Chapter 2

"If you don't come back and apologize, I won't give you a single dime. And don't even think about staying in the apartment."

Ethan's texts buzzed on my phone three times while I was walking down the road. Each text felt louder than the last.

Just as I was about to turn off my phone, Ethan’s mother, Eleanor, called.

"Chloe, do you have any idea how bad this looks? You and Ethan fighting like this in public? Tomorrow, buy some flowers, go apologize to Hailey, and let’s get over this."

"Eleanor, he lied to me for three years."

"Lied about what? It was just a glass of wine! Men have to drink when they socialize. Don't be so petty."

I hung up on her.

By the time I finally reached our apartment, it was 1:00 AM.

When I tried to use my key, I realized the smart lock code had been changed.

A sticky note was stuck to the door in Ethan’s handwriting: "Think things through before you knock."

I took a step back and noticed a pair of pink slippers sitting next to the shoe rack outside the door.

I pulled out my phone and called my college roommate, Maya.

"Maya, can you look up something for me? Ethan's phone backup is synced with our home iPad, and the password is still the old one. Can you log in and see if there’s a folder called 'Tasting Notes'?"

Maya didn't ask questions. She got straight to work.

Three minutes later, her voice changed.

"Chloe, I see it. But you might not want to hear this."

"Read it to me."

"The first entry is from September 17th, three years ago. "'My wife made Beef Bourguignon today. I used it as an excuse to throw a huge fit. It worked perfectly. She won't dare keep any alcohol in the house now. This way, she’ll never find out about the wine cellar project Hailey and I are working on.'"

That was the day he ruined the dinner, rolled on the floor crying that he couldn't breathe, while I knelt beside him in tears calling 911.

The paramedics said it didn't look like a typical allergic reaction, but he brushed it off by saying his body was just unique.

I never imagined the allergy was a complete act.

"How many entries are there?"

"Two hundred and thirty-seven. From three years ago to last week. Average of at least two entries a week. There are several photos with a long-haired woman. The photos are tagged 'Ying'."

Ying. Hailey’s middle name.

"At the bottom of the folder, there’s a sub-album called 'Luna Daily.' It’s full of progress photos of the wine cellar, from the location scouting to the interior design and grand opening. One of them is a close-up of the business license."

Maya paused.

"The legal representative is Ethan. The shareholder is Hailey. Registered capital is eighty thousand dollars."

I crouched outside my locked door, my back pressed against the cold wall.

"He was never allergic to alcohol, Chloe. He just didn't want you touching wine. He didn't want you in the industry. The moment you went back to being a sommelier, his wine cellar with Hailey would be exposed."

Maya’s words left a long, heavy silence over the line.

My mind flashed back to the past.

Before we got married, I made the top three nationwide in the Master Sommelier preliminary trials.

Ethan was thrilled when he found out. He said we’d get married the moment I got certified.

But his first "allergic reaction" happened exactly one week before my final exams.

"Maya, screenshot everything in that folder. Back it up and send it to my new email."

"And then?"

"And then, I need to find a place to sleep tonight. I can't get into this apartment."

I hung up, stood up, and looked down at the pink slippers.

She had been here. More than once.

Before leaving, I moved those pink slippers to the most obvious spot, right in front of the smart doorbell camera.

I wanted Ethan to see them every single time he opened the door.

"Three years," I whispered to the empty hallway. "I believed you for three whole years."