Chapter 2

Those suspicious marks couldn't be brushed off so easily.

Hannah quickly replied, "My best friend invited me over, but the apartment elevator broke down. I was trapped inside for hours with zero cell service! The rescue crew didn't get us out until after eight."

She told me to look up the local news.

Sure enough, a local page had posted a video about an elevator outage in that exact neighborhood, showing passengers being freed around eight o'clock—matching her story perfectly.

"And these red marks are just nasty bug bites from waiting in that stuffy elevator shaft, not hickeys."

She tilted her head to show me, and indeed, there were tiny inflamed bumps on her skin.

No matter what flaw I pointed out, she had a smooth, perfectly structured excuse ready. She rattled them off without blinking, as if she had rehearsed them a hundred times.

Instead of putting my mind at ease, her flawless alibis only made me more certain: Hannah was hiding something massive.

Sure enough, after Hannah stripped down and fell into a deep sleep, I noticed something when I pulled back the covers.

Right above her tailbone, drawn in dark, permanent ink, was a number.

24!

I clenched my fists until my knuckles turned white, nearly losing my mind.

This was no coincidence. A facial resemblance could be a fluke, but the exact number couldn't be! My wife was truly a member of that sick boss's harem—she was Number Twenty-Four!

Staring at the ink stamped onto her intimate skin felt like a brutal slap in the face.

She hadn't even bothered to scrub it off. She was fearless, totally convinced I was too weak to do anything about it. Did she really think I was a doormat who would just roll over? Why should some scumbag CEO get away with this?!

Looking at Hannah sleeping soundly, every fiber of my being screamed to rip her out of bed. But I forced myself to stop.

If I confronted her now, she’d only spin another web of lies. It was pointless. I needed irrefutable proof.

When the time came, I would cut ties cleanly.

A woman who had betrayed our vows didn't deserve to be my wife for another second.

First thing the next morning, I hired a private investigator to track Hannah's every move. Most importantly, I needed to know: why was an employee of DreamCorp inside the private harem of Vance Enterprises' CEO?

What dark secrets was she keeping behind my back?

The investigator took three whole days to get back to me.

Those three days were pure torture.

Not only did Hannah leave early and return late every day, but each time she walked through the door, she carried unmistakable traces of physical intimacy. Even her silk stockings and lace underwear would mysteriously vanish.

What she was doing out there was glaringly obvious.

Yet whenever I questioned her, she fired back with polished, airtight excuses that left me choking on my words.

Finally, on the third day, the investigator called with the complete truth.

Before explaining, he handed me a flash drive and told me to brace myself.

I plugged it into my phone with an adapter. The folder was filled with dozens of video files.

I tapped one at random. The moment the footage played, fury threatened to blow the top off my skull—the video showed Hannah enthusiastically getting down with another man!

And that man was Lily’s boss, Victor Vance!

The investigator then opened another file. It was another explicit video, but when the camera panned to the man's face, my vision blurred with shock.

The man was Hannah’s direct supervisor at DreamCorp—Keith Ward.

Hannah hadn't just cheated with one man. She had cheated with two!