CHAPTER 1:THE PERFECT LIFE

Perfection is always the lie you tell yourself before everything burns.”

I used to believe I had it all.

The career, the man, the apartment with a view so high I could almost convince myself I’d earned the skyline. Every morning, I woke up to sunlight spilling across six hundred-thread-count sheets and the scent of expensive cologne lingering on his pillow.

That was the first red flag. The cologne always stayed. Even when he didn’t.

But back then, I ignored signs the way rich people ignore price tags—casually, confidently, and with dangerous ease.

Because I had the perfect life.

Or so it looked.

I padded barefoot into the kitchen, still wearing the oversized shirt Xander liked to steal from my drawer. The countertops gleamed like something out of a Pinterest board, and the coffee machine hissed softly as it filled my favorite mug—one he’d bought me during our honeymoon. It said “Mrs. Vale” in cursive gold.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Xander: Meeting at 9. Dinner tonight? I’ll make it up to you.

No emoji. No apology. Just that vague, dangling carrot.

“Make it up to me,” I repeated out loud, sipping my coffee. “Right.”

Last night had been our second anniversary dinner—another one missed. Another “urgent meeting” that left me staring at filet mignon by candlelight like a ghost bride.

Still, I typed back.

Raven: Sure. Pick me up at 7?

Read. No reply.

I let out a soft breath and turned toward the window. The city looked golden, bathed in morning light. From this height, everything felt small. Manageable.

Even the cracks in my marriage.

Especially those.

---

The rest of the morning was a blur of motion—calls, emails, a last-minute client pitch I barely had time to prep for. I was head of branding for Aurum Agency, the fastest-growing luxury firm in the city, which basically meant I spent most of my life selling other people’s dreams while ignoring the fact that mine were slowly dying.

But again—perfect life.

I smiled at all the right people, nailed the presentation, and even managed to dodge my least favorite intern’s third coffee spill of the week. My assistant, Joy, followed me out of the boardroom with two lattes and a face full of gossip.

“Did you hear?” she whispered, handing me my drink. “The board’s planning a major merger. Like top secret stuff. Multi-billion-dollar deal. They’re meeting with the other company today.”

“Which company?” I asked, distracted as I flipped through my planner.

She leaned in, eyes gleaming. “No one knows. But word is, it’s someone big. As in, global big.”

I didn’t think twice about it then. Just nodded, sipped my latte, and filed the conversation under not my problem.

If only I’d paid more attention.

If only I’d known who that “someone big” really was.

---

Back home, I took a long shower, letting the water scald away the stress. Then I stood in front of my closet for twenty minutes trying to decide what to wear to dinner with my husband.

Funny how marriage worked. You’d think after two years, I’d stop trying so hard to impress him. But Xander was the kind of man who made you feel like being beautiful was a competition you had to keep winning—even if you’d already won him.

I chose a crimson silk dress. Not because it was his favorite, but because it used to be mine. Before everything got complicated.

At 7:06, my phone buzzed again.

Xander: Running late. Go ahead and order for me. You know what I like.

The hostess gave me a pitying look when I asked for a table for two and walked me to the same window seat we always requested. City lights glittered outside. Romance dripped from the atmosphere. And I sat there, alone, in a red dress with no one to appreciate it.

When the waiter asked if I wanted to start with drinks, I smiled and said yes.

“I’ll have the cabernet,” I said. “And he’ll have the same. If he shows up.”

He didn’t.

Not even after the appetizer. Not after the entrée. Not after the second glass of wine.

It wasn’t until the dessert tray rolled by that I gave up and checked my phone again.

Nothing.

I paid the bill, walked out into the night, and called the one person who still knew how to talk me off the ledge.

“Maya,” I said as soon as she picked up, “if I don’t talk to someone who actually gives a damn about my existence, I’m going to throw my phone into traffic and start a new life in Fiji.”

“Traffic’s a little heavy tonight,” she said dryly. “Might miss your shot.”

“Xander bailed. Again.”

I heard her sigh. “You want my honest reaction or my friend reaction?”

“Give me both.”

“Friend reaction: he’s an idiot and I’d like permission to run him over. Honest reaction: you’re not stupid, Rae. You’ve been seeing the signs for months. You just don’t want to admit what they mean.”

I swallowed hard. “And what do they mean?”

“That the perfect life you think you’re living? It’s not yours anymore. He just hasn’t bothered to tell you.

The apartment was dark when I got back. But there was something strange about the silence. Heavy. Off.

I kicked off my heels, stepped inside—and froze.

A suitcase stood by the door.

And next to it, on the marble entry table, was a single envelope with my name on it.

No card. No flowers. Just an envelope.

My hands trembled as I opened it.

Inside, in clean, precise handwriting, were six words that shattered everything:

“I filed for divorce. I’m sorry.”