But it was all a waiting game. We stacked up evidence and laid low.
Ariana and I never spoke in person. Nathan had ripped her from Sweet Dreams, and there was no reason for me to see her before the party. Those late-night calls whispered into darkness were our only lifeline.
And God, the distance was killing me.
After that night with her, being apart felt like punishment, like torture, like I’d been given something holy only to have it ripped away again. Every instinct in me screamed to touch her, to pull her back into my arms, to remind her she wasn’t alone.
But patience was the price we had to pay to win.
There were so many ways this could go wrong, but if it went right…
It’ll all be over soon, I promised her.Just hold on a little longer.
We were setting him up perfectly. Every step was documented. Every angle was covered. If it worked — and I had to believe it would — Nathan would be gone without ever touching her again, without risking my job, without giving him a single thread to pull.
It was killing me to wait.
But some endings are worth the patience.
And this one would be final.
Happy Birthday
Ariana
Present
I’d learned a lot about playing my part when it came to my husband, and if there was one lesson that stuck, it was that the more convincing I was, the less he questioned me.
So I leaned into the version of myself Nathan expected.
I was gracious and polished, hanging on his arm at work events and keeping the house running smoothly. I convinced him I was focused on ribbons and place settings and the logistics of hosting a December birthday. I fussed over the tree in our living room, adjusting ornaments and lights and leaning into Nathan’s side as we admired it.
I pretended I wasn’t listening when he took calls in the next room.
But I was always listening.
I ached for Shane. I longed for even one stolen moment with him. I imagined going to the arena under the guise of bringing Nathan lunch just to orchestrate a secret meeting with Shane, to steal away in a hidden hallway and feel his hands on me, his lips searing mine.
But it was too dangerous, and there was too much on the line to take such risks.
So, I stayed the course. I reminded myself what was at stake, what could be mine in the end if I remained focused. Shane and I snuck late-night, whispered conversations when we could, when Nathan was out of the house, or when I could get away for a girls’ night.
Otherwise, we were both focused on the task at hand.
The house glowed with warm light three days before my birthday party, the Christmas lights surrounding our space and making it feel soft and safe. If I weren’t masquerading in my own personal hell, I might have truly felt it. Garland wrapped along our banister. Our Christmas cards were half enveloped and stamped on the kitchen counter, waiting to be mailed.
I busied myself with those envelopes, writing each name and address in perfect script. Nathan thought the AirPods in my ears were playing an audiobook.
He had no idea they were hooked up to a recording device I’d hidden in his office.
“I told you that money was supposed to clear before the end of the quarter.” A pause. “No, don’t spin it back to me. If it doesn’t move by Friday, we have a problem.”
My pulse ticked faster, but my movements didn’t change.
He was angry. And when he was angry, he was careless.
“You don’t get to decide what I’m exposed to,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “That organization exists because I allow it to. If I need it to absorb a transfer, it does. End of discussion.”
