CLAIRE'S POV

My husband's buddies decided to spice things up at the year-end party with some entertainment.

A young woman from a dance academy took the stage. She wore a tight camisole that showed off her bare back, and her sultry moves immediately grabbed everyone's attention.

Ethan Carter, my husband, glanced at her and then quickly turned to cover my eyes with his hand, a playful grin spreading across his face. "That's not for you, Claire. Don't look—it's way too raunchy."

Laughter erupted around us, and someone teased, “Man, Ethan, it's sweet how loyal you are to Claire, even after all these years!”

I smiled softly, my hand instinctively resting on my belly. They had no idea. I’d been waiting for the perfect moment to share some big news with Ethan during our upcoming anniversary celebration.

But then I stepped out to touch up my makeup. When I came back, I was astounded by what was in front of me.

Ethan, the same man who had just shielded my eyes, was slipping a business card—tucked with cash—into the strap of the dancer's lingerie.

I stood there, barely breathing, as I heard him lean close to her and whisper, “Claire’s amazing, don't get me wrong. She’s just… too pure. It gets boring, you know? This is just a thrill. Not my first time, anyway. But don’t say a word to Claire. If she ever found out, she’d leave me. And I can’t live without her.”

My legs felt rooted to the spot. Slowly, I turned away and deleted the pregnancy report from my phone.

Without hesitation, I made a call.

“Hello, I’d like to apply for the pregnant cryogenic experiment.”

There was a heavy pause before Dr. Alex Reed, the head professor of the cryogenic research team, finally spoke. "Mrs. Carter, you do realize this is uncharted territory? Are you sure you want to proceed as the first experimental case?"

“Yes,” I said firmly.

His tone softened, almost pleading. “This is about two lives. Please, take a moment to think this through.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” I replied.

I had made up my mind a long time ago.

On the day I married Ethan, I told him, 'If you ever cheat on me, I’ll leave. For good. Even if it kills me.'

Back then, Ethan had pulled me into his arms and promised, his voice steady and sure, “Claire, that’s never going to happen. Ever.”

But here we were, five years later, and his promises had turned to ash.

When I returned to the room, Ethan was all composed on the sofa. There were no women around him.

The dancer was still on stage, though. Her flushed face and slightly disheveled camisole were the only hints of what had happened while I was gone.

If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed that the Ethan I knew—the one who always seemed so polished, so proper—could cross a line like that. And this wasn’t even his first time.

Five years of marriage, and I’d been the only one holding on to our vows like a fool.

“Claire, what took you so long? You okay?” Ethan asked, his brows furrowed in concern. He reached for my hand and checked my forehead like a fragile doll.

The cloying scent of perfume on his hand hit me hard. My stomach churned, and I instinctively pulled away, covering my nose.

“Claire!” Ethan’s voice was sharp, almost panicked. “Are you nauseous? Do we need to go to the hospital?”

I shook my head, feeling the bile rise.

“That perfume,” I murmured. “It’s disgusting.”

For a moment, Ethan looked like a deer caught in headlights. Then he chuckled nervously. “Oh, that? The guys were fooling around earlier and invited the dancer over for a drink.”

He leaned in, his eyes steady, as if he was trying to convince me—or maybe himself. “I kept my distance, though. Didn’t want her getting too close. Heck, I even tipped her to keep things professional.”

His tone was so sincere that the old me might've believed him.

“That’s right, Claire,” one of his buddies chimed in, grinning like he was Ethan's biggest fan. “Your husband's a stand-up guy. Brings you along everywhere, doesn’t even give other women the time of day!”

“Yeah, Ethan’s a role model,” another friend chimed in. “Modern-day Prince Charming, seriously!”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I glanced over at the dancer. Her camisole was barely hanging on, and she looked just as embarrassed as I felt.

Someone in the group, quicker on their feet, cracked a joke to break the tension. He even slapped his cheek in mock shame, which earned some forced laughter from the others.

