Chapter 2
I stood frozen in the doorway of our bedroom, watching as Gabriel carefully lifted my silk robe from its hook. The pale blue fabric—a gift he'd given me on our third anniversary—caught the morning light as he folded it with deliberate precision.
"What are you doing?" My voice sounded small even to my own ears.
Gabriel didn't startle. He didn't even look at me as he placed my robe in a drawer. "Sophia needs somewhere to hang her things."
"Her things?" The words felt thick in my throat. "Why would she need—"
"She's moving into the guest suite." He stated it as a fact, not a question or suggestion. "It's more convenient for the project."
The Westview project. The excuse he'd used when introducing us three days ago. I'd spent those days watching them, noticing how his eyes followed her movements, how his voice softened when he spoke her name.
"For how long?" I asked, though I already knew the answer wouldn't matter.
He finally looked at me, his expression cool and assessing. "As long as necessary."
From the hallway came the sound of the elevator doors opening, followed by light footsteps and the subtle scent of jasmine perfume. Sophia appeared in the doorway, carrying a small suitcase. She wore a cream-colored dress that highlighted her slender figure, her honey-blonde hair swept into an elegant updo.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," she said, though her smile suggested she knew exactly what she was interrupting.
Gabriel's entire demeanor transformed. The coldness he'd directed at me melted away, replaced by a warmth I hadn't seen in years. "Not at all. I was just making space for you."
He took a spare robe—white silk with delicate embroidery—from the closet and hung it where mine had been. The replacement was swift, efficient, and devastating in its symbolism.
Sophia stepped toward the mirror, adjusting an earring. Gabriel moved behind her, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection. I watched as he placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, a gesture so intimate it made my stomach clench.
"Perfect," he murmured, and I wasn't sure if he meant her earrings or simply her.
I slipped away, unnoticed by either of them.
* * *
The restaurant was one of my father-in-law's favorites—all dark wood, leather chairs, and discreet service. Alistair Sterling sat at the head of the table, his silver hair perfectly styled, his eyes sharp as they moved between his son and me.
"The Westview project is proceeding ahead of schedule," Gabriel was saying, swirling his scotch. "Sophia's brought some innovative ideas to the table."
"Sophia?" Alistair raised an eyebrow. "The new consultant?"
Gabriel nodded, his expression animated in a way it rarely was during business discussions. "She suggested repurposing the east wing entirely—turning it into a wellness center rather than traditional office space. The potential ROI is remarkable."
"And what do you think, Lily?" Alistair's question caught me off guard. He rarely asked for my opinion on business matters.
Before I could answer, Gabriel cut in. "Lily's been supportive, as always. But her role is more...stationary."
The word hung in the air between us. Stationary. Fixed in place while he moved forward. Decorative. Useless.
"I see," Alistair said, his tone neutral but his eyes calculating as they rested on me.
I felt something crack inside me. "Excuse me," I whispered, pushing back my chair. "I need some air."
Neither of them tried to stop me as I fled to the ladies' room, locking myself in a stall as tears burned behind my eyelids. I pressed my palms against the cool marble wall, trying to steady my breathing.
Stationary. The word echoed in my mind. Was that all I was to him now? A fixture in his life that he'd grown tired of looking at?
* * *
The café was bustling with morning customers. I sat in the corner, sunglasses hiding my red-rimmed eyes, watching as Sophia entered. She moved with the confidence of someone who knew they were being admired, greeting the barista with a warm smile.
I'd followed her here after discovering her routine—Pilates at 7:30, followed by coffee at this upscale café near our building. Three days of observation had revealed her patterns, her habits, her weaknesses. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I needed to understand what made her so special, so irreplaceable, when I had become so easily discarded.
She took a seat by the window, bathed in morning light that made her skin glow. Pulling out her phone, she typed something, her lips curving into a secret smile. A moment later, my own phone vibrated in my purse. I knew without looking that Gabriel had just received her message.
As I watched her, a cold clarity washed over me. This wasn't like the others. The way Gabriel looked at her, spoke about her, made room for her in our home—in our life—was different. She wasn't just another distraction.
She was my replacement.
And as she sat there, basking in the sunlight and Gabriel's distant attention, I realized with sickening certainty that I was running out of time.