My fiancé Raymond James's first love was back in the country.

The welcome dinner was held at a members-only private club on the south side of the city. Raymond had bought the place out at a premium just to make me happy.

He'd always been hypersensitive to smells, a man with severe mysophobia who couldn't tolerate even the faintest trace of cigarette smoke.

But the moment I pushed open the door to the private room, the air was thick with it.

The woman plucked the glass right out of his hand, tipped her head back, and drank. Then she laughed, flicking ash onto his dress pants.

Raymond didn't push her away. He just shook his head with a helpless look, his voice carrying a kind of indulgence I had never once heard from him.

"All these years, and you're still this willful."

Someone nearby egged them on, joking that the young Mr. James had finally met his match, that even the stone-cold king had a soft spot after all.

Everyone laughed. The atmosphere was warm, electric, as if they were all part of the same world.

And I was the one standing in the shadows, the thermos of hangover soup in my hands suddenly feeling absurd.

The lid was hot against my fingers. The heat seared all the way to my chest.

So his rules weren't unbreakable after all.

...

"Raymond, your fiancée's standing right outside. You're not going to invite her in?"

The door cracked open, and Cedric Delgado, Raymond's close friend, poked his head out. His gaze landed on the thermos in my hands and lingered there for a beat.

I tightened my grip on the handle and shook my head.

"No, it's fine. You all have fun."

"What about the soup?"

"Could you take it in for me?"

I handed it over. Before he could say another word, I turned and walked away.

"Hold on, let me grab Raymond for you."

I looked back, smiled, and waved him off.

"Don't bother. I don't want to kill the mood."

Outside, the cold wind cut against the back of my neck, and only then did that scalding ache begin to ease.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Raymond's mother, my soon-to-be mother-in-law, Nora James.

"Dinner at the family estate tomorrow. Don't forget what you should and shouldn't do."

One command. Not a single wasted word.

Just like the woman herself. Always looking down from above, always convinced that everyone around her was desperate to claw their way into the James family.

I drove back to the home I shared with Raymond, a villa perched halfway up the hillside.

Spacious. Cold. Empty of any sign of life.

Raymond's work kept him busy, and I was the caged bird in this gilded house.

The only difference was that he had never restricted my freedom. He even encouraged me to pursue whatever made me happy.

But apart from him, nothing particularly did.

The smart tablet on the living room console was still glowing. He'd left it on that morning after checking the financial news.

I walked over to turn it off, but a photo filled the screen.

An automatic push from his cloud album.

Raymond and a girl at the beach. He was carrying her on his back, grinning wide and bright, radiating a kind of unguarded joy I had never seen from him.

The girl was Darlene Simmons.

They wore the simplest white T-shirts and jeans, yet the image was beautiful enough to be a painting.

The date on the photo was eight years ago.

The year Darlene left the country.

I'd never known that the cold, taciturn Raymond James had ever been so recklessly, brilliantly alive.

And I'd never known that somewhere in his private album, an entire youth had been preserved for another woman.

I tapped into the album. That single photo was the only one there.

At eleven that night, Raymond came home.

He shrugged off his jacket. The smell of cigarettes and perfume clung to it, heavy and unmistakable.

I stood at the foot of the stairs, watching him.

"You're back."

He gave a low "Mm," tugging at his tie, exhaustion etched between his brows.

"Did you drink? What about the soup?"

He didn't look up. "Cedric brought it over. I had some."

His answer was curt. He walked straight to the bathroom without another word.

I stared at his retreating back, and something bitter twisted in my chest.

This was a man with severe mysophobia. There was a time when a slightly stronger scent from my aromatherapy diffuser was enough to make him frown.

Now, he could tolerate another woman's perfume and cigarette smoke clinging to him for hours.

So it was never about principles being unbreakable.

Late that night, he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

A familiar touch. Yet it felt like a stranger's.

His hand slid over my lower abdomen, his breath warm against the shell of my ear.

Everything was the same as it had always been.

But I knew something between us had changed.

I gently pushed him away.

"I'm not feeling well today."

He paused for a moment, then rolled over and lay flat on his back. Within minutes, his breathing evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep.

In the darkness, I lay with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

So this was what we'd become. Too fragile for even a single follow-up question.

The lid of that thermos had been scalding hot.

The photo in Raymond's album burned hotter.

Hot enough to twist my entire heart into a knot, so tight I couldn't breathe.

The next morning, Raymond got up early.

I lay in bed pretending to sleep, listening to him wash up, change, and leave. He didn't make a single unnecessary sound. He didn't try to wake me.

There was a transparent wall between us. We could both see through it, but neither of us wanted to touch it.

When I finally got up, breakfast was waiting on the dining table. A sandwich. A glass of milk. Every calorie accounted for.

Everything he did for me was meticulous, planned down to the last detail.

Today was our engagement anniversary.

