chapter 4

Sloane's POV

I drove home from my parents' house with the divorce papers hidden in my purse.

The villa looked exactly the same as when I'd left this morning.

*How many lies has this house witnessed?*

I sat in the driveway for a moment, staring at the front door. *Once I walk through that door, I have to pretend everything is normal.*

The front door opened before I could decide. Matteo appeared, silhouetted against the warm light from inside.

"There you are," he called out, jogging down the steps toward my car. "I was starting to worry."

*Were you? Or were you just annoyed that I wasn't here to play the perfect wife while you planned your next rendezvous with Calista?*

He opened my car door for me, that charming smile in place. The same smile that had made my heart flutter since we were teenagers. Now it just made me feel sick.

"How was your day with your parents?" he asked, taking my hand to help me out of the car.

"Fine," I managed, pulling my hand away under the pretense of adjusting my purse strap. "Just catching up."

"I missed you," he said, wrapping his arms around me right there in the driveway.

"I missed you too," I lied.

"I ordered from that Italian place you love," Matteo said, leading me toward the kitchen. "Thought we could have a quiet evening together."

"This is lovely," I said, taking my seat across from him. The distance felt oceanic.

"I know I've been working a lot lately," he said, pouring wine into my glass. "I want to make sure we still make time for each other."

*Working. Right.* I took a sip of wine, hoping it would steady my nerves.

"Speaking of work," I said, my voice surprisingly casual, "I have some papers that need your signature. Company documents. Nothing urgent, but whenever you have a moment."

Matteo nodded, cutting into his pasta. "Of course. You know I trust you with all that boring paperwork."

I almost laughed. *You trust me with paperwork while you're sleeping with your adopted sister. The irony is suffocating.*

"How was your day?" I asked.

"Busy. Meetings, phone calls, the usual." He smiled at me across the table. "But nothing as important as coming home to my beautiful wife."

*My beautiful wife.* The words should have warmed me. Instead, they felt like ice water in my veins.

After dinner, we moved to the living room. I retrieved the stack of documents from my purse, my hands trembling slightly as I arranged them on the coffee table. The divorce agreement was buried in the middle, camouflaged between contracts and legal papers.

"Just some routine paperwork that needs your signature," I said, settling onto the sofa beside him.

Matteo picked up his glasses, the ones I'd helped him choose because he said I had better taste. *Everything in this room has a memory. Our entire life together, built on lies.*

"You know I trust you with these things," he said, reaching for the first document.

*Please do. Please read every word and realize what's happening. Give me some kind of reaction. Show me this marriage meant something, even if it was all pretend.*

He began scanning the first page. *What if he sees it? What if he realizes what this is and confronts me?*

*Am I ready for that conversation?*

Then his phone buzzed.

His lips curved into that gentle smile I'd thought belonged only to me.

I dug my nails into my palms to keep from making a sound. The pain helped ground me, kept me from flying apart completely.

He stood and walked toward the window, turning his back to me.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes." he said, his voice soft.

"Sorry about that," he said, returning to his chair. He was eagerness to leave. "Emergency situation with one of our partners."

The lie rolled off his tongue so smoothly. *How many times has he used this exact excuse? How many "emergency situations" have been him rushing to see her?*

"Of course," I replied coolly.

"You're amazing for understanding." He reached across and squeezed my hand, and I had to force myself not to flinch. "I'll just sign these quickly and head out."

I watched him flip through the documents, his pen moving across signature lines without really reading. *This is it. This is how my marriage ends. Not with screaming or tears, but with a man so eager to see his mistress that he signs his own divorce papers.*

When he reached the divorce agreement, I held my breath.