EVELINE POV:

The woman's voice, sickly sweet like a cheap soda, filled my ears. My blood ran cold.

I heard Shane chuckle. A genuine, happy sound I hadn't heard in what felt like a lifetime. He never sounded that happy, that light, when he spoke to me.

"What's wrong, baby? Getting impatient?" His voice was full of a playful affection that was now reserved only for her.

My stomach twisted. He was using the same pet name he used for our golden retriever.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, terrified a sound might escape and betray me.

"Of course I'm impatient," the woman, who I would later learn was named Amber, purred on the other end. "You have no idea how boring Chicago nights are without you."

They were in the same city. The realization was a block of ice dropped into my chest.

I heard Amber continue, "Is your wife suspicious? That boring housewife."

A jolt went through me. Boring housewife. So that's what I was to them. I had given up my design career in New York, moved to Chicago for him, managed his entire life, and this was my title.

Shane didn't even defend me. He just let out a short, dismissive laugh. "Her? She doesn't know a thing. All she does is revolve around me. She's easy to handle."

His voice was dripping with contempt. He spoke about me like I was a stupid, inconvenient pet.

Tears streamed down my face, silent and hot, landing on the back of my hand. This was the man I had loved for five years.

I listened as they planned their next getaway. Miami beaches. A suite in Vegas. All the places he had once promised to take me.

They flirted shamelessly, their words a filthy script of what they wanted to do to each other. I was a forced audience to their pornographic play, with no escape. Every word was a knife, twisting.

Amber giggled. "Honey, do you remember last time? On the sofa in your study... If your wife ever found out, she'd probably die, right?"

My eyes shot toward the study door. The Italian leather sofa I had picked out myself now seemed disgustingly tainted.

He had brought his mistress into our home. Into the sanctuary I had built for him.

A wave of suffocating nausea hit me like a physical blow. I didn't move. I didn't take the earbuds out. I forced my breathing to stay dead silent, my fingernails digging into the mattress until they bent backward. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced myself to listen to every filthy, unvarnished syllable.

I heard Amber ask, "So, when are you going to tell her? I don't want to be a secret forever."

My heart pounded in my throat. Yes, Shane. When?

A long silence stretched on, each second an eternity.

Then, he spoke. "Soon, Amber. Just give me a little more time. It's not the right time."

He mentioned his contract. His public image. The team's "morality clause." As a top-paid star player, he explained, any negative press could jeopardize his endorsements and his next big deal.

It wasn't about me. It was never about me. Our marriage, my feelings—they were just variables in his business calculations.

I let out a choked, humorless laugh that turned into a sob. I once thought our love was priceless. In his world, everything had a price tag.

"Fine," Amber said, her voice petulant but yielding. "Can you come over tonight? The usual place."

"No," Shane said immediately. "I have to be careful. She's... been acting a little strange."

My heart stopped. Did he know?

"What do you mean?" Amber asked, her tone suddenly sharp.

"Nothing. Probably just my imagination," Shane said vaguely. "Anyway, let's not meet up for a bit. I'll let you know when it's safe."

They exchanged a few more nauseating pleasantries and then hung up. I heard a long sigh from the study.

I was about to take out the earbuds, thinking the torture was over, when I heard the phone in the study ring again.

Shane answered.

"Mom, it's me," he said. "Yeah... about Eveline being pregnant, I have a plan."