Chapter 1

Three years of marriage, and I thought my husband, Sergio, and I were perfect.

I worked as an elementary school teacher, and Sergio was a product manager at a smart home tech company.

That afternoon, school let out early. I gave Sergio a call and asked him to pick me up on his way home.

His black Audi pulled up quickly. I opened the passenger door and slid in, a practiced routine.

"Hey, babe. Hard day?" Sergio smiled, handing me a steaming cup of coffee. "What do you want for dinner tonight?"

I took the cup, about to answer, but my body suddenly froze.

Something was wrong. The seat position was off.

I’m only 5'4". I always keep the passenger seat pulled all the way forward so I can reach the dashboard to set my phone down.

But right now, the backrest was tilted way back, and the seat itself had been pushed back at least four inches.

"Did you move my passenger seat?" I turned to look at Sergio.

"Huh?"

Sergio blinked, then tapped the steering wheel as if suddenly remembering.

"Oh, right. Eric rode with me the day before yesterday. He probably adjusted it. You know how tall he is. He definitely wouldn't fit in your usual spot."

Eric. Sergio’s childhood best friend. At 6'1", he would indeed be cramped in my seat.

The explanation was perfectly logical. But a voice inside my head whispered—no, it’s not.

Sergio and I had been together for five years. He had one rule he never broke: Eric always sat in the back.

Sergio used to say the passenger seat was my exclusive spot. No matter how close he was with his friends, they sat in the back.

Eric even used to tease us about it, saying I demanded VIP treatment.

"Since when does Eric sit shotgun?" I kept my voice casual.

"His car was in the shop on Tuesday, and I picked him up to go talk about a potential partnership," Sergio said, driving smoothly. His tone was incredibly natural.

"It was just the two of us. He couldn't exactly sit in the back like I was his Uber driver, right?"

It made sense. It made total sense.

But wait. Didn't I remember Eric driving his white BMW to pick us up for dinner just last weekend?

"What happened to his car?" I took a sip of my coffee, acting indifferent.

"Transmission issues, I think," Sergio replied quickly.

I nodded and said nothing more.

The car fell silent, save for the occasional chime of the GPS.

I stared at the city streets rolling past, my mind racing.

A broken transmission takes at least three to five days to fix in a shop.

Tuesday was two days ago. Today was Thursday.

Even if Eric's car really broke down, did the timeline actually add up?

And then there was the seat. I pressed my hand against the leather backrest. It still felt faintly warm.

I inhaled gently. There was a faint scent in the air—not my usual jasmine perfume, but a stronger, sweeter citrus note.

Not many men wore that kind of scent. Eric certainly didn't.

He was a rugged guy who always smelled of cheap cologne and tobacco.

"Sergio," I said suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Where did you and Eric go for that meeting on Tuesday?"

Sergio’s fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel. It was a tiny gesture, but I caught it.

"The tech park over in Silicon Valley," he said. "A new startup. Eric wanted to get me in on the investment."

"How did it go?"

"Still thinking about it."

Sergio turned and smiled at me. "It’s a big investment. I need to do more research."

We stopped at a red light.

I looked down and noticed the glove compartment was slightly ajar. Peeking out from the gap was a pink hair tie.

I never used pink hair ties.

All of mine were black or dark navy, neatly arranged on my vanity at home.

My heart began to thud violently against my ribs.

"What's this?" I picked up the hair tie, my voice trembling slightly.