I couldn't take it anymore. The dress was a torture device, digging into my ribs, and the fake smiles around me were suffocating.

"I need to use the powder room. I'm going to step out for some fresh air."

Alexander was busy schmoozing with investors. He waved a hand dismissively. "Go ahead. If you're tired, tell the driver to take you home. I'll bring the kids back later."

I nodded and walked out of the ballroom.

The moment I stepped out of the hotel entrance, the cold wind hit me. I patted my side and realized I had left my clutch in the VIP lounge. My house keys and iPhone were in there.

I had no choice. I had to go back.

However, when I pushed open the side doors to the ballroom, the atmosphere had shifted.

On the small stage, Chloe was holding a microphone. She had just finished singing a jazz number. Like a happy little bird, she hopped off the stage and threw herself directly into Alexander's arms in the front row.

Alexander didn't push her away. Instead, he practicedly wrapped his arm around her waist, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle and playfully punch his chest.

The employees around them didn't seem weirded out. They acted like this was normal—or they chose to ignore it. Some even whistled.

"Mr. Sterling and his sister have such a strong bond."

"Total power siblings. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were a couple."

Even Leo and Mia were clapping enthusiastically. Mia stared at Chloe with stars in her eyes:

"Auntie looks like a Disney Princess, but cool like Wonder Woman! She's beautiful and powerful! That’s the kind of woman I want to be!"

I stood in the shadows, listening to my own children praise the mistress while dragging me through the mud. It felt like a physical blow to the chest.

Just then, the MC announced it was time for a party game to liven things up. "Truth or Dare."

The spotlight spun and landed on Chloe.

"Dare!" Chloe shouted, choosing the bolder option without hesitation.

The MC looked at the card and grinned mischievously. "Alright! Your dare is to kiss the most important man in the room!"

The room went silent. Everyone's eyes darted between Alexander and another high-ranking executive.

Chloe didn't flinch. She walked straight up to Alexander, stood on her tiptoes, and planted a heavy, lingering kiss on his cheek.

"My big brother, obviously! I wouldn't be who I am without him."

Alexander didn't dodge. He smiled indulgently, raising a finger to gently wipe a smudge of lipstick off his face.

"You're such a brat. Look at you, making a scene."

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter.

Emboldened by the open bar, a slightly tipsy Vice President called out, half-joking:

"Mr. Sterling, if Chloe is your beloved sister, then what is Mrs. Sterling to you?"

My hand tightened around the door handle. I stopped breathing.

The smile on Alexander's face faded slightly. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his tone so calm it bordered on cold.

"She is my wife," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "We have history. Evelyn isn't... exciting, or brilliant like Chloe. But she is the mother of my children. "

Not exciting.

Not brilliant.

Just the mother of his children.

In his definition, I was a breeding vessel. A free, high-end housekeeper.

But never a lover.

I didn't storm in to confront him. I didn't scream.

I silently released the door handle and turned back into the dark night.

The rain outside had turned into a downpour. The icy water lashed against my face, indistinguishable from my tears.

This time, I was truly awake.

I was more awake than I had been eighteen years ago, on that snowy night outside my sorority house, when Alexander had proposed to me.

Some love is like rotten fruit. No matter how much you try to cut around the bad parts, you can't mask the stench of decay.

Because I’d been caught in the rain that night, my temperature spiked to 103 degrees by midnight.

It triggered a complication from my back injury, and I drifted into a semi-conscious delirium.

For once, Alexander wasn't out networking. Realizing something was wrong, he didn't hesitate. He scooped me up and rushed me to Mount Sinai Hospital.

"Doctor! You need to see her! She’s burning up!"

The diagnosis came back quickly. It wasn't just a fever. My immune system had crashed, causing a severe, deep-tissue infection around my old injury. I needed emergency surgery to drain the infection and debride the tissue.

The surgery required a next-of-kin signature.

Alexander held my hand, his face a mask of deep devotion. "Evelyn, don't be scared. I’ll be right here in the waiting room the whole time. The second you wake up, I'll be the first face you see."

Weakly, I nodded. A warmth I hadn't felt in years bloomed in my chest.

Just then, his cell phone rang.

He answered, and his expression shattered. "What? You twisted it? How bad is it? Can you walk?"

On the other end, Chloe’s voice was thick with performative sobbing. "Alex... it hurts so bad... I think I broke a bone. I'm all alone here... I'm terrified..."

