By the time Elodie reached the house, it was nearly nine. Rush hour traffic had eaten up most of her evening.

Cara, the housekeeper, looked surprised to see her. “Mrs. Sinclair, you’re back! Have you eaten? Shall I make you something?”

Elodie offered a polite smile. “No need. I’m not staying long-I’ll be leaving soon.”

Cara’s face clouded with concern. “You just got home and you’re leaving again? Did you… have a fight with Mr. Sinclair?”

Elodie knelt to open the shoe cabinet, searching for a pair of disposable slippers. “No,” she replied simply.

And it was true.

The reality was, Jarrod had a habit of treating her as if she were invisible.

His indifference hurt more than any argument ever could.

Except for the few predictable days each month, they barely spoke at all. Fights? They never happened.

Now, they were simply getting divorced.

Cara had been the housekeeper since their wedding, and she thought she knew Elodie well-thought she was just being stubborn and prideful.

Cara couldn’t help but try to coax her. “Mrs. Sinclair, there’s no hurdle you can’t get over. Couples argue and make up—that’s marriage. Didn’t you always say so yourself?”

“You love Mr. Sinclair so much, and you’re lost without him. If this blows up…”

Would you really be able to back down gracefully?

In the end, you’d just swallow your pride and come crawling back. That’s how it always looked.

Elodie paused, momentarily dazed.

So this was how everyone saw her.

She was expected to smile through the pain, to accept everything without complaint, to bend over backwards for Jarrod, no matter what.

No one ever imagined she might be the one to let go.

She pressed her lips together in silence, then changed the subject. “Has he been home lately?”

Cara hesitated. “Not much…”

“I figured. You should get some rest,” Elodie said, as if she’d expected nothing else.

Of course Jarrod wasn’t coming home.

He had Sylvie now a warm, welcoming escape. Why would he bother coming back?

Elodie climbed the stairs to the study. The house had two: one was Jarrod’s private sanctuary, strictly off-limits. The other, open and airy, was where she liked to read when she had the time.

For three years, she’d kept up with the world, never letting herself fall behind.

She knew every inch of the place-she’d decorated it herself, after all-so she quickly found the book she was looking for on the middle shelf.

Just to be sure, she checked the shelves again, gathering up all the books she wanted to take with her and packing them in a box.

But even that little bit of exertion left her breathless.

Ever since her diagnosis, her body had grown weaker than she’d imagined.

She had to ask Cara to help her carry the box downstairs—and only then did she notice the snow.

A thin, pristine layer had already blanketed the ground outside.

Elodie glanced at her phone. Ten-thirty.

She climbed into her car as Cara went off to bed. But after several attempts, the engine refused to start.

She tried again. Nothing.

No use the car was dead.

She checked the time. Eleven.

The house stood in an upscale development, far from the city. Just walking out to the main road would take half an hour, and cabs never came in here. With the snow coming down, rideshares would be backed up for ages.

Elodie frowned, fatigue weighing down her limbs.

It was late, and she was too exhausted to trek out into the cold.

She decided to stay the night.

Jarrod wouldn’t be back anyway-she had nothing to worry about.

Elodie went back upstairs, heading straight for the guest room. She showered, then realized she’d forgotten to bring any clean clothes. Wrapping herself in a towel, she slipped into the master bedroom to find something she’d left behind.

Luckily, Jarrod hadn’t bothered to have Cara clear out her things, since he barely came home anymore.

She grabbed a change of clothes and turned to leave-

When the bedroom door swung open from the outside.

Elodie jumped, startled.

Jarrod stood in the doorway, his coat slung over his arm. He didn’t look surprised or caught off guard.

As if he’d expected this.

Elodie always came back in the end.

He glanced at her-her skin still damp from the shower, bare shoulders and long, slender legs exposed beneath the towel then walked in as if nothing was out of the ordinary. As he brushed past, she caught a whiff of an unfamiliar perfume—a woman’s scent, bold and unmistakable.

It lingered in the air, as if staking a claim.

The man who’d always been too busy for her suddenly had all the time in the world for someone else.

He could drop everything for Sylvie.

Elodie felt a wave of awkwardness. She tried to explain herself. “Sorry, I just— tonight, I was only-”

Jarrod set his coat down, his eyes flicking over her-fresh from the shower, towel barely concealing her pale skin and delicate frame.

He cut her off, voice cold. “I’m not in the mood.”