Chapter 1

1

Ever since my eye surgery, I have been able to see the emotional auras radiating from people.

When someone deeply cares about another person, a warm orange glow surrounds them. I saw it when my neighbor returned from a business trip, his entire porch bathed in a passionate, glowing tangerine. I saw it when the old man down the street bought roasted chestnuts for his wife, a faint, tender warmth enveloping his frail shoulders.

But my husband, Declan, always emitted a pale, sterile gray.

Throughout the months following my surgery, his aura never changed.

When he sat by my hospital bed and fed me soup, he was gray.

When he fastened a diamond necklace around my neck for our anniversary, he was gray.

Even in the dead of night, when our bodies were tangled together and his fingers interlocked with mine, that lifeless ash color remained.

I used to convince myself that he was just a stoic man, someone who buried his love deep beneath a calm surface.

That was until yesterday, at the welcome home party for my best friend, Sophie.

The banquet hall suddenly lost power. Terrified of the dark, Sophie let out a piercing scream from the middle of the crowd.

Declan lunged forward without a second thought.

He slammed right into me, knocking me hard to the floor, just so he could pull Sophie into his arms.

"Don't be scared. I've got you."

In the pitch black of that hall, an explosive, blinding orange light erupted from his body.

It was the first time I had ever seen his aura shine so brightly. It looked like it was burning.

…

"Summer, are you hurt?"

The emergency generators kicked in. The lights flickered back on.

Every single guest saw Declan half kneeling on the carpet, holding Sophie tightly against his chest.

And there I was, crumpled beside a long table two meters away. The skin on my elbow was sliced open, blood dripping steadily down my forearm. My knees had slammed into the unforgiving marble floor, throbbing with a sickening numbness.

Declan finally looked away from Sophie and let his gaze land on me.

That blinding orange halo around him still had not faded.

In seven years, it was the absolute first time I had seen that color on him. It was scorching hot.

But it was not for me.

Sophie gently pulled out of his embrace and smoothed her hair.

"I'm fine, Declan." She turned to look at me, her tone casually familiar. "You should check on Summer. It looks like she took a bad fall."

Declan stood up and walked toward me.

I gripped the edge of the table and slowly forced myself to stand. I did not cry. I did not make a scene. I did not even ask him why he shoved his own wife out of the way.

I simply looked at the fading orange light around his shoulders, turned my back on him, and walked out of the hall.

"Summer."

Declan caught up to me at the hotel entrance, grabbing my wrist. He frowned at the blood running down my arm. "The power outage was completely unexpected. You know how terrified Sophie is of the dark."

His voice was perfectly level, offering a justification that he clearly believed I should accept without question.

He did not bother explaining who he cared about more. He just used the words "you know" to force me back into the box of the understanding, low maintenance wife.

I stared at his aura. It had settled back into that familiar, dead gray.

"So when you knocked me over, did you know it was me?"

Declan froze for a fraction of a second.

"It was chaos in there. I couldn't see anything." He let go of my wrist and reached into his pocket for his keys. "Summer, the three of us have been friends for years. Let's not make this ugly over an accident."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and got into the passenger seat without a word.

He insisted on taking me to a nearby urgent care.

The sharp sting of iodine on my torn skin made me flinch. As the doctor was cleaning the wound, Declan's phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and answered immediately.

"Declan, I think I left my car keys on one of the tables. Is there any way you could come back?"

Sophie's voice drifted through the speaker, just loud enough for me to hear.

Declan looked at me. My arm was still actively bleeding. The gauze wasn't even taped down yet.

"Finish getting patched up," he said, tossing his credit card onto the small clinical table. "I'll be right back."

The clinic door swung open and shut. I watched him walk away into the night. I did not ask him to stay.

Half an hour later, the doctor finished wrapping my arm. The clinic door opened again.

Sophie walked in, holding a steaming cup of coffee and a pharmacy bag.

"Summer, please don't be mad at Declan. He just panicked," she said, offering me the coffee with an open, guiltless smile. "You know I got stuck in an elevator as a kid. The dark really messes with my head."

I didn't take the cup. "He definitely panicked."

Sophie smiled, taking a seat next to me. "We've all been tight for years. Let's not let things get weird just because I moved back."

She was not fighting me. She was not acting malicious. She simply placed herself right in the middle of our marriage, assuming she belonged in the "we" just as much as I did.

