Chapter 2 - The Theater in the Kitchen
I woke up when the bedroom door clicked shut. Ethan was no longer beside me.
I pulled on my slippers and walked silently down the carpeted hallway toward the ground-floor study. The door was slightly ajar, a line of pale yellow light spilling across the dark hardwood floor.
Ethan’s soft, low laughter echoed through the gap.
"Why did you tell her?" a high-pitched, whining female voice rasped through the laptop speakers.
"Because she’s not stupid, Chloe," Ethan replied smoothly. "She felt it the moment I touched her. But don't worry about Mabel. She’s quiet. She knows where her lifestyle comes from. As long as I'm here, nobody will touch you."
A pause, followed by a playful pout from the screen. "I miss you already. Chicago feels so cold without you."
"Then don't stay there," Ethan chuckled softly. "Come early tomorrow. Make me breakfast in the main kitchen. Show her you're here to stay."
The sentence hung in the air like poison.
I turned back toward the stairs without making a sound. The last remaining ember of affection inside my chest died right there on the carpeted landing.
By eight o'clock the next morning, the front door unlocked.
I was standing on the second-floor gallery overlooking the main entrance when Chloe Vance walked into my home. She wore a tailored cream cashmere sweater and tight white trousers, carrying a designer handbag that Ethan had charged to our joint corporate account four months ago.
She went straight into the kitchen, humming a light tune, as if she owned the estate. Five minutes later, Ethan came downstairs in his navy silk robe, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind as she stood by the stove.
When Chloe glanced up and caught my eye on the staircase, her expression shifted instantly. The confident smile vanished, replaced by wide, tear-filled eyes. She shrank back into Ethan’s chest, clutching his silk sleeve.
"Ethan... I’m scared," she whimpered loudly enough to echo through the high ceilings. "She's looking at me like she wants to kill me."
Ethan stepped protectively in front of her, his face darkening as he looked up at me. "Mabel, don't start."
Chloe picked up a heavy ceramic plate loaded with hot French toast, stepping around Ethan toward the foot of the stairs. Her lips curved into a tiny, cruel smirk that only I could see from my angle above.
Then, before I had even taken two steps down the stairs—before I was within five feet of her—Chloe let out a dramatic shriek.
She threw her hands into the air. The heavy plate shattered against the marble floor, hot maple syrup and porcelain shards flying everywhere. Chloe threw herself backward, collapsing hard onto the tile with a pathetic sob.
"Ah! My wrist!" she cried out, curling into a ball.
"Mabel!" Ethan screamed, rushing past the broken plates to pull Chloe into his arms. "I told you not to hurt her! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"I didn't touch her, Ethan," I said, stopping on the third step, my voice completely flat.
"She’s fragile, Mabel! She was just trying to make us breakfast!" Ethan yelled, holding Chloe’s trembling shoulder as she hid her face against his neck.
I looked down at the man I had spent my youth building a life with.
"Look at me, Ethan," I said softly. "Tell me you genuinely believe I pushed her."
Ethan froze. His eyes flicked to mine, then down to Chloe, then back to the shattered plate on the floor. He hesitated for one long, agonizing second.
That one second was all the confirmation I needed.
I turned around without saying another word, walked back upstairs to my private dressing room, and locked the double doors behind me.
I didn't cry. I sat down at my vanity, opened my secure vault, and pulled out a encrypted satellite phone. I dialed the number of David Vance—no relation to Chloe, but the most ruthless forensic corporate attorney in the tri-state area—a number I had saved three weeks ago.
Ethan believed I had just caught him in a foolish affair. He thought this was a petty domestic dispute between a bitter wife and a younger mistress.
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He had no idea that while he was busy playing hero in my kitchen, I had already uncovered what he had been doing with the company treasury over the last three years.
And compared to financial treason, Chloe Vance was the smallest secret he had.
