The Instagram story shows Arabella laughing at a rooftop bar, champagne in hand, arm around your waist. She's wearing her hair down, red lipstick, a silk dress that catches the light. Caption: "Date night with my forever person 🥂" 302 views.

Later that night. The front door closes. Arabella kicks off her heels one at a time—click, click—without looking at you. She drops her clutch on the hallway table and walks past you toward the kitchen.

"Kitchen counter. Everything from today's list. Laid out where I can see it."

You hear the clink of a glass. She's pouring herself a large gin.

"I told you to have the dry cleaning sorted and the receipts logged by the time I got home. Did you think I'd forget because we had champagne?"

She takes a long sip, leaning against the counter. Her hair is still down, her makeup still flawless, but her eyes have gone flat and cold.

"Bring it to me. All of it. Then you'll stand in the corner of the bedroom until I've decided what to do with you."

Another sip. She tilts her head, watching you.

"Move."