It was late into the night when Declan finally came home after dropping her off.

I had already showered and was sitting quietly on the living room sofa.

He tossed a small pharmacy bag onto the coffee table.

"I got you some scar cream. Stop giving me the cold shoulder." He took off his jacket, sounding utterly exhausted. "Sophie just got back to the States. Her welcome party turned into a disaster, and she feels terrible about it."

I looked at the suffocating gray light surrounding him.

"Declan," I said softly. "If Sophie was the one bleeding on the floor tonight, would you still tell her to stop giving you the cold shoulder?"

His brow furrowed instantly, annoyance flashing across his face.

"But that didn't happen, did it?" He turned and walked toward the master bathroom. "Go to sleep. Stop overthinking things."

The sound of the shower started running.

I picked up my phone and opened an email I had received two weeks ago.

The subject line read: Acceptance Confirmation for the London Art Restoration Project.

My finger hovered over the screen. Without a single ounce of hesitation, I hit confirm.

The next morning, I walked into the kitchen. Declan had already made breakfast.

He pushed a bowl of sweet vanilla oatmeal toward me.

"You lost blood last night. Eat something warm," he said, taking his seat with a gentle tone.

I stared at the steaming bowl and didn't touch my spoon.

I hated sweet oatmeal. The smell of the vanilla made me nauseous.

The person who loved vanilla oatmeal was Sophie.

I preferred a savory breakfast skillet.

We had been married for three years, and he still had no idea what I liked to eat.

"Why aren't you eating?" he asked.

"It's too hot," I lied, pushing the bowl away.

My phone buzzed on the table. Sophie had sent a message to our group chat.

"Thanks again for last night, Declan. How is Summer's arm? Do you guys need me to drop off some painkillers?"

I glanced at the screen. It was the old group chat from college that had been dead for three years. The name was still "The Original Trio."

Declan picked up his phone and typed back rapidly.

"No need. You're still jet lagged. Get some rest."

I watched his fingers move across the screen. My bandages hadn't even been changed yet, but his first priority was making sure she caught up on her sleep.

"Let's eat out tonight." Declan put his phone down. "Sophie isn't used to the city anymore. We'll grab dinner, just the three of us. Make up for the meal we missed last night."

I looked up at him. "Do you know what today is?"

Today was my birthday.

Declan paused. Not a single ripple of emotion crossed his face.

"We can celebrate your birthday another day." He took a sip of his black coffee. "Sophie's welcome back dinner is a one time thing."

I sat in silence, watching that pale, dead gray aura envelop him like a stone that could never be warmed.

"Okay," I nodded, standing up from the table.

That afternoon, on my way to the restaurant, I opened the group chat.

I changed the name from "The Original Trio" to "Declan and His Friend."

The chat went dead silent for a few seconds.

Then, Sophie sent a laughing emoji.

"Wow Summer, that sounds so formal. We used to be a lot closer than that."

A second later, a private message from Declan popped up on my screen.

"Why would you change the group name?"

"Sophie just got back. Why are you purposely making things awkward for her?"

I typed a single reply.

"I'm just making the relationship status accurate."

He didn't reply.

Dinner was at an upscale French bistro. Sophie wore a stunning red dress and sat right next to Declan.

When the waiter handed out the wine list, Sophie smiled and looked at me.

"Declan used to drink everyone under the table. Do you keep him on a tight leash now, Summer?"

I picked up my water glass and took a sip. "He has stomach ulcers. He doesn't drink hard liquor anymore."

Sophie raised an eyebrow. "Really?" She turned to Declan. "Back in college, you took shots with me until three in the morning and still made it to your morning lecture."

Declan didn't correct her. He just sliced his steak, a very faint, fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"We were young back then."

Right as those words left his lips, a soft, unmistakable layer of orange light shimmered around him. It was faint, but it was incredibly real.

I watched that light, and the very last shred of hope in my heart quietly died.

Halfway through the meal, I stood up.

"I have some restoration files to sort through. I'm heading home."

Declan frowned. "Finish your food. I'll drive you."

"No need." I grabbed my purse and walked out without looking back.

As I reached the parking lot, I heard footsteps behind me.

"Summer."

Sophie was leaning against a parked car, her voice utterly calm. "I know you hate that I'm back."

She pulled out a cigarette and lit it, holding it between her fingers. "But Declan and I knew each other long before you came along. There is a lot of history between us, and you can't just erase that just because you're uncomfortable."

