Audrey POV
The champagne had been chilling for three hours.
Scott's last text was on her phone. It said, "Stuck in a meeting.
Don't wait up." Six words. No apology.
She put the phone face down.
The apartment was perfect. She made it that way. Fresh roses were in clear vases. Candles were lit.
Dinner was warming up. Two tickets to Paris were in an envelope next to his plate.
She had planned this night for three weeks. Not because things were good, but because she thought they could be.
She was still trying.
At 8:30, she got her coat.
If Scott wasn't coming home, she would go to him.
She got to the elevator. She pressed the button. Then she stopped.
She heard a sound. A low laugh. A woman was laughing.
It came from inside her apartment.
She turned slowly. The front door was open a little. She didn't leave it that way.
She walked back inside.
The living room was empty. But the hall lights were different. Softer. Warmer. Not the ones she turned on before leaving.
Rose petals were on the white floor. She didn't put them there.
They led to the bedroom.
Her heels clicked once on the marble floor. The laugh came again. It sounded comfortable, like someone at home.
Her chest felt tight.
She walked down the hall. Each step felt strange, like the floor wasn't flat. She touched the bedroom door.
The laughing stopped. A man's low voice spoke instead. It was deep. Private. And it felt wrong.
She pushed the door open.
Orange candlelight filled the room.
Scott sat up in bed, the sheet at his waist. He blinked at her like a man coming up from underwater.
He looked confused first, not guilty. Confused in a way that didn't match the scene.
Elena Chase was next to him. Audrey knew her face. Everyone in New York knew her face. She was Scott's first love.
The woman who left him years ago and came back three weeks ago. She was suddenly everywhere Scott was.
Elena was not looking at Scott. She was looking at Audrey.
She looked calm and settled. A small, satisfied smile was on her face, like she had waited for this.
"Audrey," Scott said. Only her name.
The Paris tickets were in her coat pocket, pressing against her ribs.
"This isn't what it looks like." His voice sounded awful. It was slower than usual.
He ran a hand over his face and looked around the room, like he was trying to picture where he was.
"What does it look like to you?" she asked.
He pushed the sheet away and stood up. He grabbed the bed-frame when his legs didn't feel strong.
He took one shaky step toward her. "Let me explain. Audrey, please, just let me."
"How long?"
"Listen to me." He reached for her arm.
She stepped back. "Don't."
Elena got up from the bed slowly. She took Audrey's silk robe from the chair and put it on easily, as she had done before.
She tied the sash slowly, smoothed the robe at her waist, and looked at Audrey with a hint of amusement.
"You should have called first," Elena said. "It would have saved everyone the trouble."
"Get out of my house." Audrey's voice was flat and controlled.
Elena's smile didn't change.
Scott stepped forward again, more urgent. He reached for her.
"I don't know what happened. I don't know how I got here. You have to believe me."
She looked at his face. The confusion was real. She saw it. His eyes couldn't focus well.
His movements were strange in a way she couldn't explain.
She couldn't explain it.
She went back to the hall. She walked past the flowers that someone else had put down.
Past the candles lit for a night that wasn't hers.
She picked up her phone from the table near the door. She touched the champagne bottle. Then she put it back.
Scott followed her. "Audrey. Please."
She stopped at the front door. He stood at the end of the hall. He was dressed now. He had one hand against the wall.
His face looked open, a way she hadn't seen in months. Not proud. Not far away.
It looked like he was truly sad.
But what she had seen didn't change.
She put her hand in her coat pocket. The soft envelope was still there. It held two expensive plane tickets.
She had thought about his face when he opened it.
How would he look surprised? How he might laugh and hug her close.
How might he say her name as if it mattered again?
She walked to the door. She dropped the envelope in the trash by the door. She didn't stop.
"Happy anniversary," she said.
Then she left.
The elevator doors shut. It was quiet for three seconds.
Her phone buzzed.
A picture. From a number she didn't know.
Scott and Elena. In bed. From tonight.
Then another one.
And another.
There were seven pictures in all. Sent 30 seconds apart. Each one was planned.
Not one picture looked like a mistake from a single angle.
Seven pictures. Each one is carefully set up. They were sent right when she left.
Someone had been waiting for her to go.
She stood in the elevator as it went down. Her phone was in her hand.
She saw the city lights below through the lobby window.
No mistakes. Seven pictures.
This didn't just happen to her.
Someone had done this to her.