Alexander looked at me—currently being prepped for anesthesia—and then at his phone.

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly torn.

"Evelyn," he said, gripping my hand tighter, his brow furrowed. "You're strong. Chloe... she falls apart at a paper cut. She's hysterical right now. She needs me. But you... you'll be fine here for an hour, right? It's just a routine procedure."

"I'll be back before you wake up. I promise." He didn't wait for my answer.

He convinced himself I was okay with it because I was always okay with it.

He quickly signed the forms and hurried out, looking back once with a guilty grimace before disappearing down the hall.

Two hours later, I woke up from the anesthesia.

The recovery room was sterile and cold. The only sound was the rhythmic beep-beep of the heart monitor and the drip of the IV.

There were no flowers. No worried husband holding my hand. Just empty space where he promised he would be.

With shaking fingers, I picked up my phone and opened Instagram.

Alexander had posted a Story an hour ago.

The photo showed him in the hallway of a different urgent care clinic, giving Chloe a piggyback ride. She was draped over his back, grinning ear-to-ear, holding a large swirl lollipop.

The caption read: "Total drama queen. One little sprain and I have to carry her to X-Ray. #BigBrotherDuties"

My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. It hurt to breathe.

Then, my phone buzzed.

It was a Snapchat video from Chloe.

In the video, Alexander was half-kneeling in front of a sofa in her living room. He had Chloe’s foot—which showed zero signs of swelling or bruising—resting in his lap. He was massaging it with extreme care, applying muscle relief cream.

His touch was so gentle. It was a tenderness I hadn't experienced in twenty years.

In the background, I heard Leo and Mia. "Does it hurt, Auntie? Dad will make it better."

Following the video was a voice memo. Chloe’s voice was sugary sweet, but dripping with malice:

"Hey sis, look at this. In this family, you’re just the spare tire. Even the kids are more worried about me. What’s the point of getting that surgery? It’s not like Alex cares enough to watch you recover."

I closed my eyes. Tears slid silently down my temples into the pillow.

After I was discharged from the hospital, there were only three days left until our twentieth wedding anniversary.

Alexander seemed to be suffering from a guilty conscience for abandoning me before surgery.

For the first time in forever, he booked a table at the most exclusive revolving rooftop restaurant in the city. He swore to me, his hand over his heart:

"Evelyn, I was wrong that day. I need to make it up to you for this anniversary. I booked the best table in the house. Just the two of us. No kids, no work, no distractions."

I didn't refuse. This was our last anniversary.

On the night of the anniversary.

The restaurant was dimly lit, the atmosphere heavy with romance, accompanied by a live string quartet.

Just as the appetizers arrived, Alexander’s phone started vibrating against the white tablecloth.

It was a FaceTime request.

Alexander glanced at me, hesitated for a split second, and then tapped the green button.

On the screen, the background was a dark, chaotic nightclub with flashing strobe lights.

Chloe’s face was flushed, her eyes glazed over. She was holding a bottle of vodka, crying and screaming into the camera: "Alex! Where are you? I miss you... sob... These guys are creeping on me. I want to go home..."

Alexander’s face turned ashen. He shot up from his chair.

"She's drunk at a club! That place is a dive; it’s dangerous. She’s a girl all alone; something bad is going to happen!"

I sat there, silverware still in hand, looking at him calmly. "Alexander, today is our twentieth anniversary. You promised. Tonight was supposed to be just us."

"For God's sake, how can you be keeping score right now?" Alexander

shouted as he grabbed his trench coat. "This is a matter of life and death! Why are you so selfish? An anniversary happens every year; can't we just celebrate it next year?"

Without waiting for me to say another word, he turned and stormed out.

All he left me with was his back, walking away.

Again.

I looked down at the exquisite tuna tartare in front of me. Suddenly, I had no appetite.

I raised my hand and signaled the waiter. "Check, please."

Late that night, I was packing the final few items of clothing into my suitcase.

My phone buzzed.

It was a text from Chloe. Attached was a photo.

The background was the back seat of Alexander’s Maybach. Alexander was leaning back, eyes closed, resting. Chloe’s head was resting intimately on his shoulder, and they were both covered by his suit jacket.

The caption was short and arrogant: "I only have to say one word, and he leaves you to come running to me. Give it up, sis. He has always been mine."

I looked at the photo and calmly pressed "Delete."

I didn't reply. I tossed the phone onto the bed and turned back to place my toiletry bag into the suitcase.