I looked at her. "And?"

Sophie let out a soft laugh and blew a ring of smoke. "And if you can't handle it, you should have spoken up sooner. Don't play the silent martyr and make everyone else miserable."

I stared at her unapologetic face and didn't bother arguing.

When I got home, I opened my laptop. I pulled up the email from the London restoration center and began filling out my visa application.

Over the next few days, I quietly started gathering my documents and packing my portfolio. The floor of my home office was covered in specialized tools and historical reference books.

When Declan pushed the door open, I was sealing some ancient manuscripts my grandfather had left me into moisture proof bags.

His eyes swept over the open suitcase on the floor. He frowned. "Are you going on a business trip?"

I zipped the bag shut. "Something like that."

He walked closer, looking like he wanted to ask more, but his phone started ringing in his pocket. His tone softened the second he answered.

"You found the venue? Okay, I'm on my way."

He hung up and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair.

"Sophie wants to host a small photography exhibition, but there's a problem with the gallery space." He looked at me. "I'm going to go help her sort it out. We'll talk about your trip when I get back."

I didn't even look up. "Okay."

The moment the front door clicked shut, I shoved the final stack of paperwork into my luggage.

He didn't even have five minutes to hear where I was going.

That afternoon, I went to the bank to print out six months of bank statements for my visa application.

When the teller handed me the receipt, I froze, staring at the final balance.

More than half of the money in our joint savings account the fund we had been building for our trip to Iceland was gone.

The transfer note read: Deposit for Sophie's Gallery Venue.

Two years ago, when my vision finally stabilized after the surgery, I told Declan I wanted to see the Northern Lights.

He had held my hands, his voice thick with sincerity. "As soon as you're fully healed, I will take you."

We saved that money for two years. Now, my Northern Lights had been traded in for Sophie's spotlight.

I folded the bank statement, put it in my bag, and hailed a cab to the gallery.

The exhibition hall was a mess of scaffolding and workers setting up partitions. I walked inside and immediately noticed the centerpiece in the main glass display.

It was an antique film camera. My grandfather's camera.

Next to it, an elegant little placard read: The early inspiration for Sophie's artistic journey.

I stood in front of the glass, my fingers turning icy cold.

"Summer? What are you doing here?" Declan walked over with a clipboard, looking completely unbothered. "Sophie is just borrowing it for a few days."

He pointed at the camera. "Your grandfather kept it in great condition. It fits the vintage theme of the exhibition perfectly."

I turned my head to look at him. "Did you even think to ask me?"

Declan went silent for a moment, rolling up the blueprints in his hand. "Do we really need to draw such harsh lines between what's yours and what's mine?" His tone held a hint of reprimand, as if I were being entirely unreasonable.

Sophie climbed down from a nearby ladder, dusting off her hands.

"Summer, perfect timing!" She walked over, her smile bright and easy. "I was just about to text you. Your grandpa's camera has such a beautiful aesthetic. It's exactly what this display needed."

I stared right through her. "That belongs to me."

Sophie blinked, then her smile grew wider. "Of course it does. I'm not keeping it." She glanced at Declan. "Declan said you wouldn't mind, so I went ahead and used it."

Declan stepped forward, physically placing himself between me and Sophie.

"Summer, it is just a camera. You'll get it back when the show is over." He dropped his voice, leaning in. "This exhibition is a huge deal for Sophie's return. Do not embarrass her right now."

I looked at the suffocating, dead ash gray radiating from his body.

"Declan," I said, my voice eerily calm. "Let's get a divorce."

His face drained of color, his eyes turning dark and sharp. "Over a camera?" He looked at me like I had lost my mind. "Leave Sophie out of this. It wasn't easy for her to move back here and start over. We have all been friends for years. There is no need to nuke our marriage just because you're feeling sensitive."

I didn't argue. I reached past him, slid open the unlocked glass door of the display cabinet, and took my grandfather's camera.

Then I turned around and walked out.

It was raining lightly on the opening day of Sophie's exhibition.

I had zero intention of going, but I realized I was missing a crucial document for my visa. Declan had absentmindedly stuffed it into his briefcase two days ago.

I had no choice but to go find him.

When I walked into the lobby, Declan was standing near the guest book. He looked surprised to see me, his hand instinctively reaching out to touch my shoulder.

I stepped sideways, avoiding him completely.

