Chapter 2: White Moonlight, Red Blood

I saw her before she saw me—tall, slim, her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She looked so at ease in the office, chatting with coworkers, a coffee cup in hand. It was clear she’d found her place there, and I couldn’t help but feel like an intruder.

He was in a meeting, so I waited. Outside.

The receptionist offered me a seat, but I stood by the window instead, watching the city traffic crawl by. My hands were cold, nerves prickling under my skin as I waited for Carter to finish. Every minute felt like an hour.

Lily kept staring at me, whispering to her coworkers, "That’s the boss’s wife? She looks rough. Like death warmed over."

Her words weren’t meant for me, but I heard every syllable. The sting was sharp, but I kept my face blank, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. The other assistants giggled, casting sideways glances in my direction.

"You all say I look like her, but how am I like her? I’m prettier by a mile."

She tossed her hair, her voice dripping with false modesty. The others murmured their agreement, and I felt the weight of their judgment settle on my shoulders like a winter coat.

I caught my reflection in the glass—makeup-free, wearing an old puffer jacket.

I looked tired, my skin sallow, eyes ringed with exhaustion. The jacket—once bright and puffy—now hung limp and faded. I barely recognized myself. Maybe Lily was right. I did look like someone who’d already given up.

Not pretty. And yeah, I looked like I was dying.

The realization hit me harder than I expected. My lips were chapped, my hair limp. I pressed my fingers to my cheeks, trying to will some color back into them, but it was no use. I looked like someone at the end of her rope.

A coworker pulled Lily aside and whispered, "That’s because she’s not dressed up. If she put on makeup, ten of you together wouldn’t be as pretty as her."

The words were meant to reassure Lily, but I caught the edge of truth in them. Once, I’d been the girl everyone watched when I walked into a room. Now, I was invisible—unless someone wanted to point out how far I’d fallen.

"And don’t push your luck just because the boss likes you. Don’t mess with her."

The coworker’s voice dropped, urgent and a little scared. "You don’t know how much the boss loves her. If you upset her, be careful he doesn’t come after you."

"You don’t know how much the boss loves her. If you upset her, be careful he doesn’t come after you."

Hearing how deeply Carter loved me, Lily pouted, then rolled her eyes at me, disbelieving.

She looked at me like I was the punchline of some private joke. Her lips pursed, her eyes narrowing just a little. I could see the wheels turning in her head, the calculation behind every gesture.

She brought me a cup of tea and set the cup down just so, her voice sweet as syrup: "Mrs. Whitman, how could the boss let you wait so long?"

She set the cup down with a flourish, her voice saccharine. The tea was steaming, the aroma faintly floral, but I didn’t trust it. She leaned in, her smile wide and practiced, as if she was auditioning for a part in a play.

"It’s strange. Every time I came to see him before, no matter how busy he was, he’d always come out to keep me company first. Said I was the most important."

She let the words hang in the air, watching for my reaction. I just stared at the tea, willing myself not to flinch.

"I thought he treated all women this way..."

Her voice trailed off, the implication clear. She wanted me to feel small, to feel like I was just another name on Carter’s list. But I refused to give her that satisfaction. ...

She smiled sweetly. When she smiled, she really did look a lot like a younger me.

It was uncanny, almost unsettling. The same tilt of the head, the same dimple when she grinned. For a split second, I saw myself at twenty—hopeful, naïve, full of dreams I’d long since buried.

I thought about it. Carter really was different with Lily. That was new.

He’d always been distant with the other women, keeping them at arm’s length, never letting them get too comfortable. But with Lily, he let his guard down. It was obvious in the way he looked at her, the way he lingered over her words. I wondered if he saw me in her, or if he just liked the idea of starting over with someone who didn’t know all his scars.

He had endless flings, bringing women home to spite me, testing my reaction again and again.

It was like a game to him—one I refused to play. I’d hear laughter from the hallway, the click of high heels on the tile, the hushed giggles behind closed doors. Each time, I told myself I didn’t care, that I was above it all. But the truth was, every new face was a fresh wound.

But he never got attached to any of them for long—maybe a day, two days... maybe a week or two, but he always got bored quickly.

I kept count, at first. I’d see the same woman twice and know she’d be gone by the weekend. None of them lasted, none of them mattered. Or so I thought.

Only Lily—he kept her around, took her out to eat at West Loop hotspots, shop, watch movies.

I’d see the receipts—dinners at trendy new restaurants, movie stubs tucked into his jacket pocket. He was building memories with her, the kind he used to build with me. It hurt more than I cared to admit.

They acted like a normal, loving couple. He spoiled her—with money, sure, but with affection too.

It was the affection that stung—the easy way he’d touch her arm, the way he’d laugh at her jokes. I remembered when he used to look at me like that, before everything fell apart.

I looked at Lily, smiled at her, and gently asked, "If you’re so important, why does Carter keep you as the other woman?"

I let my words hang in the air, calm and measured. The look on her face was priceless—a flicker of doubt, quickly masked by bravado.

"You should persuade him to divorce me then and marry you."

I watched her reaction carefully, searching for any sign of real confidence. But her eyes darted away, just for a second. It was all the answer I needed.

Lily’s face changed instantly—she was angry and humiliated, and she muttered, "If he doesn’t love you, you’re the side piece. You’re the extra."

Her words were sharp, but her voice shook. I saw the insecurity beneath the surface, the fear that she’d never be more than the other woman.

"You just met him first. Now you’re old and ugly—how do you compete with me?"

She spat the words out, her cheeks flushed. I almost felt sorry for her—almost.

Her coworker probably worried I’d get mad and hurried over to pull her away, glancing at security as if expecting a scene.

The coworker shot me an apologetic glance, then hustled Lily down the hall, whispering urgently in her ear. The tension in the room eased, but I could still feel the sting of Lily’s words lingering in the air.

Honestly, I didn’t care. I shrugged, letting it roll right off my shoulders.

I’d built up walls around my heart, thick and high. Lily’s insults bounced right off them. I’d stopped letting other people’s opinions dictate my self-worth a long time ago.