But here we were, five years later, and his promises had turned to ash.
When I returned to the room, Ethan was all composed on the sofa. There were no women around him.
The dancer was still on stage, though. Her flushed face and slightly disheveled camisole were the only hints of what had happened while I was gone.
If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed that the Ethan I knew—the one who always seemed so polished, so proper—could cross a line like that. And this wasn’t even his first time.
Five years of marriage, and I’d been the only one holding on to our vows like a fool.
“Claire, what took you so long? You okay?” Ethan asked, his brows furrowed in concern. He reached for my hand and checked my forehead like a fragile doll.
The cloying scent of perfume on his hand hit me hard. My stomach churned, and I instinctively pulled away, covering my nose.
“Claire!” Ethan’s voice was sharp, almost panicked. “Are you nauseous? Do we need to go to the hospital?”
I shook my head, feeling the bile rise.
“That perfume,” I murmured. “It’s disgusting.”
For a moment, Ethan looked like a deer caught in headlights. Then he chuckled nervously. “Oh, that? The guys were fooling around earlier and invited the dancer over for a drink.”
He leaned in, his eyes steady, as if he was trying to convince me—or maybe himself. “I kept my distance, though. Didn’t want her getting too close. Heck, I even tipped her to keep things professional.”
His tone was so sincere that the old me might've believed him.
“That’s right, Claire,” one of his buddies chimed in, grinning like he was Ethan's biggest fan. “Your husband's a stand-up guy. Brings you along everywhere, doesn’t even give other women the time of day!”
“Yeah, Ethan’s a role model,” another friend chimed in. “Modern-day Prince Charming, seriously!”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I glanced over at the dancer. Her camisole was barely hanging on, and she looked just as embarrassed as I felt.
Someone in the group, quicker on their feet, cracked a joke to break the tension. He even slapped his cheek in mock shame, which earned some forced laughter from the others.
But no amount of joking could erase what I had seen—or what I knew.
CLAIRE'S POV
"I'm sorry! I really messed up with what I said. That was out of line, Claire," one of Ethan's friends exclaimed, dramatically slapping his wrist as if to punish himself.