Chapter 2

The morning after I hired Leo Vance, I woke up beside William feeling like a fraud. His arm was draped across my waist, his breathing deep and peaceful. I studied his sleeping face—the strong jawline I'd traced with my fingertips countless times, the dark lashes resting against his cheeks, the slight curve of his lips that always seemed ready to smile. Could this man really be living a double life?

"What are you staring at?" William murmured, his eyes still closed but his lips quirking into a smile.

"Just memorizing your face," I replied, the truth slipping out before I could stop it.

"Planning to forget it?" he teased, pulling me closer.

"Never," I whispered, ignoring the knot in my stomach.

An hour later, we were at Sweet Delights Bakery for our final cake tasting. The owner, Mia, brought out three sample cakes—the finalists we'd narrowed down from our previous visit.

"The lemon with raspberry filling, the classic vanilla with strawberry, and the chocolate hazelnut," she announced, setting the elegant plate before us.

William fed me a bite of the chocolate hazelnut, his eyes never leaving mine. "What do you think, future Mrs. Brown?"

The cake melted in my mouth, rich and decadent, but I barely tasted it. All I could focus on was the weight of his gaze and the heaviness in my chest.

"It's perfect," I managed, forcing a smile.

William's phone buzzed. Again. It had been buzzing all morning.

"Sorry," he said, the same apologetic smile I'd seen a hundred times before. "It's Jack again. This Peterson account is turning into a nightmare."

He stepped away, his voice dropping to that now-suspicious murmur. I watched him through the bakery window as he paced on the sidewalk, one hand gesturing animatedly while the other held the phone to his ear.

"Everything okay?" Mia asked, noticing my distraction.

"Fine," I lied. "Just wedding jitters."

Later that afternoon, we walked through our venue one last time. The rustic barn had been my dream location since I was a little girl, with its soaring wooden beams and twinkling fairy lights. William held my hand as the coordinator showed us where the string quartet would set up, where our first dance would take place.

"And here's where you'll say your vows," she said, gesturing to the flower-adorned arch at the far end of the barn.

William squeezed my hand. "I can't wait to make you my wife," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.

I leaned into him, inhaling his familiar cologne, trying to reconcile this man—this loving, attentive man—with the cheater the anonymous caller had described.

That night, after William fell asleep, I slipped out of bed and into the bathroom with my phone.

"Any updates?" I texted Leo.

Three dots appeared immediately. "Meeting tomorrow, 2 PM. Coffee shop on 5th. Preliminary findings to discuss."

I deleted the message, my heart racing. Preliminary findings. What had he discovered? I splashed cold water on my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles were forming under my eyes, betraying my sleepless nights.

"What are you doing?" William's voice made me jump.

I spun around to find him leaning against the doorframe, hair tousled from sleep, eyes concerned.

"Just couldn't sleep," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Wedding nerves."

He crossed the small space between us, wrapping his arms around me from behind, meeting my eyes in the mirror. "Having second thoughts?"

"No," I said quickly. Too quickly? "Just... overwhelmed with all the details."

William kissed my temple. "Let me help. You don't have to do everything alone."

The tenderness in his voice nearly broke me. I wanted to turn around, bury my face in his chest, and confess everything—the call, the investigator, my doubts. But the memory of his secretive phone calls held me back.

"I know," I said instead, leaning back against him. "Let's go back to bed."

The next day, I sat in the back corner of Brewed Awakening, nervously shredding a napkin as I waited for Leo. When he arrived—a compact man with observant eyes and a nondescript appearance that probably served him well in his profession—he ordered a coffee before joining me.

"Ms. Price," he greeted me, sliding into the chair opposite mine.

"What have you found?" I asked, unable to wait for pleasantries.

Leo opened a small notebook. "Your fiancé keeps to a fairly regular schedule. Office from 8 to 6, usually lunch at his desk. He does take several calls throughout the day, stepping away from his colleagues to speak privately."

My stomach tightened. "That could be normal for business calls."

"Could be," Leo agreed, his expression neutral. "I've also noted that he frequently texts someone during work hours. The conversations appear... intense. Lots of typing, occasional smiling at the screen."

I swallowed hard. "That's not conclusive."

"No, it's not," Leo acknowledged. "I'll need more time to establish patterns, possibly identify who he's communicating with."

I nodded, my fingers twisting the shredded napkin. "And the caller? Any leads?"

"Working on tracing the number. It was a burner phone, but there might be other ways to identify her."

As I left the coffee shop, my phone buzzed with a text from William: "Dress fitting at 4, right? I'll meet you there. Love you."

I typed back a quick confirmation, feeling like the worst kind of hypocrite.

At the bridal boutique, I stood on a small platform surrounded by mirrors, the wedding dress I'd fallen in love with months ago now feeling like a costume. The seamstress knelt at my feet, pinning the hem while William sat in a plush chair, watching me with admiration.

"You look breathtaking," he said softly.

His phone buzzed. Once, twice, three times in quick succession. William glanced down, his expression shifting subtly before he composed himself. He typed something rapidly, then put the phone away.

"Everything okay?" I asked, striving for casualness.

"Just Jack again," William replied, his smile returning too quickly. "The Peterson account is in the final stages. He needs constant updates."

I nodded, turning back to my reflection. In the mirror, I could see William pull out his phone again when he thought I wasn't looking, his fingers flying over the screen, his brow furrowed in concentration.

It wasn't proof. It wasn't anything concrete. But as I stood there in my wedding dress, watching my fiancé's secret communications reflected in the mirror, I felt the foundation of my perfect life beginning to crack beneath my feet.