I nodded, pretending to inspect the living room while my mind raced. If I confronted her now, she’d scream. If I called Ethan out, he’d lie. I needed to know how far this went.
“So,” I asked casually, “how long have you two been married?”
She laughed. “Married? No, but we’re engaged. The ring’s being resized.”
The hallway spun.
She led me toward the bedroom, chatting about renovation plans. On the dresser sat a framed photo—Ethan and her at the beach. Dated last summer. That was when he’d told me he was on a work retreat.
The bathroom door opened. Steam poured out.
Ethan’s voice followed. “Babe, did you—”
He stopped when he saw me.
For a split second, his face emptied of color. Then it filled with calculation.
“Oh,” he said quickly. “You’re early.”
The woman turned to him, confused. “Honey? You know the realtor?”
