Chapter 4
The next evening, at a quarter to eight, I stood downstairs at Chloe’s apartment building.
In my hand was a bottle of Bordeaux from two thousand fifteen. It was the vintage Claire loved most, and the same year we first met.
Ironically, it had originally been meant for our wedding anniversary.
As the elevator rose, I kept replaying what happened after I got home last night.
Claire, wearing the silk nightgown I had given her, sat on the sofa flipping through bridal magazines.
She looked up and smiled at me so naturally it felt as if that hotel photo had never existed.
“You’re back? How is Chloe?” Claire set the magazine aside and walked barefoot to take my coat.
I studied her refined face, searching for even a trace of guilt. “She drank too much. Said some nonsense.”
Claire’s fingers paused on my tie. “What nonsense.”
“Nothing important,” I brushed it off lightly, then noticed her engagement ring was gone. “Where’s your ring.”
“Oh.” She glanced at her bare finger. “I took it off while cooking and forgot to put it back on.”
It was a perfectly reasonable explanation—only if I had not seen the same ring on Ryan’s hand.
When he served soup earlier, the faint mark on his left ring finger matched Claire’s exactly. They were clearly a pair.
The doorbell rang once before it opened. It was as though Chloe had been waiting behind it.
She wore a black silk slip dress. Her hair was loosely pinned up, a few strands falling along her neck, eerily similar to Claire’s usual style.
“I knew you’d come.” Chloe took the wine bottle. Her fingers deliberately brushed mine.
The apartment was small but tastefully arranged. A few embroidered cushions were scattered across the white sofa, and scented candles were lit on the coffee table.
Jasmine—Claire’s favorite scent.
The entire space felt like a careful imitation of her sister’s taste, yet laced with something more provocative.
“Sit.” Chloe poured two glasses of wine and handed me one. “I know you have questions.”
I went straight to it. “That photo. What is it about.”
Chloe took a sip of wine, leaving a faint lipstick mark on the rim. “I thought you’d ask about their engagement first.”
“I already know about that,” I lied smoothly. “Five years ago, before Ryan went abroad.”
Chloe let out a soft chuckle. “That’s what my sister told you.”
She set her glass down and pulled an envelope from the coffee‑table drawer. “Look at this.”
Inside was a stack of photos.
The top one showed Claire and Ryan kissing against a sunset in Santorini. The date read September last year.
That was when Claire told me she was attending an industry summit in the capital.
My fingers turned the photos one by one. They dined together in restaurants, leaned into each other in cinemas, and one was even taken beneath the cherry blossom tree where I proposed.
The timestamp was only one week before my proposal.
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