He nods and steps into the downpour.

  After watching him rush inside, I shut my eyes and pretend that tonight’s ending has a different trajectory. That maybe, in some alternate universe, the man I chased all the way to his home caught up to my window before I backed away.

  In that prettier reality, he yanked my door open and demanded answers. Then he pulled me out to kiss me without permission, using his perfectly defined mouth to taste all the words I struggled to say.

  His face appears in my mind again, clear as day, as he’s the type of beautiful that a person never forgets.

  I wonder if he saw my face…

  “Do you think he saw your face?” Nate’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I realize he’s back, placing our to-go bags at my feet.

  “What?” I look at him. “Who?”

  “Mr. Lauren, our old neighbor with the cats.” He nods to an elderly man who is smoking by the door. “Do you think he remembers you?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I barely remember him.”

  Nate turns off the hazard lights, but he doesn’t pull out of the lot. Instead, he leans over and tucks a few strands of hair behind my ear.

  “I would like us to talk about something important, Autumn,” he says. “I think we both know how difficult a conversation it will be, but I guess it’s inevitable.”

  So, he wants a divorce, too? Good.

  “Well, maybe we can talk about handling the legal stuff sometime this week?”

  “There shouldn’t be any legal stuff.” He shrugs. “This is pretty clear-cut to me.”

  Confused, I raise my eyebrow. “What exactly do you want us to talk about?”

  “Having a baby.”

  My jaw doesn’t have time to drop to the floor.

  “I think it could fulfill you,” he says. “It’ll also keep you busy at home. You seem to need something to do with your free time…”

  The whiplash between possibly escaping this dead marriage and carrying his child is too much for me to process at once. There’s no way he can’t tell that our relationship is hanging by a thread, that it would take years of change to spin our lives into a new story that doesn’t need to be written.

  Unless this is all in my head, after all… No, it can’t be.

  “I still have love for you, Autumn.” He cups my face in his hands, and what was left of my world falls off its axis. “We should finish this talk tomorrow.”

  He presses a kiss against my forehead and finally drives—taking the long way home.

  As if we’re young-and-dumb-in-love again, he stops at an ice-cream shop to buy a pint of my favorite flavor: Pralines ’N Cream. He even requests two bright pink spoons.

  “I guess I should get used to making night runs for sweets, huh?” he asks, smiling.

  Somehow, I tuck my shock and confusion under my tongue and force a laugh.

  When we make it home, he eats his dinner in front of the living room television.

  I stuff mine into the back of the refrigerator.

  Stripping down to my panties, I crawl under our cold sheets, hoping that when I wake up, this night will all be a dream.

  As I roll over to turn off the lamp, my phone sounds against the nightstand with a ringtone I only hear once every blue moon.

  My mother.

  She and I haven’t spoken since the day of my wedding, when she called me crying and told me that she and my father weren’t coming.

  They never even boarded the plane.

  Although the memory of that day still hurts, it hurts even worse to admit that she was right…

  I grab my phone and unlock the screen, finding myself face to face with the same message she sends on my birthday, year after year.

  Mom: Happy birthday, Autumn. I love you to the moon and back & I always will. Hope Nate is treating you well, and I’m so damn sorry. I was wrong. I also hope that one day you’ll call me back and forgive me…

  I save her message and fall asleep with tears in my eyes.

  The following morning, I awake to the sound of lapping waters. Not the relaxing kind, though.

  These waters are choppy and inconsistent, and for some reason, they sound as if they’re coming from our bedroom.

  Opening my eyes, I see Nate’s head bobbing between my legs.

  What the…

  “Your sweet kitten tastes so good, babe.” He’s licking me like a dehydrated dog. “It also tastes… fertile.”

  I don’t give him a series of fake moans this time; I can’t.

  Instead, I shut my eyes and try to convince myself that this man is the same man who once bragged about how sex with him would change my life.

  “Damn… You’re still so tight.” He continues, slipping his fingers in and out of me, poking and prodding my pussy for approval. “Guess I should stretch you out as much as I can… Nine months from now, we may not have the chance to do this.”

  Oh, fuck that…

  Against my better judgment, and to avoid any further conversations about a baby, I give in and gift him the fake moans.

  An overabundant supply.

  When I’m finally “Oh my goddd, there,” I tell him I’m exhausted so he can run off to work and I can think alone in peace.

  In the evening, I drive to Target for an escape.

  I push the red cart through the aisles, filling it with things that will undoubtedly earn a place in my trash can months from now.

  As I’m deciding which boxed wine I want, my phone sounds with a new call.

  Julie.

  Ugh. I meant to block you yesterday. “Hello?” I answer.

  “Oh, my god! I’m surprised you answered!”

  That makes two of us. “What’s going on?”

  “I know you’re in the middle of something good, so I just wanted to say that I love when people take my advice. I’m so happy you’re listening to me.”

  She’s delusional, but I can’t help biting her bait. “What the hell are you talking about, Julie?”

