I pushed the doors open and stepped into what looked like a magazine spread. There were round tables, white linens, strings of lights, a big “Happy Birthday Lauren” banner in rose gold over the far wall. At least 50 people stood around with drinks and little plates of appetizers.
And there she was.
For a second, I just watched. She laughed at something someone said, touching her necklace.
She looked… happy. Not guilty, not miserable. Happy.
And it hurt like hell that this version of her existed here and not in our kitchen that morning.
Then I noticed who she was talking to. Marcus Hale. My stomach did a weird flip.
I hadn’t seen Marcus in over a decade, not since the early years of our marriage when Lauren worked under him at her old firm, and things got… messy.
Back then, there had been late nights, secretive texts, an emotional affair that stopped just short of physical—at least, that’s what she swore in counseling. We almost divorced over it. Instead, we did therapy for a year and agreed on strict boundaries, one of which was: no Marcus.
Seeing him now—same smug smile, same expensive suit, standing way too close to my wife at her secret birthday party—felt like walking into a recurring nightmare I hadn’t had in ages.
Conversation around me started to die down as people noticed the stranger at the door.
“Evan,” she breathed, barely audible even in the sudden quiet.
Marcus turned, eyebrows lifting when he saw me. “Well,” he said with a smirk, “this is… unexpected.” I ignored him completely.
I walked toward Lauren. “You didn’t want to celebrate your birthday,” I said quietly, stopping a few feet from her.
“That’s what you told me.” A few guests shifted, clearly wishing they were anywhere else.
Her eyes filled with tears instantly.
“Evan, I can explain,” she said, voice shaking. “Please, not here.” Marcus scoffed under his breath. “You invited half the city, Lauren,” he said.
“He was bound to find out, eventually.”
He lifted his glass slightly.
“Business opportunities have a way of bringing people back together,” he said smoothly. “Lauren understands that.”
She flinched at his words. That, more than anything, made me pause.
This wasn’t the body language of someone having a grand romantic reunion. She looked trapped. Guilty, yes, but also trapped.
“Lauren,” I said, softer now, “why am I the only one who wasn’t invited?”
She swallowed hard, eyes darting between me and Marcus and the crowd that refused to look away.
Finally, she set her glass down with a small clink.
“Because I was afraid,” she said. The room was dead silent.
“Afraid of what?” I asked.
She took a breath as if she were about to dive underwater. “Afraid you’d tell me not to come.
Afraid you’d see Marcus’s name and shut it down. Afraid I’d resent you for it.”
Marcus jumped in like he’d been waiting for that cue. “We’re hosting a private investor mixer tonight,” he announced, as if he were on a stage.Continue reading…
