Chapter 3 - The Confession of a CowardFor three seconds, the only sound in the apartment was the faint mechanical warning of the delivery truck reversing on the street below.
"You... you checked the portal?" Ethan stammered, his charm evaporating like morning mist on hot asphalt.
"I didn't just check the portal, Ethan," Clare said, stopping two feet away from him. She didn't raise her voice. Her quiet tone was infinitely more terrifying than any scream. "I built it. Did you really think you could swap my name out for your high school girlfriend's while I was asleep and I wouldn't notice?"
Ethan swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. He took a half-step back, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "Babe—listen to me. It’s not what you think. Vanessa was having a complete mental breakdown over her career transition, and she happened to mention how much she needed a break. I just... I thought, you don't even like long flights! You always complain about jet lag!"
"So you gave my honeymoon—the trip I planned down to the last minute detail, funded with my own company accounts—to another woman."
"It was just a logistical swap!" Ethan shouted, panic breaking through his practiced composure. "It’s a vacation package! We can rebook yours for next year! Vanessa just needed a week away from her toxic ex, and you were going to be working remotely half the time anyway—"
"Was I?" Clare tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "And when were you planning to tell me? When you boarded the plane together? Or were you hoping I’d find out from Instagram?"
"Clare, stop acting crazy," Ethan snapped, reverting to anger now that he was cornered. "You're blowing this out of proportion. You have no chill. This is why everyone says you're so rigid. Vanessa is my friend. She’s been my friend for seventeen years! If you can't accept that, then maybe you're the one who shouldn't be married."
Clare stared at him. The sheer audacity—the staggering, pathological selfishness of a man trying to gaslight his brand-new bride three days after the wedding—sent a cold wave of clarity through her veins.
"You're right, Ethan," she whispered. "I shouldn't be married."
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She reached down, opened the manila folder, and pulled out two crisp, legally binding documents.
"Sign the annulment papers," she said, tossing them onto the entryway console. "Or I file for divorce on the grounds of adultery and financial malfeasance, freeze your corporate assets, and ensure every single partner at your firm sees the receipts of you funding your mistress's luxury vacations."
