Episode 1:The betrayal
The dial tone hummed in the quiet of the kitchen. Ella lowered the phone, her fingers leaving smudges on the glass screen. Across the kitchen island, a half-empty bottle of amber whiskey caught the glare of the ceiling lights. She picked up her glass, swallowed the remaining liquid, and felt it burn a pathway down her throat. The heat did nothing to touch the cold knot in her chest.
She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Across the avenue, the massive digital billboard of the Cole Plaza flickered, casting a pale blue wash over her living room. On screen, Ethan was smiling. His three-piece charcoal suit was immaculate, his shoulders broad as he stood behind a mahogany podium. He held a velvet-lined box toward the flashing cameras. Inside lay a diamond necklace, its central stone catching the artificial light.
“The Love Ella,” his voice had boomed through the speakers during the live broadcast yesterday. “A one-of-a-kind piece, crafted for the only woman who holds my heart.”
Ella let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. The glass slipped from her hand, thudding softly onto the thick Persian rug. Her phone buzzed in her palm. It was Valerie, calling back. Ella pressed the phone to her ear.
"Ella, are you sure you want me to draft a divorce agreement?" Valerie’s voice crackled through the line, hesitant and worried. "Think about it. Once you sign it, you and Ethan will have nothing to do with each other anymore."
Ella stared blankly at the liquid pooling on the rug. "Yes," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I’m leaving him."
"Why, Ella?" Confusion bled through the line. "Ethan has been so good to you. He loves you very much."
Ella smiled—a bitter, mocking expression that pulled painfully at her face. "Love. What a joke." She pressed her lips together, fighting back the bile rising in her throat, and disconnected the call.
Her mind dragged her back to last night. Their third anniversary. She had spent three hours in front of the mirror, curling her hair and slipping into the silk white dress he loved. He had called at seven, his voice warm, promising he was wrapping up a board meeting. “Wait for me, El. I’m coming home.”
So she had waited.
She sat on the sofa as the clock ticked past midnight, then one, then two. At 3:12 a.m., her phone had buzzed on the coffee table.
Are you still awake? Or is it because your husband isn't home?
Ella had stared at the text, her breath hitching. Before she could process the intrusion, another message flashed.
He’s with me. I was terrified of the thunderstorm, so I called him. He was so worried he rushed right over to keep me company.
The air in the living room had turned to ice. Then came the final strike.
Don’t believe me? Here is the address. The passcode is your wedding anniversary.
The pin dropped. Below it, four digits: 0815. August fifteenth.
Now, standing in the hallway of the upscale high-rise on the edge of the district, the silence of the corridor was deafening. Ella’s fingers hovered over the digital keypad of Apartment 1402.
She pressed the numbers. 0... 8... 1... 5.
The lock gave a soft, mechanical click. The heavy oak door swung open an inch.
The apartment inside was dark, save for the amber glow of city lights filtering through the sheer drapes. Ella stepped over the threshold, her heels making no sound on the plush entryway runner. Her foot brushed against something soft.
She looked down. A dark grey tailored jacket lay discarded on the floor. Beside it lay a silk tie—the navy blue one she had ironed for Ethan yesterday morning. A few feet further into the corridor, a pair of black panties clung to the edge of a console table. Next to them sat a glass cup, the rim smeared with deep plum lipstick.
The betrayal had physical weight. It had a smell—cigar smoke and a heavy, floral perfume that wasn’t hers.
Ella walked deeper into the apartment, her heart hammering against her ribs. The bedroom door was ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling onto the hardwood floor. She pushed it open.
The silk sheets of the king-sized bed were tangled. Ethan lay on his stomach, his bare back exposed, one arm draped possessively over the waist of the woman beside him. The woman was sleeping, her dark hair splayed across the pillows.
But it wasn't the sight of them together that made the breath leave Ella’s lungs.
Draped around the woman’s neck, reflecting the dim bedside lamp, was the unmistakable, brilliant fire of The Love Ella necklace. The genuine, custom-cut diamond cluster rested against the woman’s collarbone.
Ella’s hand instinctively flew to her own throat. Beneath her collar, she felt the thin chain of the necklace Ethan had gifted her just days prior—the one he claimed was the very piece he had debuted to the world. She pulled at it until the clasp snapped, holding it up to the dim light.
It was dull. Lifeless. A replica.
She was his wife, and she was wearing the imitation. The mistress was wearing the truth.
A quiet, broken gasp escaped her lips.
On the bed, the woman stirred. Her eyes flickered open, landing directly on Ella standing in the doorway. There was no panic in her gaze—only a slow, victorious curve of her lips. She reached up, her manicured fingers gently tracing the diamond necklace around her neck, before shifting closer to Ethan, purposely waking him.
"Ethan..." the woman whispered, her voice husky. "Someone's here."
Ethan groaned, shifting. When his eyes opened and adjusted to the light, they locked onto Ella. The color instantly drained from his face. He sat up abruptly.
"Ella? What... what are you doing here?" He scrambled out of bed, grabbing a discarded shirt from the floor. "Listen to me, it’s not what it looks like."
"You gave her the necklace, Ethan," Ella said. Her voice didn't sound like her own. It was hollow. "You gave her the original."
"Ella, please—" He took a step toward her, but stopped when she raised a hand, her eyes completely dead.
She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She simply dropped the replica necklace onto the floor. It hit the hardwood with a cheap, metallic clink. Without another word, she turned and walked out into the night.
