The polished silence of Elijah Sinclair's office was a world I’d never been allowed into, even after two years of marriage. Now, clutching a folder of documents I was inexplicably tasked to deliver, I stepped inside.

My breath hitched. There, by his mahogany desk, was Elijah, his head close to Serena Foster’s blonde one, their shoulders almost touching. A familiar, sickening dread twisted in my gut. Serena, his ex-girlfriend, now an employee.

The folder slipped from my numb fingers, hitting the rich carpet with a dull thud. Their heads snapped up. Serena’s eyes, once friendly, now pierced me with a chilling hostility. "You remember Serena, right? She works here now," Elijah said, his voice flat. He introduced me to no one as his wife.

"Sophia, you look shaken up. Didn't you know Elijah hired me to work here?" Serena’s voice dripped with saccharine sweetness. "Apparently, we make a great team. Funny, I don't recall seeing you here before."

I felt a tremor of fury, but it was quickly overshadowed by despair. Elijah said nothing. As his secretary brought coffee, Serena’s eyes lit up when Elijah effortlessly recalled her exact preference: black, no sugar. My caffeine allergy, a simple detail, had always eluded him.

"Join us, Sophia," Serena invited, her grin devilish. "Just like how we used to hang out together in college." I managed a choked, "I have to go." My heart heavy, I fled, the stark reality of my invisible marriage crushing me.