Chapter 1

I unlocked my husband's phone, and an active Uber trip popped up on the screen.

The pickup was an unfamiliar apartment complex. The destination was a downtown hotel.

I scrolled back through a full year of ride history.

Every single weekday morning, at 8:10 AM sharp, an Uber was ordered from that same complex to his office. Never missed a day.

Every trip was twenty dollars.

I stared at the screen, remembering how I took the crowded subway every morning just to save a few bucks.

While I pinched pennies, he was paying for someone else's daily ride.

I scrolled back further. A week ago, when I had a 102-degree fever, he told me he had to work late.

Yet that night at 11:00 PM, an Uber had been called from that complex to the very same hotel.

And now, here was another trip, heading to the exact same place.

Derek finished lacing up his shoes without looking up. "An emergency came up at the office. I have to run."

I placed the phone face down on the sofa, silent.

I slipped into my shoes, left before him, and hailed a cab straight to that hotel.

"Just got to the office. Might be home late tonight."

The revolving doors swung open, and Derek walked in holding a cake box.

I raised my phone, snapped a picture of his back, and sent it to him.

"I thought you were at the office?"

The elevator doors opened, and he strode inside without checking his phone.

I followed him in, stopping half a step behind him.

The polished mirror inside reflected his face. When he caught my reflection, his brows snapped together.

He turned around, his voice tight.

"Chloe? What are you doing here?"

I didn't beat around the bush, fixing my eyes on the slight crease at his collar.

"Who’s the woman you order an Uber for every single day?"

He loosened his collar with a forced smile.

"What are you talking about? She's a new hire at work. She lives far out, so I just called her a ride on my way."

"It's that simple."

"For a whole year? Every single morning rush hour?"

My tone was dead flat, my nails digging into my palms.

"What kind of coworker needs you to play personal chauffeur every day?"

His smile stiffened, then he sighed, his voice softening.

"You're overthinking this. She just graduated and is trying to make it in the city alone. I was just helping her out."

"Didn't you always tell me to look out for the juniors?"

I gave a cold smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"Then why are you at a hotel? Is tonight part of your charity work too?"

He checked his watch, acting as if I was wasting his precious time.

"Today's her birthday. A few people from the team chipped in to celebrate, and I was on cake duty."

"Just you? Where’s everyone else?"

He parted his lips, his voice wavering.

"They're... waiting upstairs."

I stared at him, waiting for him to keep digging his grave.

Unsettled by my gaze, he reached out to grab my arm.

"Come on, stop being paranoid. If you're upset, I'll go back with you right now. I'll just leave the cake at the front desk."

"Let's go home."

His fingers wrapped around my wrist with the familiar gentle pressure he always used.

I stood rooted to the spot.

"I'm not going back."

I pulled my wrist free.

"I'm going up with you."

The elevator floor numbers ticked upward one by one.

The calm mask on his face finally cracked.

"Chloe, seriously, don't. It's just a team hangout. It'll be awkward if you show up."

"Listen to me. Go home. I'll just have one drink and leave."

I glanced at him. The tips of his ears were burning red.

"If your conscience is clean, what are you afraid of?"

His Adam's apple bobbed, and he forced an uneasy chuckle.

"I'm not afraid. I just don't want to make an unnecessary scene."

"If you barge in like this, people will think something's wrong."

Ding. The doors slid open.

The hallway was dead quiet, the carpet so plush it muffled every step.

He blocked my path at the elevator door, raising an arm.

"Chloe, please, I'm begging you. Don't go in there."

"Let's talk at home, okay?"

There was genuine panic in his eyes.

I had never seen him look like this.

"Move."

I dodged his arm and walked down the hall.

He scrambled after me, grabbing my wrist again, this time hard.

"I was wrong."

His voice was barely a whisper, choked with dread.

"I know I messed up. It won't happen again. Let's just leave right now, please?"

Before I could speak, his phone rang in his pocket.

The screen lit up with a single contact name: a crescent moon emoji.

His face drained of color as he frantically tried to decline it.

I moved faster, snatching the phone from his grip, answering it, and hitting speaker.