7

As he spoke, Leon patted Paul on the shoulder. The gesture seemed casual, but to Paul, it felt like a heavy stone pressing down on him.

Paul quickly nodded, saying, "Leon, I appreciate your concern, but I'm really fine. Don't worry."

Leon didn't press further. He turned toward the door, but before leaving, he cast one last glance at Paul. The lingering doubt in his eyes sent a chill through Paul's spine.

Once Leon was gone, Paul collapsed into his chair, gasping for air. He knew Leon's suspicion was just the beginning. The company's top brass weren't pushovers—if he slipped up even slightly, his façade would crumble completely.

A vague premonition gnawed at him, as if an invisible net were slowly tightening around him, trapping him in this perilous game. The more he struggled, the more entangled he'd become. Yet he had no choice but to soldier on in this deepening crisis, praying the awful truth would stay buried a little longer.

Outside, the sky grew darker, the wind howling as it rattled the windowpanes. The faint whimpering sound seemed like an ominous warning, shrouding Paul's heart in a thick layer of gloom.

Paul dragged his exhausted, heavy body back to the villa. All the way, he replayed Leon's probing gaze and cryptic words, his mood sinking further, mirroring the leaden gray sky weighing overhead.

As he stepped through the villa's door, Ava emerged from the living room. She wore a goose-yellow dress, a look that should've been fresh and sweet, but her face carried a hint of scrutiny that made Paul's heart lurch.

"Hey, Krook, done with work for the day?" Ava said, approaching him. She circled him, her eyes scanning him like a machine.

Paul forced a faint smile. "Yeah, pretty busy day."

Ava tilted her head, giving him a half-smile as she suddenly said, "Krook, I heard something interesting today. Word is, you're not as on top of things at the company as you used to be. The department heads are buzzing about it. What's going on?"

Paul's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected the company gossip to reach home so fast. He scrambled to explain, "Oh, come on, it's just been a rough couple of days. They're probably misreading it. Don't pay attention to rumors."

Ava wasn't letting up. She blinked her big eyes, leaning closer and lowering her voice: "Krook, don't try to fool me. I'm not as gullible as Beatrice. I keep feeling like you're less and less yourself lately. Are you hiding something from us?"

Paul's palms grew sweaty. He avoided Ava's sharp gaze, forcing a casual tone: "Ava, your imagination's running wild. What could I be hiding? I'm just tired—stop overthinking it."

As they spoke, Tracy emerged from the study, a book in hand. Her calm, scrutinizing gaze fixed on Paul as she spoke slowly: "Krook, I was organizing things in the study today and noticed that project proposal you used to treasure is missing. You put so much effort into it—how could it just disappear?"

Paul cursed inwardly. He had no idea about any proposal—had he misplaced it without realizing? Another crack in his story. Stammering, he said, "Oh, that… I might've taken it to the office and forgotten where I put it. I'll look for it later."

Tracy frowned, staring into his eyes, her tone measured: "Krook, you've always been meticulous with important documents. How could you forget where it is? And I've noticed something else—the books you've been reading in the study lately are different. Those business classics you loved are gathering dust, replaced by random titles. That's quite a change."

Paul felt like he'd been stripped bare, exposed with nowhere to hide. His panic mounted, but he forced composure: "Maybe I just wanted a change of pace, to broaden my horizons with new books. As for the proposal, I'll find it. Don't make a big deal out of it."

At that moment, Beatrice descended the stairs. Her gaze on Paul was a tangle of emotions—worry, doubt, and a trace of disappointment. She said softly, "Darling, we don't want to pry, but these changes in you are too obvious. We're just concerned. If something's wrong, tell us. Whatever it is, we'll face it together."

Looking at Beatrice's earnest face, guilt surged in Paul's chest. But how could he reveal the truth? He pressed on: "Baby, I'm fine. It's just work stress messing with me. Trust me, I'll be back to normal soon."

His words didn't dispel their doubts. Instead, the women exchanged glances, their eyes seeming to say, "He's definitely hiding something. We need to keep watching."

Seeing their expressions, Paul's unease deepened. His slip-ups at home were piling up, and these women weren't easily fooled—they were like keen detectives, inching closer to his secret.

Unbeknownst to them, Paul and Beatrice had been together for some time. But only Paul knew the lengths he went to in his private life to keep Beatrice from uncovering the secret buried deep within him.

Every night, as they lay in bed to rest, Paul would immediately reach to turn off the lights. Even when Beatrice playfully protested, wanting to chat or gaze at each other, he'd make excuses—lights too harsh for sleep, or some such—and flick the switch, plunging the room into darkness.

In that blackness, he could breathe a little easier, safe from the risk of his expressions or subtle physical quirks betraying him to Beatrice.

Showering was another thing Paul handled with utmost caution. Beatrice had suggested a romantic couples' bath several times, thinking it'd bring them closer. Each time, Paul's face would stiffen, and he'd gently decline—too tired today, or he preferred the solitude of a shower. In truth, he feared that in such an unguarded setting, his tension would slip through, or worse, Beatrice might notice details he couldn't let her see.

Even in the privacy of their bedroom, Paul never bared himself in front of Beatrice. Mornings, he'd wait for her to head to the bathroom or turn away before hurriedly dressing. At night, he'd change into pajamas under the covers, his cautious movements as if one slip could trigger disaster.

One night, Beatrice woke up thirsty and fumbled to turn on the light. Paul, a light sleeper, jolted awake and instinctively yanked the blanket over himself, wrapping it tight. His flustered reaction startled Beatrice, who teased, "What's with you, jumping like a scared bunny?" Paul laughed awkwardly, claiming the sudden light had dazzled him.

Another time, Beatrice bought a sexy nightgown to show off for Paul, twirling in the bedroom and tugging his hand, suggesting he slip into something comfy too so they could cuddle and watch a movie. Paul brushed it off, saying he needed the bathroom first. He lingered inside for ages, emerging in long-sleeved, full-length pajamas, fully covered. Beatrice found it odd but chalked it up to shyness.

In reality, Paul harbored his own fears. The closer they grew, the harder it became to hide what he desperately wanted to keep secret.

Yet he felt trapped on all sides—suspicions from the company's higher-ups, the women's scrutiny at home. It was as if invisible hands were peeling back his imposter's mask, layer by layer.

He didn't know how much longer he could hold out. The air in the villa felt suffocating, pressing down on him until he could hardly breathe.