The revelation didn't destroy our relationship immediately.
It poisoned it slowly, like cancer, eating healthy tissue one cell at a time.
Sterling didn't kick me out or demand explanations. He didn't rage about betrayal or question my motives. Instead, he did something much worse—he became careful around me.
I noticed it in the small things first. The way he hesitated before touching me, like he was second-guessing the impulse. How conversations that used to flow like water now felt stilted, measured. The way he'd catch himself before sharing confidential information, remembering that I might not be who he thought I was.
The worst part was that I couldn't blame him. If our positions were reversed, I'd be doing the same thing.
We were living in the same penthouse, sleeping in the same