But no amount of joking could erase what I had seen—or what I knew.

CLAIRE'S POV

"I'm sorry! I really messed up with what I said. That was out of line, Claire," one of Ethan's friends exclaimed, dramatically slapping his wrist as if to punish himself.

Ethan waved him off and pointed sharply at the college girl, who was still on stage.

“Get out of here!” he barked, his voice cutting through the awkward silence in the room.

“You all are unbelievable,” Ethan added, shaking his head at his buddies. “Bringing in trash like that? How could someone like her even deserve to be in the same room as my wife?”

The girl’s face turned crimson, her eyes welling up with tears. She quickly opened the door and bolted out without looking back.

Ethan turned to me, his chest puffed up like he expected a round of applause for his performance.

I grabbed my bag without a word. “I’m tired. You guys go ahead and enjoy yourselves.”

Without hesitation, Ethan sprang up and followed me out.

As we walked to the car, my phone buzzed with a message. I glanced at the screen.

It was the risk disclosure document for the cryogenic experiment.

While Ethan was driving, he shot me a curious look. “Who’s texting you this late?”

I stared at the message for a second longer before pressing delete. “Just spam.”

He didn’t push it further and instead launched into an explanation, going overboard to insist he had absolutely nothing to do with the dancer.

I turned to face him fully, my voice calm but firm. “Ethan.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and his knuckles turned white. “Yeah?”

“Do you remember what I told you when we got married?” I asked.

His hands trembled, and the car swerved slightly before he regained control, pulling over to the side of the road. He slammed on the brakes and turned to me, his face pale.

“Claire! I swear to you! I will love only you in this lifetime! I won’t ever give you a reason to leave me! I mean it!” His tone was intense, eerily similar to the vows he’d made five years ago.

'The experiment will begin in Iceland in a month. You can change your mind at any time during this period.' Dr. Reed's words echoed in my mind as I took a deep breath.

Right then, I turned to Ethan and said, “Ethan, take me to Iceland. I want to see the Northern Lights.”

He visibly relaxed, letting out a long sigh of relief. “Of course! Whatever you want.”

When we got home, Ethan wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his head on my shoulder.

“Claire, you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice soft.

I had been pregnant for a month. To keep my pregnancy stable and to surprise him on our anniversary, I’d been avoiding any physical closeness.

“I’m tired,” I said, gently pulling away. “I’m going to bed.”

For a moment, Ethan just stood there, frozen, before forcing a smile. “Alright, you get some rest. I still have work to finish at the office.”

He grabbed his coat and headed out.

As soon as he left, I followed him.

I stayed far enough behind to remain unnoticed, watching as he parked his car in a dark, secluded spot by the roadside. My breath caught when I saw him pull out his phone to make a call.

Not long after, the college girl from the party appeared, jogging up to meet him.

In the biting cold, she shrugged off her coat, revealing everything beneath.

With a cigarette dangling from his lips, Ethan smirked and pushed her into the backseat of his car. Moments later, the luxury vehicle began rocking violently.

I couldn’t watch it any longer. I snapped a few photos and turned away, my stomach churning.

Ethan didn’t come home until near dawn. He slipped inside, quickly showered, and climbed into bed beside me like nothing had happened. Without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around me and fell asleep.

By the time he woke, I was already dressed and packed my bags.

“Claire, what are you doing?” he asked, alarmed.

I kept my tone even, not meeting his gaze. “Getting my visa.”

Ethan’s face paled. He scrambled out of bed, barefoot, and grabbed my arm. “Claire, I…” He stuttered, struggling to form a complete sentence.

I looked at him, my expression cold and unmoving. “What is it?”

He opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to find the words.

“Didn’t you promise to take me to Iceland?” I reminded him.

Relief flashed across his face as he remembered. “Oh! That’s right. Silly me. I’ve been so swamped I forgot. I’m an idiot.” He chuckled nervously, slapping his forehead. “Wait for me. I’ll get dressed and go with you.”

