On Our Third Anniversary, He Brought His First Love Into Our Home

The night was thick, like ink that refused to dissolve.

The villa was brightly lit. A long dining table draped in dark velvet stretched across the room, crystal tableware catching the light and reflecting a cold, brittle gleam.

The dishes were elaborate and carefully prepared—every single one of them Ethan Walker’s favorite.

Claire Walker sat quietly at one end of the table.

On the wall, the antique clock struck nine.

The food had gone cold long ago.

Today was their third wedding anniversary.

It was also the last gift she would ever prepare for him.

The sound of a key turning came softly from the foyer.

The door opened, letting in a rush of cold night air. A man stepped inside.

It was Ethan Walker, her husband.

The familiar cedar-toned cologne he always wore was still there but beneath it lingered a faint, unfamiliar sweetness, a woman’s perfume.

Ethan loosened his tie, shrugged off his expensive suit jacket, and tossed it onto the sofa. The movement was careless, impatient.

His gaze swept over the table of cold dishes. His brow tightened. Then his eyes landed on Claire, icy, unsoftened.

“It’s already this late. What’s the point of making all this?”

The way he said it made her effort sound like an unnecessary nuisance.

Claire didn’t respond.

She simply reached for a brown paper document envelope from the sideboard beside the table. Her movements were slow, deliberate.

“Ethan, I prepared a gift for you.” Her voice was light, too light to betray any emotion.

Ethan let out a short, mocking laugh, clearly about to say something cutting when his phone suddenly vibrated hard in his pocket.

The screen lit up. One name flashed across it, Lily.

He answered almost instantly.

The coldness on his face melted away in seconds, replaced by a tenderness Claire had never once received from him.

“Lily? You landed?”

“The airport’s crowded. Find a seat and wait and don’t wander around, okay?”

“Are you hungry? I’ll come get you now. I’ll take you to that Japanese restaurant you like.”

Every word landed like a blade, precise, poisonous.

For three years, over a thousand nights, he had never spoken her name with that kind of softness. Not once.

The call ended. Ethan grabbed his car keys and headed straight for the door, already moving toward another woman, completely forgetting the wife behind him, and the “gift” she had mentioned.

“Ethan.”

Claire spoke softly. But it was enough to make him stop.

He turned around sharply, irritation written all over his face.

“What now? Can’t you see I’m in a hurry?”

Claire stepped forward and handed him the document envelope. Her expression was calm, almost blank.

“There’s something that needs your signature.”

“Company routine?”

Ethan frowned, slipping his jacket back on with clear impatience. “You really know how to pick your timing.”

Claire lowered her lashes, hiding everything in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

He snatched the envelope, yanked out the papers inside, didn’t bother reading a single line. He flipped straight to the last page.

“Where do I sign?”

Claire raised her hand and lightly tapped the spot labeled ‘Party B Signature.’

Without hesitation, Ethan signed his name—Ethan Walker.

The signature was sharp and forceful, the pen pressing so hard it nearly tore through the page.

“Done.”

He tossed the papers back onto the table. Several sheets slid to the floor, scattered, like the wreckage of her marriage. “Oh, right.”

As if remembering something trivial, he added without turning around, “Lily’s back. She’ll be staying here for a few days. Clean out the guest room.”

Before the words fully settled, the door had already closed behind him.