Chapter 3

I casually remarked, "You used to always leave your work at the office, no matter how busy you were."

Heather's typing came to an abrupt halt, and he looked up at me, his expression betraying a hint of guilt.

"Things have just been crazy lately, honey. It'll be over soon, I promise. Why don't you go get some sleep?"

As I made my way to the bedroom, I snuck a peek at his phone.

The screen displayed a tearful emoji—a message from another woman.

Another deception.

But I kept quiet. I simply went to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.

I opened Instagram, switched to an alternate account, and searched for Jennifer Herman—a relatively unknown actress.

She had posted an update two hours earlier.

In her post, she was showing off a pair of yet-to-be-released shoes from the same brand Heather had just given me earlier that evening.

The comments were merciless.

People accused her of wearing counterfeits, claiming she couldn't afford the genuine article and was just pretending to be wealthy.

She asserted that she was actually the brand's soon-to-be-announced ambassador. She claimed her boyfriend had already sealed the deal, and the contract was ready for signing. She insisted the high heels in the photo were gifts from the brand.

No one believed her, though.

It wasn't uncommon for someone like her to purchase imitations.

But she stubbornly denied it and argued with the commenters.

I scrolled through the comments one by one until a newly created account caught my eye. The user claimed to work for the brand.

[I'm acquainted with her boyfriend. He's one of the executives. He made the decision for her to be the brand ambassador. In fact, the photoshoot begins tomorrow.]

Doubters quickly responded.

[She's a rising star at best. There's no way she has a boyfriend like that. Seriously, does she think she's the next Shannon Walsh?]

[Nice try, but creating a fake account to defend yourself? If there are no shoots tomorrow, well, prepare to be embarrassed. And good luck avoiding a lawsuit for leaking the designs!]

But within moments, that same account posted a photo of the signed endorsement contract.

Then, as if to silence everyone, the user made a statement.

[Well, you'll see the shoots for yourself tomorrow.]

I turned off my phone and massaged my throbbing temples.

When I headed to the bathroom, I overheard Heather on a call.

"What's the photoshoot team doing? If they can't handle this, fire them!"

"I told you to prioritize the shoot! Do I need to repeat myself?! Put everything else on hold!"

"If the materials aren't ready by tomorrow, none of you are coming back to work, understood?"

The owner of that alternate account supporting Jennifer... was my husband.

At that instant, it felt as if all my energy had been drained. I leaned against the wall, silently weeping.

When Heather noticed me, I was still shaking, trying to regain my composure.

He looked so alarmed that his face turned ashen, lifting me up as if he was about to rush me to the hospital.

He didn't even stop to put on his shoes.

I steadied myself with one hand on the doorframe, took a trembling breath, and shook my head. My voice broke as I struggled to speak.

"I-I'm okay. I... I just got emotional reading a tragic story. Don't worry about me. Go finish your work."

He pressed his face against mine, nuzzling me gently.

"How about you stop reading those sad stories, hmm? Didn't I tell you, I want to make you the happiest woman in the world?"

"All those heartbreaks in those stories aren't real. But our happiness is."

Not real?

Then why does it feel like I can barely breathe from the pain?

Perhaps his reaction had somehow made him feel closer to me.

But his phone wouldn't stop vibrating, buzzing with one message after another.

And he gave me a smile, an uneasy one.

"Just a bit more work. I promise, I'm almost done."

I didn't respond. Barefoot, I returned to the bedroom alone.

By midnight, I heard the door close. He'd broken his promise again.

He left the villa in the middle of the night.

I didn't need to ask where he was going.

I just put on a black coat, wrapping it tightly around me as I followed him like a shadow.

After wandering for a while, he stopped in front of another apartment in the neighborhood.

I watched as he rang the doorbell, and it revealed a woman. Jennifer. She was wearing this absurdly revealing outfit—a tight, black bodysuit. That woman even pressed my husband against the doorway.

"Thanks for standing up for me, Mr. Walsh. I owed you one, so I've prepared a little surprise for you."

"But... you'll have to unwrap it yourself."