We'd made plans to visit the equestrian club on the outskirts of the city, the place where we'd had our very first date.

I arrived early and waited in the lounge.

"Miss Pruitt, Mr. James didn't come with you today?"

"Something came up at the office. He'll be here a little later."

I smiled as I said it.

I waited through the morning and into the afternoon.

I sent him a few messages. None of them got a reply. I called. No answer.

The sun sank lower in the sky. I sat on a bench, watching distant riders gallop across the fields, and felt nothing inside but emptiness.

I decided to stop waiting.

The moment I stood up, my phone rang.

It was Raymond.

"Sorry. An emergency meeting came up at the office. I couldn't get away."

His voice carried no trace of emotion.

"It's fine. Work comes first."

My own voice was so calm it surprised even me.

"I had my assistant drop your anniversary gift off at the house. I'll try to get home early tonight."

"Okay."

After I hung up, I didn't go home.

Instead, I rented the gentlest horse at the club and wandered aimlessly across the grass.

I remembered the first time we came here.

He'd stood behind me, his hands over mine, teaching me how to hold the reins, how to guide the horse.

He'd said, "Don't be afraid. I'm right here."

That was the first time I ever felt safe with him.

Now, that sense of safety was slipping away, piece by piece.

When I got home, a beautifully wrapped gift box sat in the living room, just as promised.

I opened it. A diamond necklace.

Expensive. But the same design as the one he'd given me last year.

He didn't even remember what he'd already given me.

I placed the necklace back in the box and turned on the TV, flipping to some random variety show.

On the enormous screen, celebrities mugged and joked. I couldn't muster even the ghost of a smile.

At ten o'clock, Raymond came home and went straight to his study.

I turned off the TV, walked upstairs, and pushed open the study door.

He looked up when he heard the door open.

"Did you get the gift?"

"I did. Thank you."

"Do you like it?"

"I do."

I walked over and wrapped my arms around his neck from behind.

"Raymond, can we go skiing in Aspen next month? You promised me."

I buried my face in the curve of his neck, searching for something familiar.

His body went rigid.

"There's an overseas acquisition next month. I probably won't have time."

He pulled my hands away, swiveled his chair, and faced me.

"Let's talk about it after things settle down."

There it was again.

Always wait and we'll see.

"Is it because of Darlene?"

The words finally left my mouth.

His gaze turned cold.

"Stacy, we agreed from the beginning. No questions about the past."

"But she's your present now, isn't she?"

He didn't answer. He just looked at me in silence.

That was when his phone lit up.

A message preview flashed across the screen.

The contact was saved as "D."

Just got home. Tonight was wonderful. Thank you.

He snatched the phone up and deleted the message.

Raymond and I started because he needed a fiancée from a family that matched his own standing.

And I had no objections to the arrangement. I was even a little happy about it.

Eventually, we did fall in love. We built a life together.

I had always known that somewhere in his past, there was a woman named Darlene Simmons.

I told myself that if I was good enough, accommodating enough, one day I'd earn my way into that place in his heart.

Now I could see it for what it was. I'd only been fooling myself.

I went to see Uncle Walter.

Walter Dickerson was an old friend of my father's and a well-regarded antique restorer. Ever since I was a little girl, I loved spending time in his workshop, watching him piece shattered porcelain back together fragment by fragment.

That kind of focus, that patience, always had a way of quieting my restless mind.

When I arrived, Uncle Walter was working on a blue-and-white ceramic vase. He set down his tools when he saw me and poured me a cup of tea.

"Sweetheart, you don't look so good. Did you and Raymond have a fight?"

I shook my head. I cupped the warm mug in both hands, but I couldn't feel the heat.

"Uncle Walter, do you think something that's been broken can ever really be whole again?"

He glanced at the vase in front of him and smiled faintly.

"No matter how good the restoration, the cracks are still there. Same as the human heart. Once it's been hurt, it's been hurt."

He studied me, a quiet knowing in his eyes.

"You've always carried too much on your shoulders, even as a kid. I worried about you the day you told me you were with Raymond."

"Raymond is a man of principle. He honors his commitments."

"But principles are only as strong as who they're for. A man who breaks his rules for one woman can break them again for another."

His words struck me like a blow to the chest.

He was right. Raymond tolerated the smell of cigarettes for Darlene.

So what had he ever bent for me?

Nothing. The answer was nothing.

I left Uncle Walter's workshop feeling more unsettled than when I'd arrived.

My phone rang.

An unknown number.

I hesitated, then answered.

"Miss Pruitt? I'm calling from the executive office at Grandeur Group. Ms. Simmons would like to arrange a meeting with you."

Darlene?

The meeting place was a teahouse.

She wore a sharp, tailored suit, her makeup flawless, every gesture radiating confidence.

"Miss Pruitt, forgive the intrusion."

She spoke first. Her voice was lovely.