The other woman

Chapter Three: The Other Woman

The rain had thinned to a mist, but the storm wasn’t over.

It lived in the silence between them.

Rose stood by the window now, her arms crossed, her jaw tight with restraint. The skyline sprawled before her, lit with the cold indifference of a city that didn’t care how many hearts were broken behind penthouse glass.

Emma poured two glasses of water and placed one beside Rose.

Not wine.

Not whiskey.

Water—because this wasn’t a celebration, or a confession. This was war preparation.

Rose didn’t thank her. She didn’t need to.

Emma sat across from her, her robe now belted tighter, spine straightened, like she’d peeled off the guilt that had clung to her skin for years. For the first time, she looked at Rose not as a rival, but as a mirror. Another version of herself. A woman who once believed Ethan Lu was a future—not a sentence.

“He’s always had a type,” Rose said finally, her voice low, but sharp.

Emma tilted her head. “Broken?”

“No. Brilliant.” Rose’s eyes met hers. “He likes women who shine. But not for long. He polishes them until they reflect him, and when they don't anymore... he puts them in a drawer.”

Emma’s chest tightened.

She thought of the first time Ethan looked at her. Like she was a prize. Not a person. She had mistaken the gleam in his eyes for love. It was possession. It always had been.

“I used to think I was special,” Emma murmured.

“You were,” Rose said. “We all are—until we let him define what that means.”

They both went quiet again.

The hum of the city filled the room. Cars below. Sirens far off. The ticking of the vintage clock on the wall Ethan had bought from Paris—because it was expensive, not because it told time better.

He always wanted things that impressed others.

Even his women.

“I know about the penthouse in Shanghai,” Rose said suddenly.

Emma’s eyes snapped up.

“I saw the bank statements. He bought it two years ago. Had his assistant register it under a shell company. He’s been preparing a life for the next version of us.”

Emma felt her stomach twist. “You’re saying…”

“He’s not planning to marry me,” Rose said. “He’s planning to replace us.”

Emma stood slowly, as if the room had tilted beneath her.

All those nights of whispering promises. Of pulling her back in with soft words, violent kisses, and vows she never believed—but wanted to. Ethan had never planned a life with her.

He’d planned a trap.

“Then what do we do?” Emma asked. “Warn the next girl?”

Rose gave her a thin smile. “No, Emma. We stop him.”

Emma blinked. “You’d go up against him?”

“You already are,” Rose said. “You just haven’t committed yet.”

Silence settled again, heavier this time.

Emma walked to the bookshelf. She pulled down the leather-bound journal she had started a year ago. Inside were details—notes Ethan had dictated carelessly, information he never thought she’d use against him. Names. Accounts. Paper trails no one was supposed to find.

Rose watched her with something like respect. “You kept records?”

Emma nodded, voice steely. “I told you—I didn’t plan to survive him. I planned to outlive him.”

They looked at each other, a shared fire catching in their eyes.

Ethan Lu had made a mistake.

He’d built cages for two canaries.

But he forgot—

even pretty birds can grow talons.

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