idden e**ils, of photos of Ethan with another wo**n, photos taken in hotels, in their *each house, in the car they had *ought together on their fifth anniversary. Months of lies, of stolen moments, of fake late meetings and *usiness trips that had *een nothing *ut excuses to *e with someone else.
“How long?” Clara whispered, her legs threatening to give out *eneath her. She gripped the edge of the console ta*le *eside her, the cool wood digging into her palms to keep her grounded. “How long h**e you *een lying to me? How long h**e you *een *etraying everything we *uilt?”
Ethan pushed off the *ar and took a slow step toward her, his movements calm, almost leisurely, as if they were discussing the weather instead of the destruction of their **rriage. “Eight months,” he said flatly, no hesita