Eira hadn't slept.
Not because she was haunted.
But because she was wide awake for the first time in years.
Callen had fallen asleep next to her, his arm draped over her waist, breath slow, even—safe. But Eira knew better.
Safety was a fantasy.
Especially when your husband was the one dragging the knife behind your back.
She quietly slipped out of bed, gathered her things, and stepped barefoot onto the cold studio floor.
Her body ached. But not from sex.From shedding a skin she'd worn too long.
—
7:22 A.M. – Vaughn Penthouse
Julian was home.
Wearing a white dress shirt, no tie, reading emails like he hadn't shattered everything sacred.
"Morning," he said without looking up.
"Is it?" she asked, closing the door behind her.
He looked at her then.
Saw the mess. The swollen lips. The creased clothes.
His jaw twitched.
"Where were you?"
"Out."
"With who?"
Eira walked to the kitchen, poured herself coffee.
"I didn't realize we were asking those kinds of questions now."
Note: This verbal sparring is a form of "emotional chess," common in toxic marriages. Both players know the truth, but the game is in how long they pretend they don't.
Julian followed her. "Eira."
She turned slowly. "Yes, darling?"
"Are you cheating on me?"
Silence stretched between them.
She took a long sip.
"Are you?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't deny.
Didn't apologize.
Just stood there, arms crossed, like this was a boardroom negotiation.
"I made a mistake," he said finally.
"Which one?" she asked. "F*cking Naomi? Lying to me? Or assuming I'd never find out?"
Julian's mask cracked for a second—just enough to reveal something darker beneath.
"She came to me."
"Oh, I'm sure she did," Eira snapped. "Again and again."
He stepped closer. "It wasn't serious."
Eira's laugh was bitter. "Cheating rarely is. Until you get caught."
Julian looked her up and down.
"Did you sleep with someone?"
A beat.
She didn't blink.
"Would it matter if I did?"
He flinched. Almost imperceptibly.
Then turned, grabbed his phone, and walked away.
And that's when she knew.
Julian Vaughn was not angry because she betrayed him.He was angry because she stopped playing his game.
—
10:04 A.M. – Naomi's Condo
Julian stood in the doorway, shirt sleeves rolled, expression unreadable.
Naomi opened the door in silk shorts and a robe barely tied.
"You said she knows," she said, stepping back.
Julian walked in. Didn't touch her.
"She's different."
Naomi arched a brow. "Because she cheated back?"
He didn't answer.
"Don't act shocked, Jules," she said, pouring coffee. "You treated her like an accessory for two years. Someone else finally wore her better."
He turned sharply. "Don't."
Naomi smirked. "Don't what? Tell the truth? Or remind you that you still want me more?"
Julian grabbed her wrist.
Hard.
Naomi didn't flinch.
Instead, she whispered, "You're not mad at her. You're mad that you lost control."
He let go.
Stepped back.
Silent.
"Callen Reed," Naomi said, stirring sugar into her cup. "You know who he is, don't you?"
Julian's jaw tightened.
"I've read his file."
Note: This reveals Julian's darker nature—he's not just a husband. He's a high-level venture capitalist with resources, influence… and people who dig.
Naomi leaned against the counter.
"So, what are you going to do? Fight for your wife?"
Julian's eyes flickered. Cold. Calculating.
"No," he said. "I'm going to ruin him."
—
2:17 P.M. – Callen's Studio
Callen sat at his desk, reviewing yesterday's photos of Eira.
Every shot felt like a confession.
Eyes filled with defiance.
Lips curled in a smile she never gave anyone else.
A nakedness that had nothing to do with nudity.
He zoomed in.
Saw the mole beneath her left eye.
The vein in her wrist.
The faint scar on her ribcage—a car accident from when she was nineteen.
He knew. He had asked.
And yet… he still felt like he didn't know her at all.
Which terrified him.
Because Callen wasn't used to not knowing.
He looked down at the envelope on his desk.
Unmarked. Black. No return address.
Inside was a single photograph—of him.
Outside the studio. Talking to Eira.
Taken from a distance.
Stalked.
On the back, written in thick ink:
"You're not the only one who knows how to shoot."
Callen's hands clenched.
He knew this game.
Julian had just declared war.
—
5:44 P.M. – Eira's Office, Tower 12
Eira sat at her desk, head spinning.
Work was a blur. Emails unanswered. Meetings forgotten.
All she could see was the look in Julian's eyes.
The possessiveness.
The quiet threat.
She wasn't afraid of him.
Not yet.
But she was smart enough to know that men like Julian didn't lose gracefully.
Her phone buzzed.
Callen: "He knows. Stay away tonight."
She stared at the screen.
Stay away?
Did he think she needed protection?
Or was he starting to push her away?
Before she could respond, another message came through.
Unknown Number: "Nice dress last night. Does he kiss you like Julian did?"
Her blood ran cold.
She looked out the window.
Half-expected to see someone watching.
She had just stepped into a war zone—and she didn't even know the rules yet.
—
8:12 P.M. – Julian's Private Office
He stared at the monitor.
Footage played on a loop.
Callen kissing Eira.
Eira on the sofa.
Callen between her legs.
Silent. Black-and-white. Raw.
He had hacked the studio feed.
Or rather—paid someone to.
He didn't blink as the footage played again.
And again.
And again.
Not out of jealousy.
But strategy.
Every frame?
Leverage.
Because Julian didn't plan to win his wife back.
He planned to own her, forever.