"This box is the last of it."

Holden taped the cardboard flaps shut with a brutal efficiency. The screech of the packing tape was the only sound in the cavernous, empty apartment. He had spent the last forty-eight hours purging his life. Photos, gifts, every stupid little souvenir from seven years of trips-all of it was either in a box destined for a storage unit he would never visit, or in a black trash bag by the door.

He was activating a plan he'd made years ago, a contingency for a life he never thought he'd need. A one-way ticket to the West Coast, a new name, a clean slate. Jerry Harmon. It sounded like a stranger. It was perfect.

A soft knock echoed from the front door.

Holden's body went rigid. He wasn't expecting anyone.

He opened the door to find Averie standing there, a perfect picture of concerned innocence. And she wasn't alone. Beside her stood a man with a smug, handsome face and the kind of easy confidence that came from never having worked a day in his life. Donnie Berry. Holden had seen him in the background of Averie's social media posts for weeks.

"Holden? What's going on?" Averie's eyes, wide and searching, scanned the empty rooms behind him. "Why is everything packed?"

"I'm moving," Holden said. His voice was flat.

"Moving? Without telling me?" She tried to sound hurt, but he could see the flicker of calculation in her eyes. "Holden, I know things have been hard, but you can't just run away."

She reached for his arm, but he stepped back, a small, almost imperceptible movement. Her hand fell into the empty space between them.

"The landlord needed the apartment back," Holden said, the lie tasting like ash in his mouth. "Lease was up."

Averie frowned. "That's not possible. I had Mr. Reynolds give you a discount, on the condition that the lease was open-ended. He wouldn't kick you out."

The casual confession hung in the air. She had been controlling his living situation, a seemingly kind gesture that was actually a leash. He felt a bitter laugh rise in his throat but forced it down.

"Well, he did," Holden said, his gaze flicking to the man beside her.

Donnie Berry stepped forward, extending a hand. "Donnie. We haven't been formally introduced." His smile was predatory.

Holden ignored the hand.

Donnie's smile widened. He let his hand drop and leaned against the doorframe, making himself at home in Holden's space. "Tough break, man. Getting kicked out." He looked around the empty apartment. "So, what's the plan? Crashing on a friend's couch?"

"Something like that," Holden said, his jaw tight.

"Holden, you can stay with me," Averie said, her voice laced with manufactured sweetness. "At my place. Until you find something new."

An invitation to stay in the very place she was conducting her affair. The audacity of it was breathtaking.

"I'm good," he said.

Donnie pushed off the doorframe and took a step inside, his expensive cologne invading the sterile air of the apartment. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, though it was loud enough for Averie to hear.

"Look, I get it. It must be hard. Her not remembering you," Donnie said, his eyes glinting with malice. "Especially in bed. Having to teach her everything all over again. Must be exhausting."

The air crackled. It was a direct, deliberate stab, designed to provoke, to humiliate.

Holden didn't rise to the bait. He didn't throw a punch. He didn't even speak. He simply met Donnie's gaze with an unnerving calm, then turned to Averie.

"You should go," he said. The words were quiet, but they carried the weight of a final judgment.

He stepped back and closed the door in their faces. The soft click of the lock was a period at the end of a very long sentence.

He leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door, listening to their muffled voices on the other side. He could hear Averie's confused questions, Donnie's smug laughter. She couldn't understand his reaction. She had expected jealousy, anger, a fight. She had expected the old Holden.

But the old Holden was already gone. He was just a ghost in a packed-up apartment.

The wedding was a nightmare rendered in white roses and champagne.

Holden stood near the bar, a glass of untouched club soda in his hand, watching his best friend, Sean, dance with his new wife. It was supposed to be a happy day. But every time he looked across the ballroom, he saw them. Averie and Donnie.

They were inseparable, a tableau of feigned concern and blatant intimacy. Averie would lean in, whispering in Donnie's ear, her hand resting on his chest. Donnie would laugh, his arm possessively around her waist.

Earlier, outside the church, Donnie had engineered a scene. He'd "tripped" near Holden, stumbling dramatically and crying out, clutching his ankle. "He pushed me!" Donnie had yelled, his face a mask of pain.

Averie had rushed to his side, her eyes flashing with fury as she looked at Holden. "What is wrong with you?" she had hissed, cradling Donnie's head in her lap like a fallen hero. "He's just trying to be my friend, and you attack him?"

Holden hadn't said a word. He just stood there as Sean's mother, Mrs. Hayes, pulled him away, muttering, "That boy is a snake, and she's a fool."

Now, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from an unknown number. He opened it.

It was a video.

His thumb hovered over the play button, a sense of dread coiling in his gut. He pressed it.

The screen filled with Averie's face, flushed and breathing heavily. The camera panned down, and his stomach lurched. She was in a hotel room, tangled in the sheets with Donnie. She looked directly into the camera, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

"He thinks he can just wait me out," she whispered in the video, her voice a breathy taunt. "He has no idea."

Donnie's laughter echoed from off-screen.

Holden's hand went numb. The phone slipped, and he barely caught it before it hit the floor. His heart felt like a block of ice in his chest. It wasn't just a betrayal anymore. It was a spectator sport. She wanted him to watch.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, his knuckles white. He needed to leave. He couldn't breathe.

He turned to head for the exit, but a soft hand on his arm stopped him. It was Averie.

"Don't go," she said, her voice a soft plea. "Stay. For Sean."

Before he could answer, a waiter passed with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Crab puffs. Holden reached for one out of pure, anxious reflex.

"No," Averie said sharply, slapping his hand away. It was a quick, instinctive gesture. "You know you're allergic to shellfish."

He froze, his hand hovering in the air. She stared at him, her eyes wide with a flicker of confusion, as if her own body had betrayed her. She remembered his allergy. A detail from a life she supposedly couldn't recall.

The lie was so thin, so fragile, he could see right through it.

She recovered quickly, forcing a laugh. "Sean must have told me. I must have just remembered him telling me."

Donnie appeared at her side, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. He kissed her neck, a long, possessive kiss meant for an audience of one.

"Let's dance, baby," Donnie murmured, his eyes locked on Holden's.

Holden watched them walk onto the dance floor, her body melting into his. He felt nothing. Not anger, not sadness. Just a profound, hollow emptiness. The man she was protecting him from was a ghost. The woman protecting him was the one holding the knife.