Chapter 2-

“Why did you do that? Have you lost your damn mind?” Matheo roared, anger and disbelief flashing across his face. He watched as an equal measure of pain and fury mirrored in Colette’s eyes. In that moment, it was clear: she was the other woman, the mistress, even if she wore the wedding ring.

‘Stay with me, please!’ her tear-filled eyes begged him, though she knew deep down it was futile. He was leaving. Tears spilled from her eyes, and for a second, she saw his hardened gaze soften. It was the same look he gave her every night after they made love and she lay in his arms—an unguarded expression that almost felt like love. Hope flickered in her chest.

“Matt, stay with me tonight. Surely, you can go in the morning?” she asked softly. She was certain he would agree, but then the cracked phone blared with a notification, shattering the moment.

His expression changed to one of worry, and he looked at her as if she were a nuisance he had no time for. If her heart had broken once, it shattered into a thousand times as she watched him prioritize another woman over her.

“I’m sorry, Colette, Iris is waiting for me. I have to pick her up and head to the airport. Our flight leaves soon.” He turned away, but she clutched his arm.

“Matt, please, just for tonight, stay with me.” In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter if he stayed the night or not. He would leave in the morning anyway. But it mattered to her. For once, she wanted to prove that she mattered more than his cool blonde secretary. Just this once.

“Colette, try to understand. It’s important,” he soothed, his tone gentle, but he did not touch her. He stood apart, a stone statue devoid of emotion or movement.

“Just for tonight, Matt,” she murmured, almost begging. She was asking for a few hours; it wasn’t too much, was it? But Matheo turned away with a vicious curse, almost as if he couldn’t bear to look at her anymore.

But now, as she lay in their cold, empty bed, she realized with a sinking dread that the nightmare hadn’t ended. The darkness wasn’t confined to her sleep; it had seeped into her waking life, consuming every part of her. The bed felt enormous, a vast, lonely expanse that swallowed her whole. The silence of the room was deafening, and the air felt thick with the ghosts of what once was.

She reached out instinctively to Matt’s side of the bed, hoping—praying—that he would be there, that this was all just a terrible dream. But her fingers met only cold sheets. He was gone. The house was eerily quiet, the only sound her own shaky breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could slip back into sleep, back into the dream where at least she was still running, still trying. But there was no escape now, no waking from this nightmare.

A tear slid down her cheek as she curled into herself, clutching the pillow that still faintly smelled of him. This was her reality now—a life without Matt, a life where she was the other woman in her own marriage, trapped in an endless loop of heartache. The nightmare had become her life, and there was no waking up from it.