Ethan still had not come home.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Beverly Hills slept beneath pools of golden streetlight and silent palm trees swaying in the dark. The mansion was quiet except for the faint hum of the climate system and the slow ticking of the antique clock Ethan once bought in Geneva to celebrate becoming the youngest CEO in Whitmore Global’s history.
Back then, he kissed me afterward and said:
“We did it.”
Somewhere along the way, “we” became “me.”
I reached for my phone.
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