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I push my cart forward, forcing Benjamin to step aside or get hit. My legs feel like jelly but I force them to move, to carry me away from him. The produce section blurs past as I abandon my shopping, heading straight for the exit.

"Monica, wait!" His voice carries through the store.

My pace quickens. The wheels of my cart squeak against the linoleum floor as I weave between other shoppers. I don't dare look back to see if he's following. The memory of his controlling behavior, his manipulation, crashes over me in waves.

The automatic doors can't open fast enough. I burst into the parking lot, the evening air hitting my face. My hands tremble as I fumble for my keys. Where did I park? Everything looks different now, warped by panic.

Row C. Spot 42. I remember now.

I practically run to my car. I slide into the driver's seat and lock the doors. Only then do I allow myself to look around.

No sign of Benjamin. But that doesn't stop my heart from racing or my breath from coming in short gasps. I grip the steering wheel, trying to ground myself.

How did he find me? The market isn't even in his usual neighborhood. The coincidence feels too convenient, especially with his comments about my marriage to Henry.

I start the engine with shaking hands. The familiar purr does nothing to calm my nerves. I'm safe now, I know I am, but my body is still taking a moment to catch up. As I pull out of the parking spot, my eyes dart between mirrors, checking everyangle. No one follows me out of the lot, but the dread in my stomach remains.

The pasta dinner I'd planned for Henry will have to wait. Right now, I just need to get home. Need to feel safe again. But Benjamin's words echo in my head, poisoning what should have been a simple grocery run with doubt and fear.

18

HENRY

Irip off my tie as I step out of the elevator onto Monica's floor, my briefcase heavy after a long day of meetings. The scent of her cooking usually greets me, but tonight the penthouse is silent and dark. Strange.

"Monica?" My voice echoes through the space as I set down my briefcase and shrug off my suit jacket.

A shape moves on the couch, backlit by the city lights streaming through the windows. Monica sits curled up, a wine glass dangling from her fingers.

"Hey." Her voice comes out soft, distant.

I cross the room and crouch beside her. "What's going on? Why are you sitting here in the dark?"

"Just thinking." She takes another sip of wine. "How were the meetings?"

"Fuck the meetings." I reach for the lamp but she catches my wrist.

"Don't. I like it dark right now."

The city twinkles behind her like scattered diamonds, but her expression remains hidden in shadow. My chest tightens. Thisisn't like her at all - Monica's usually a force of nature, filling every room with her energy.

"Talk to me." I settle onto the couch beside her. "What's got you drinking alone in the dark?"

"Nothing really. Just one of those days, you know?" She swirls the wine in her glass. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually good enough for any of this."

"Any of what?"

"This life. Being Mrs. Blackwood. Running my own restaurant." She lets out a hollow laugh. "Sometimes I feel like I'm just playing pretend and eventually everyone's going to figure it out."

I shift closer, my arm brushing against hers. The vulnerability in her voice hits me like a punch to the gut. "Monica..." I lower myself down to her level, kneeling down next to her. "What happened? Something has you acting this way and I want to know what."

Monica draws a shaky breath. "I wanted to make you that pasta dish you mentioned last week. The one with the fresh herbs and cherry tomatoes."

My heart clenches at the tremor in her voice.

"But when I got to the store..." She sets down her wine glass with an unsteady hand. "Benjamin was there. He just...appeared in the produce section while I was picking out some ingreidnets."

My jaw tightens at his name. That fucking piece of shit.