CHAPTER 10

The Illusion Begins to Crack

The night was still, the kind of quiet that felt too heavy, too unnatural. Outside, the city hummed in the distance, a muffled soundtrack of life moving forward. But here, inside the four walls of our apartment, something felt frozen. Suspended.

Alex sat across from me at the dining table, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of his wine glass. The deep red liquid swirled slowly as he moved his wrist, his gaze flickering to me every now and then.

He smiled, was easy, confident—like always.

But I wasn't looking at his smile.

I was looking at his eyes.

Because something wasn't right.

I had spent years memorizing the man in front of me, learning every nuance in his face, every shift in his tone. I knew when he was genuinely amused, when he was deep in thought when he was irritated but trying to hide it.

And right now?

Right now, Alex was hiding something.

The bracelet on my wrist caught the candlelight, the diamonds throwing tiny reflections onto the table. A gift meant to dazzle, to distract.

But distractions only work if you let them.

I lifted my glass, letting the wine linger on my tongue before swallowing. The warmth of it spread through my chest, but it did nothing to ease the cold suspicion settling in my stomach.

"No one is important."

The memory of his words from the phone call resurfaced, as sharp as the moment they had left his lips.

A lie.

Or at least, not the truth.

I placed my glass down carefully, keeping my voice light. "How was your meeting today?"

Alex leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders slightly. "Which one?"

A calculated question. A way to gauge what I already knew before offering an answer.

I kept my expression neutral. "The one downtown. You said you had a client dinner after."

He nodded easily, reaching for his wine. "Right. Yeah, it went well. Just standard negotiations."

Something about the way he said it felt off. Too rehearsed. Too smooth.

I tilted my head. "Funny. I ran into Claire this afternoon."

Alex paused. It was barely noticeable, just a fraction of a second. But I caught it.

"Claire?" he repeated his tone even.

"Yeah," I said, swirling the wine in my glass. "She mentioned you canceled your meetings today. Said you weren't even in the office."

Silence stretched between us.

Then, a quiet chuckle. "You really do keep tabs on me, don't you?" His smile was charming, his tone playful, but his grip on his wine glass tightened slightly.

I smiled back. "Should I have to?"

His eyes met mine, sharp and unreadable.

A game.

This was becoming a game.

Alex sighed, setting his glass down and leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. "I wasn't in the office today because I had some personal things to take care of. Nothing serious, just errands."

"Errands."

He nodded, holding my gaze. "Yes. Is that a problem?"

I hesitated.

Not because his explanation made sense, but because it didn't.

Alex never ran errands. He had assistants for that. His time was scheduled down to the minute, and every part of his day was accounted for.

And yet, he wanted me to believe he had spent an entire workday doing mundane tasks?

I forced a small smile, leaning back. "Of course not."

Lies needed space to breathe. And right now, I was giving him all the space in the world.

Alex studied me, his fingers tapping against the base of his glass. He was waiting for me to push further, to dig.

But I wouldn't.

Not yet.

Instead, I changed tactics. I softened my voice and made my gaze look just curious enough without seeming accusatory.

"Alex," I murmured, "if I asked you something, would you be honest with me?"

For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't blink.

Then, slowly, he set his glass down and leaned in, his expression unreadable.

"Always."

A perfect answer.

A perfect lie.

I could feel my heart beating against my ribs, steady but loud. "Then tell me the truth."

He tilted his head slightly as if considering his next move. "About what?"

"About her."

I saw it—the flicker of something in his eyes.

Regret.

Or maybe just irritation that I wasn't letting this go.

But then, just like always, Alex recovered. He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "Sophia," he murmured, reaching across the table for my hand. "There is no 'her.'"

I didn't pull away, but I didn't relax either. "I heard you on the phone that night."

His grip on my fingers tightened just a little. "And I told you—it was no one important."

"But you sounded… different."

He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "I was handling something private. Work-related."

A half-truth.

A way to manipulate the conversation without outright lying.

Alex was good at this. He had always been good at this.

And for the first time, I wondered just how many times he had done it before.

I forced myself to nod slowly, pretending his words had reassured me. "Okay."

Relief flashed across his face, and he squeezed my hand. "Sophia, you mean everything to me. You know that, right?"

I swallowed.

God, I wanted to believe him.

I wanted to fall into the illusion he was building, to let myself sink into the warmth of his words and pretend nothing was wrong.

But illusions cracked.

And this one was already starting to splinter.

Later that night, as Alex slept beside me, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

Something was wrong.

Something had always been wrong.

I just hadn't let myself see it before.

But now?

Now, I couldn't look away.

And I had a feeling that once the truth came out—because it would come out—it wouldn't be something I could ignore.

No matter how much I wanted to.