Chapter 1

Three years of marriage, and all I'd ever wanted was a honeymoon with Mason Hale.

After Whitney Cole booked my flight as hers for the tenth time, I stopped asking for a rebooking.

She blinked up at me, all wide eyes and fumbling apologies.

"Mrs. Hale, I'm so sorry — I did it again. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"I could rebook right now, but — the thing is — all the other flights today are full. If we change it, Mr. Hale's schedule gets pushed back by three days."

She bit her lip. Her eyes drifted to Mason.

Mason didn't look up. His voice was flat, like he was scheduling a conference call.

"Don't bother rebooking. Serena, cover Whitney's Paris trip. The Maldives can wait."

I didn't say anything. I picked up the ticket — my ticket, the one to Paris — and walked away.

Mason. Once I see what thirty thousand feet looks like without you, I will never look back.

---

The check-in line was long. I stood in it with my suitcase, passport in one hand, boarding pass in the other.

Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around.

Whitney. Blinking at me, sweet as ever.

"Mrs. Hale, could I have your Maldives itinerary? Since you can't go anyway — you might as well let me and Mr. Hale use it."

She reached for my bag as she said it.

I stepped back. Her hand froze in the air.

I looked at her and said, quietly:

"No."

Her smile flickered. She pulled her hand back, fingers twisting together.

"I just thought I'd borrow it — it's fine if you'd rather not. I know you're still upset with me."

Mason, who hadn't said a word, spoke up. Impatient.

"It's just a travel guide, Serena. No point letting it sit there. Give it to her."

I looked at him.

"I made that for us."

He frowned.

"You're not going anymore. Whitney just wants to look at it — you can always make another one."

"Make another one?"

I repeated it softly.

"Exactly." Whitney stepped closer, her voice going syrupy.

"I'm sure yours is amazing, Mrs. Hale. We'll follow it and give you all the feedback — next time you go, you'll have even more to work with!"

I stood there looking at Whitney's smile and at Mason nodding along like this was completely reasonable, and something inside me went very quiet.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the binder.

Laminated cover. Color-coded tabs. Sticky notes on every page — notes, warnings, hand-drawn maps. Restaurant reservation numbers written in the margins, one by one.

"You want to use my itinerary. Stay in the hotel I booked. Follow the plans I made. Tell me — were you going to take my place in his bed too?"

Her hand went still. The smile died on her face.

"Serena."

Mason's voice cracked like a whip.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

I threw the binder at him. My voice was shaking.

"Am I wrong? She books my seat as hers ten times and you say nothing. She asks for my itinerary and you hand her mine. She wants the Maldives and you take her. So tell me — Mason — am I your wife, or is she?"

Mason grabbed my wrist. Hard. Hard enough to bruise.

"You're losing your mind. Whitney works herself to the bone every single day and you can't share a travel guide? What do you even do all day?"

I pulled against his grip. It was useless.

"You can't see that she does it on purpose? You can't see her asking for it right in front of you? You can't see the way she looks at you?"

"Enough."

He shoved my hand away. I stumbled back into my suitcase, the corner catching me in the side, sharp enough that my eyes stung.

Whitney gasped and rushed toward me, eyes already red.

"Mrs. Hale, are you okay? This is my fault — I never should have asked for it — please don't blame Mr. Hale, he just has a short temper—"

Then she swayed.

Her whole body pitched sideways, straight into Mason's arms.

"Ah — Mrs. Hale, what are you doing?"

Mason caught her. He looked up at me, and his eyes were full of something I didn't recognize anymore — anger, and disappointment, and not a single trace of doubt.

"Why did you push her? Are you insane?"

I looked at his hands, wrapped tight around her waist. Protecting her. Standing between us.

I felt the last of my fight go out of me.

"I didn't push her."

"I watched you. Don't stand there and deny it in front of everyone."

My voice went calm.

"What exactly did you watch?"

He stopped.

Whitney lifted her head from his chest, tears streaked down her face.

"Mr. Hale — I'm so dizzy. I think I've been overworking myself."

Mason didn't look at me again. He bent down and lifted her.

"I'll take you somewhere to rest."

Whitney looped her arms around his neck, her head against his shoulder. Over his shoulder, she looked at me.

I called his name.

"Mason."

He stopped walking. He didn't turn around.

"If you walk out with her right now, we're done."

He stood still for three seconds.

Then he kept walking.

I stood in the check-in line and watched his back get smaller. Watched him carry her through the crowd. Watched him round the corner and disappear.

The binder was on the floor. Pages scattered. Sticky notes face-down, footprints pressed into my handwriting.

The elderly woman behind me touched my arm gently.

"Honey. It's your turn."

I looked up. The agent at the counter was watching me, expression carefully neutral.

I pulled together a smile and said, "I'm sorry."

Then I crouched down and gathered the pages, one by one. Walked to the trash can. Dropped them in.

On the jet bridge, I thought:

Sincerity. What a worthless thing to give someone.