  “Okay, fine. Don’t give me any credit.” She laughs. “My hairdresser saw Nate getting you Outback to-go last night, and this woman I do Pilates with says she just saw you two walk inside Odette’s for their dark masquerade ball. She said Nate looks amazing and your mask is gorgeous.”

  What? The hairs on the back of my neck stand at full attention. “Odette’s?”

  “I’ve always wanted to get an invitation or know someone high up enough to party there,” she says. “Lucky you, huh?”

  I say nothing.

  Thousands of thoughts are running through my mind, and I can’t catch any of them. I’m still chasing the ones from yesterday.

  “Anyway, I don’t want to hold you up. Call and tell me about it later? Maybe we’ll have another lunch at Juniper Cafe?”

  I remain silent, and she ends the call as a cashier’s voice comes over the store’s speakers.

  “I need a price check on lane five! A price check on lane five!”

  Leaving my overloaded cart in the wine aisle, I rush out of the store and slip behind the wheel of my car.

  I turn off the warning alerts for speeding and head toward the highway.

  I don’t want to risk thinking logically at all during this drive…

  End of Episode 3

  Episode 4

  Autumn

  It’s nine o’clock by the time I make it to Odette’s.

  The front entrance is teeming with men in bright red tuxedo jackets and security guards who are double-checking guests’ invitations and enforcing the “valet only” and “private party” rules.

  From what I remember, thanks to the only night that Nate ever brought me here, this annual masquerade ball is only hosted by an A-list celebrity, a Fortune 500 company, or someone from the wealthy elite. Most of the budget is spent on surveillance and protection, and it’s impossible to get anywhere near the event without special clearance.

  Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I drive to the east-side entrance, finding another barrier. Yet another private setup for valet, another hive for red tuxedos.

  The scene is the same on the west and the south, and suddenly, my grand delusion of barging inside to confront my husband crumbles to pieces.

  Is he bold enough to cheat on me publicly? Would he really do that to me?

  Those questions replay in my mind as I circle the building, and I realize that I can’t let them survive unanswered. I can’t let him touch or talk to me again until I know for sure.

  It’s not until I see a group of men standing outside in white chef coats when I decide to take a chance.

  Pulling on a pair of oversized sunglasses after parking, I grab my purse and approach them.

  “You’re on the wrong side, lady!” One of the men lights a cigarette. “The entrance is further ahead!”

  “I think she’s in the wrong place.” Another guy coughs. “She’s definitely not dressed for this occasion.”

  “I’m exactly where I should be.” I keep my voice firm since I have nothing to lose. “If I needed to borrow one of your coats to get inside, how much would that cost me?”

  Silence.

  They stare at me for a long time, and then they fall into a fit of laughter.

  “I’m not joking,” I say, trying again. “How much to borrow one of your coats for a few minutes?”

  No response.

  They render me invisible and dispatch my presence away by turning their backs—returning to a world where I don’t exist.

  Sighing, I head back to my car. I’m willing to sit across the street all night and wait for Nate to emerge red-handed if it comes down to it.

  “Five hundred dollars,” a deep voice suddenly says from behind, making me spin around.

  “What?”

  “Seven hundred if you want my matching beret.” A young guy holds out his coat. “What’s it going to be?”

  “Both.”

  He holds out his hand for the money. “My break is over in like forty minutes, so you’ll need to bring this shit right back. If you get caught by security, I’m telling them you stole everything, and they’ll definitely press charges.”

  Without considering the consequences, I rummage around in my bag and hand him the bills.

  After counting them twice, he motions for me to follow him inside.

  “The masquerade lounge is on the twenty-ninth floor,” he says, leading me through a busy kitchen, then an even busier prep room. “The masquerade ball is on the thirtieth.”

  “What’s the difference between the two?” I ask as he ushers me into a freight elevator.

  “Seems like you should already know that.” He hits the top button and the doors shut, sending the car up at a frantic speed.

  When the doors glide open on twenty-nine, they reveal a cracked grey wall and nothing more.

  Confused, I step out and follow the soft sound of laughter and clinking glasses. Right as I’m approaching a stairwell, a man in a red tuxedo rounds the corner.

  Shit.

  “May I help you, Miss Junior Chef?” he asks.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “You can’t be. You’re in a restricted area for guests when you should be serving or cooking in one of the kitchens.” His voice is flat. “You’re also wearing unauthorized sunglasses. Bring me your staff badge.”

  “The guy didn’t let me borrow his badge.”

  “What?” He narrows his eyes. “What did you say?”

  I don’t answer or attempt to explain. I rush back to the elevator as fast as I can and punch the ‘close door’ button like my life depends on it.

  Thankfully, there’s no hesitation in the doors shutting, but I can hear the guy’s heavy footsteps echoing in the hall before the car rises to the top level.

  When the doors open this time, I’m instantly welcomed into a world that still looks as spellbinding as it did when I first experienced it years ago.

  The dimly lit room is draped in velvet-curtained walls, accented with shiny silver chandeliers that hang high above its marble floors.

  A full symphony orchestra, dressed in all-white, plays at center stage, serenading the room of masked guests with a beautiful overture I vividly remember playing in high school.