He started toward the bathroom, but I stopped him in his tracks. “Ethan...”

He turned back, his eyes darting nervously.

“Why are you so on edge?” I asked, staring straight into him.

CLAIRE'S POV

Ethan pulled me into his arms, his hands trembling slightly. His voice cracked as he stammered, “I didn’t, Claire. I swear I didn’t. Please, believe me.”

He clung to me like a drowning man grasping for air. “It’s because I love you so much. I’m terrified of losing you. If there ever comes a day when you’re not by my side… I’d go crazy.”

I raised my hand and pushed him away, my voice cold. “Then don’t ever lie to me, Ethan.”

He forced a shaky smile and raised his hand as if taking an oath. “I swear—if I, Ethan, ever betray you, Claire, I’ll die!”

In the past, hearing him make promises like that would've made me smile. I’d even cover his mouth and tell him not to say such dramatic things. But now? Now, I wanted to see if he’d be willing to put his money where his mouth was.

I opened the car door, but the stench inside hit me so hard I had to squat down and gag.

“Claire!” Ethan exclaimed, his eyes wide with concern. “Why have you been feeling nauseous so much lately?”

There was a flicker of excitement in his expression. “Are you… pregnant?”

I shook my head. “No, my stomach’s just been off lately.”

Without missing a beat, Ethan slapped himself across the face. “This is all my fault. I’ve been so wrapped up in work that I haven’t been taking care of you.”

I didn’t have the energy to watch his little performance anymore. Suppressing my nausea, I climbed into the car.

As we drove, I couldn’t help but glance at the backseat over and over again. Images of Ethan and that dancer from the previous night kept flashing through my mind.

Ethan caught me looking and frowned. “Claire, what are you staring at?”

I leaned down and picked up a small, crumpled piece of fabric from the floor. My stomach turned when I realized what it was. Without a word, I flung it into his lap.

“Claire, wait!” Ethan’s voice shot up an octave, panic written all over his face. “It’s not what you think! I lent the car to a friend last night! I didn’t know he’d… do something like that in my car!”

Five years of marriage, and for the first time, I saw just how good Ethan was at lying. It came so naturally like he’d been practicing for years.

I stared at him, my tone icy. “Who’d you lend it to?”

Ethan’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Flustered, he quickly pulled the car to the side of the road and snatched his phone.

When the call connected, he didn’t even wait for a hello. “What the hell did you do with my car last night? My wife’s upset, thinking I—”

There was a pause, but the person on the other end caught on quickly.

“Claire, I’m so sorry,” the voice on the phone stammered. “It’s my fault. I got hammered last night and puked all over the place. I had to borrow Ethan’s car to get my girlfriend home. I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding!”

Ethan ended the call and looked at me with cautious, pleading eyes.

I curled my lips into a faint sneer, my stomach churning with a mix of disgust and pity. So, everyone around us knew. They all knew Ethan couldn’t keep it in his pants, and yet they’d been helping him cover it up this whole time.

I forced a small smile. “Oh, I know you wouldn’t do something like that. I was just curious. Why are you so nervous?”

Ethan let out a huge sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. “Claire, it’s because I care about you so much. I can’t stand the thought of you doubting me. If you’re upset, I’d lose my mind.”

I nodded, pretending to accept his explanation. Now wasn’t the time to confront him, not yet. If I tipped my hand too soon, I wouldn’t be able to leave.

We got my visa processed quickly.

After that incident, Ethan became unusually cautious. He came home on time every night for weeks, canceling all his social plans. He was attentive, doting—acting like we were newlyweds all over again.

To anyone else, his performance might’ve been flawless.

But Ethan didn’t know that every message he sent to that dancer was being mirrored to my phone.

That's how I learned her name—Madeline Brooks. She was a 20-year-old ballet student. Her father was an alcoholic. Her mother was sick. She had a younger brother to care for and barely enough to keep her head above water.

And that night in the car? It had been her first time.