His hand froze in midair, then dropped back to his side. "Since you're here, do you want to walk through the gallery together?"

His aura was still that sickening, pale gray.

I shook my head and started looking for his briefcase.

But my eyes were drawn to a massive projector screen near the entrance.

The title read: Reunion The Ten Years We Walked Together.

I froze in my tracks.

The video showed a sprawling lavender field in Provence. Sophie was running ahead, looking over her shoulder and laughing at the camera. Declan was walking beside her, carrying her heavy equipment bag. The golden hour sun stretched their shadows together across the grass.

The next clip was by the Seine River.

Twilight. They were leaning against the stone bridge. Sophie rested her head on his shoulder, watching the sunset. Declan leaned down and whispered something. She laughed, swatting his chest playfully, and he smiled back.

The next shot was outside a small street cafe. Sophie was shivering, blowing on her hands. Declan took off his trench coat the one I bought for his birthday last year and draped it over her shoulders.

In the bottom right corner, there were date stamps.

October 15th, 17th, 20th.

I remembered those days vividly. I had been stuck in bed with a brutal fever.

"The fifteenth," I said, my voice completely flat. "Weren't you supposed to be on a business trip in Chicago?"

Declan went dead silent.

"Sophie was stuck overseas by herself. She didn't speak the language well. I just flew out to help her."

His aura remained a lifeless gray.

The lights in the gallery dimmed, signaling the start of the opening ceremony.

Sophie stood on the small stage in a flowing white dress, smiling softly into the microphone.

"Before we begin, I want to invite someone very special up here."

Her eyes cut through the crowd and landed straight on my husband.

"Declan, come stand with me."

Declan walked up the steps. The spotlight hit them both.

And then, I saw it.

The moment he stood next to her, the gray aura around him fractured. A vibrant, warm orange light bled through the cracks, growing brighter by the second.

He didn't even have to do anything. Just standing next to her made him light up.

Sophie tilted her head to look at him, then turned back to the audience, her voice dripping with affection.

"This exhibition would not exist without this man."

"From choosing the theme, to booking the venue, to hauling equipment around he was there for every single step."

"When a torrential downpour ruined our shooting schedule in Paris, he walked the streets with me for hours just to find new locations."

She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. "When I broke down crying at four in the morning, I made one phone call, and he was at my door in twenty minutes."

"Without Declan, there would be no Reunion today."

The applause was deafening.

The orange light around him flared even brighter.

A reporter in the front row raised his hand. "Sophie, care to clarify your relationship with Declan? If you told us you two were married, we'd believe it."

The crowd cheered and whistled.

Declan shifted his weight and raised the microphone. "We are actually just"

Sophie suddenly leaned into his side and whispered something.

It looked a lot like: Declan, please, just this once. The media is here, I need the hype. Summer won't mind.

She looked up at him, her eyes crinkling with a sweet smile.

Declan stopped talking. He didn't nod, but he didn't finish his sentence, either.

Sophie turned to the crowd, flashing a radiant smile. "Since everyone is so curious... Declan is definitely much more than just a friend to me!"

The room erupted. Camera flashes turned the hall blinding white.

Sophie turned to him, reaching her hand out until her fingertips brushed against the back of his hand.

He looked down at it.

One second. Two seconds. He didn't pull away.

She slid her fingers through his, interlocking them completely.

The warm orange light surrounding him exploded into a raging fire, so bright it practically flooded the room.

The crowd went wild.

"They are perfect for each other!"

"Is this the official hard launch?"

I stood in the back of the room, looking up at the two beautiful, glowing auras blending perfectly together on stage.

They really were a perfect match.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

"Miss Bennett, your car to the airport is waiting outside."

I turned around, slipped through the crowd, found his briefcase on a side table, and pulled out my visa document.

The blistering orange light continued to shine behind me, but none of it had anything to do with me anymore.

Walking out of the gallery, the rain was coming down harder than before.

"Let's go," I told the driver.

As the car merged onto the highway, I leaned my head against the cool glass, watching the raindrops slide down like tears.

My phone screen lit up.

It was a text from Declan: "Where did you go?"

I stared at it for a few seconds, then powered off my phone.

The airport was quiet.

I printed my boarding pass, checked my luggage, and walked through security.

The intercom echoed overhead.

"Flight 482 to London is now boarding."

I stood up, grabbed my carry-on, and walked toward the gate.

Goodbye, Declan.