  It takes ten seconds for me to place the notes and remember precisely where they fall on the sheet.

  Libertango by Astor Piazzolla.

  My fingers are suddenly itching to handle a bow—to return to when times were simpler—as I slowly move around in search of Nate.

  He’s not holding up the wall or chatting with the other businessmen, and for a moment, I feel foolish for ever letting Julie send me on this wild goose chase.

  I’m definitely blocking her number tonight.

  My eyes roam the room again, and just as I’m about to abandon my search, I spot him.

  I spot him being the exact opposite of the ‘husband’ he is to me.

  He’s the masked man at the center of the dance floor, the very man who is stealing everyone’s attention while he holds another woman in his arms.

  I can’t believe this shit.

  I dissolve into the walls for several seconds, watching as he seductively sways her to the strings, taking in every frame of this scene.

  He’s dressed in an immaculate black suit and matching leather shoes—the same outfit he wore for my “birthday dinner”—and his date is dazzling the audience in a champagne-colored gown that clings to her hips.

  Possessively gripping her waist, he keeps his eyes locked on hers between every twirl. She smiles whenever he pulls her body against his chest, whenever he teases her lips with a gentle kiss.

  From the cherry-red stain that’s sitting on the edge of his collar to the way her perfectly manicured fingers are digging into his neck, it’s clear that they’re fucking. They’ve been fucking.

  It’s also clear from the length of this woman’s dark brown curls and her petite, curvy frame that anyone who knows “us” would probably assume that she is me.

  So, he’s beyond bold.

  During the interlude, Nate slips his tongue between her lips and claims her mouth for what feels like hours, and I’m unable to watch anymore.

  I can’t stomach another second.

  Unsure how to feel, I follow the signs for the restroom and splash my face with water.

  Don’t you dare make a scene right now, Autumn. Be strategic and think this through.

  As I’m grabbing a dry cloth, the golden-dressed mistress steps into the room. She takes her place at the sink next to me, so close that I can touch the pearls of her necklace.

  Pulling down her feathered mask, her green eyes meet mine in the mirror.

  “Hi.” She smiles. “I mean, good evening.”

  “Good evening.” I don’t return the joy.

  There’s no glint of recognition in her irises, no glimmer of shame or remorse.

  She has no idea who the hell I am…

  I search for something else to say, but my breath is cut short as she lays her mini wallet against the porcelain. Her driver’s license is face up in the plastic, the words “Under 21 until” scream at me in red.

  “Are you enjoying the party?” I barely manage.

  “Yeah. All the food that your team has brought out to serve has been wonderful, especially the chocolate-covered truffles.” Her cheeks flush pink, and she shakes her head. “Wait, sorry. My boyfriend told me to never take off my mask or talk to anyone while I’m here. You won’t tell him about this, will you?”

  “No,” I say. “I won’t tell your boyfriend anything.”

  “Thank you, Miss.”

  “You’re welcome.” I watch as she applies another layer of mascara to her eyelashes, as she treats her puffy lips to a fresh coat of unwitting sin.

  After she readjusts her mask and heads to the door, I pull out my phone to call Nate.

  Even though I’m standing knee-deep in the evidence, I want a final confirmation before rendering the verdict.

  It rings once.

  It rings twice.

  “Hello?” he answers.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.” He pauses. “What’s going on?”

  “I wanted to know if you were working late tonight.”

  “I am,” he says. “I’m currently out with a client. Would you like me to get you something on my way home?”

  “A fresh pint of Pralines ’N Cream would be nice.”

  “Done. I’ll see you at home.”

  “See you at home.”

  Before I can figure out my next move, a loud knock comes at the door.

  “This is security!” a deep voice bellows. “My apologies for interrupting, but I need to step inside to check on something.”

  Dammit.

  I look around for an exit door and spot a closet. Slipping inside of it, I wiggle behind a tall stack of boxes. Then I notice another handle inside.

  Twisting and pushing it as hard as I can, it gives way, and I find myself facing a wall of mirrors. Another row of sinks.

  What the…

  Confused, I turn around. And before I can pick up my fallen sunglasses or make sense of where I am in this building, I realize that I’m standing directly in front of the man I followed home the other night.

  Mister R.

  I suck in a slow breath as his eyes meet mine, and the entire balance of the room shifts in his favor.

  Unlike everyone else here, he’s not wearing anything over his face, and as strikingly beautiful as he is in his dark grey suit and tie, all I can focus on are his eyes.

  They’re a deep shade of ocean blue with soft flecks of winter grey and they’re pinning me to the spot, rendering me utterly useless.

  He says nothing for several moments, eyeing me intently as he moves closer, so close that his chest nearly brushes against mine.

  My heart races against my chest as he looks me up and down, as his lips slowly part.

  “Do I need to file a restraining order?” he asks, his voice deep.

  “What?” His question catches me entirely off guard.

  “It’s quite clear that you’re stalking me,” he says. “And I’d like to hear why.”

  “I’m not—” I notice the dimple in his right cheek deepening. “I’ve never seen you a day before in my life.”