Chapter 2

I had discovered Julian's infidelity two weeks ago.

That day, I had been caught in a downpour during my period, and debilitating cramps left me bedridden and shivering.

Julian stayed home all day, pretending to work remotely just to look after me. But by evening, as my fever spiked, his phone rang. Before I could even say a word, he told me there was a massive crisis at the office and rushed out.

I lay in bed alone, drifting in and out of a delirious sleep.

It wasn't until midnight that he finally came back.

Finding me burning up, he gathered me into his arms. And in that embrace, I caught a faint trace of cheap, synthetic perfume clinging to his shirt.

It wasn't the first time I had smelled it on him. When I asked him once before, he claimed an office intern had sprayed it recklessly and accidentally brushed against his coat.

But I remembered clearly: that intern had resigned the month prior after a critical data error nearly cost the company millions.

Dazed with fever, I didn't press him that night. But once my temperature dropped, I found a single strand of long, pitch-black hair on his blazer—completely unlike my own.

I called his executive assistant directly, only to learn there had been no emergency at the office that night whatsoever.

The cheap scent and that rogue hair shattered my peace of mind. Julian and I had been in love for nine years and married for five. To admit he was cheating felt like swallowing poison.

Yet the ugly truth slapped me hard across the face.

I hired a private investigator to tail him.

Less than a week later, the investigator sent me a video clip.

In the footage, Julian was in casual loungewear, cradling a chubby toddler in his arms. The shot was taken from a distance, with no audio, but his lips were unmistakably mouthing the words: "Say daddy."

Hearing my retort, the woman standing at my door turned instantly pale.

"Impossible! Julian would never say that! Leo is the ultimate proof of our love! Why would he ever hand Leo over to you?!"

Watching her unravel, I slowly pulled a dying rose from the bouquet.

"If I had to guess, he bought these for you two days ago, didn't he? Celebrating the holiday early?"

A few days ago, I had combed through Julian's delivery apps. For the past three years, every single couple's holiday saw a bouquet or luxury gift delivered two to three days in advance to the exact same private residence.

That address was the secret home he shared with this woman.

The home where they supposedly raised their child together.

Deep, buried memories flared to life, and I realized the breadcrumbs had been there all along.

Two years ago, I smelled baby formula on his collar. He laughed it off, claiming he'd accidentally spilled milk on himself during lunch.

Back then, I teased him for being a clumsy child.

Now, knowing he had a whole second family outside, the timeline clicked into place with horrifying precision.

He hadn't spilled milk. He had been playing the doting father in another woman's nursery.

The tragic joke was, he truly believed the child was his.