“Work emergency,” he said. Madison nodded as if she believed him, but her eyes had dimmed. Now those cracks cracks he ignored spread wide and undeniable in his memory. Every moment she tried to connect, every time he pushed her away, every soft plea, every quiet surrender, he ran a hand through his hair, frustration burning under his skin.
“She wouldn’t just leave,” he muttered to himself. “Someone got to her. Someone’s manipulating her.” He couldn’t accept the truth that he was the reason. He stood up abruptly, pacing the room. His mind raced through names, co-workers, acquaintances, neighbors. Who would Madison trust enough to run to? She was private, cautious, she didn’t open up easily, and she had no family in New York unless Logan froze as a name crept into his thoughts.
Unwelcome, and sharp Ethan Marshall. Ethan, the CEO with too much influence, too much charm. Ethan, who once complimented Madison’s design work at a corporate function in a way Logan never appreciated. Ethan, who lingered a beat too long when Madison spoke. Ethan, who had everything Logan feared losing, power, respect, and a moral compass. People admired.
“No,” Logan whispered. But the doubt dug in deeper. “Had Madison reached out to Ethan? Had he helped her disappear?” The possibility noded at him, lighting a cold fury in his chest. If Ethan had inserted himself into Logan’s marriage, into Logan’s life, it wouldn’t just be betrayal, it would be war.
And Logan had no idea he was already losing. By the time the sun fully climbed over Manhattan, Logan was no longer angry. He was obsessed. He tore through the apartment like a man hunting ghosts. Every drawer, every closet, every forgotten corner. But the more he searched for clues, the more he realized how much he’d missed while Madison was still here.
He hadn’t expected to find her journal on the top shelf of the bedroom closet, tucked behind a stack of blankets. The brown leather cover was soft, worn down, clearly touched everyday. He hesitated before opening it, but curiosity overpowered guilt, something he rarely felt anyway. The handwriting on the first page hit him like a punch.
I don’t recognize my husband anymore. He flipped to another entry. He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t look at me. I’m terrified to bring this child into a life where I feel invisible. The air went thin again, like someone had pressed a fist against his chest. He turned more pages, each one sharper than the last. I think he’s lying. I think he’s seeing someone.
I smelled perfume on him tonight. It wasn’t mine. I cried in the shower so he wouldn’t hear. Entry after entry, months of quiet suffering, laid bare what he had refused to see. But one message stood out, circled three times. Why is Sabrina calling him this late? The date was from two months ago. His stomach churned.
she had known, or at least suspected, long before the night she left, and she wrote something even moredamning a few pages later. I tried calling Ethan for advice. He didn’t pick up, but his assistant said he’d return my message. Logan froze. Ethan again. The thought of Madison reaching out to another man, even out of despair, sent a hot, acidic jealousy coursing through him.
He slammed the journal shut, pacing like a cornered animal. Ethan Marshall was wealthy, respected, and every inch the man Logan wished he could be. If Ethan wanted to turn Madison against him, it would be effortless, and Madison was vulnerable enough for someone like Ethan to swoop in, comfort her, protect her, maybe even love her. The idea twisted Logan’s insides.
