm.

I had no idea a sleek navy tie was tucked inside my tote, folded between my phone and my keys.

I came home with my cheeks still warm.

The apartment was dark except for the living room. Soft light from the floor lamp. Low music. The kind Roman liked when he wanted to look sophisticated.

I stepped through the door and stopped.

Roman sat on the couch. Chloe's legs were draped across his lap. She held a wine glass in one hand, tilted just enough to look careless. Her other hand rested on his shoulder.

She looked at me. Her mouth curved.

I set my keys on the counter. Mocha trotted over and pressed against my leg.

Roman didn't stand. He barely glanced up.

"Where've you been?" he asked. His voice was lazy. Bored.

I dropped my tote on the counter. The silver armor was folded inside. The cape. The figurine Kyree had given me.

I met Chloe's eyes. She was waiting for me to flinch. To cry. To beg.

I smiled.

"Out," I said. "Dressing up for a younger man who actually knows how to make a woman feel wanted."

The silence was instant. Heavy.

Chloe's smirk died on her face.

Roman stared at me. His hand froze on Chloe's ankle.

I walked to the kitchen. I pulled a glass from the cabinet. Filled it with water. Drank it slowly.

Behind me, Roman moved. I heard the shift of fabric. Chloe's legs sliding off his lap.

"What did you just say?" His voice was low. Careful.

I set the glass down and turned around.

"I said I dressed up for a younger man. He liked it. A lot."

Roman stood. His jaw was tight. His hands opened and closed at his sides.

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

Chloe looked between us. Her face was pale now. She set her wine glass on the table and stood.

"I should go," she said quietly.

Roman didn't look at her. "Stay."

"Roman—"

"I said stay."

But Chloe was already moving. She grabbed her purse from the chair and walked to the door. She didn't look at me. She left.

The door clicked shut.

Roman took a step toward me. Then another.

"You went out," he said slowly, "with another man."

"I did."

"And you dressed up. For him."

"Yes."

His face went red. The vein in his temple jumped.

"Are you out of your mind?" His voice rose. "Do you have any idea what people will think? What that makes me look like?"

I tilted my head.

"You sent me a video of yourself in bed with Chloe," I said. "On our anniversary. You gifted me her dirty underwear. She was sitting on our couch five minutes ago with her legs on your lap. But I'm the problem?"

His mouth opened. Closed.

He had no answer.

Because there wasn't one.

I picked up my tote and walked past him. He didn't try to stop me.

I went to the bedroom. Closed the door. Locked it.

Mocha curled up on the rug. I sat on the bed and listened.

Roman paced in the living room. Back and forth. Back and forth. His footsteps were heavy. Angry.

He didn't knock. He didn't yell.

He just paced.

All night.

---

The next morning, I woke to silence.

I showered. Dressed. When I came out, Roman was in the living room, digging through my tote.

I stopped in the doorway.

"What are you doing?"

He didn't look up. "Looking."

"For?"

"Proof."

He pulled out my wallet. My phone charger. The figurine box.

Then he stopped.

He pulled out a sleek navy tie. Silk. Expensive.

Kyree's.

I had forgotten it was there.

Roman held it up. He studied it. Turned it over in his hands.

I waited for the explosion.

But his face changed.

The anger smoothed out. His mouth curved.

He looked at me. Then back at the tie.

"You bought this," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"For me." He ran his thumb over the fabric. "You went shopping yesterday. You bought this for me."

My brain stuttered.

Oh.

Oh no.

He thought I bought it. As a gift. For him.

I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.

"You were trying to make up for the other night," he continued. He was nodding now, pleased with himself. "I knew you'd come around."

He walked to the mirror in the hall. Looped the tie around his neck. Knotted it.

He adjusted the knot. Smoothed the silk. Smiled at his reflection.

"Perfect," he said. "Good taste, Daphne. I'll wear it to the office."

He turned and walked past me. He was whistling.

Whistling.

The door closed behind him.

I stood there. Alone. Staring at the empty hallway.

Then I started laughing.

I couldn't stop.

I doubled over. My shoulders shook. Tears ran down my face.

Mocha looked at me like I had lost my mind.

Maybe I had.

I grabbed my phone and texted Kyree.

*My husband is wearing your tie and thinks I bought it for him.*

Three dots appeared immediately.

Then seventeen laughing emojis.

Then an audio message.

I pressed play.

Kyree was wheezing. Gasping for air. Laughing so hard no sound came out.

I played it again.

And again.

I sat on the couch and laughed until my stomach hurt.

Roman thought he was winning.

He had no idea.