Chapter 2

Richard was quiet for a long time—so long that I thought the call had dropped. Then, his voice came through, barely holding back his anger. "Who told you?"

I didn't answer. I just found it ridiculous. Even now, his first instinct wasn't to explain himself but to find out who had let the secret slip.

"Does it even matter?" I shot back. "Richard, don't you think you owe me an explanation?"

"Where are you? I'm coming over," he said, his voice regaining its composure, though his tone remained an absolute command. "We'll talk face-to-face."

I gave him the address of the hotel where the annual gala was being held.

After hanging up, I headed back to the ballroom.

Emily's eyes darted away when she saw me. She looked like she wanted to say something but lost her nerve.

I ignored her, walked straight to my seat, and downed a glass of champagne in one go. The icy liquid slid down my throat, but it couldn't put out the fire burning in my chest.

Half an hour later, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Richard. It read: [Parking lot, B2.]

I grabbed my clutch, excused myself to the HR Director, and made an early exit.

The underground parking lot was vast and chilling on this winter night.

Richard's black Phaeton sat silently in a corner. With its headlights off, it looked like a predator lurking in the shadows.

I pulled open the door and sat in the passenger seat.

The interior was pitch black, save for the dim emergency lights from the aisle reflecting off his sharp profile. He smelled faintly of disinfectant.

"Who told you?" He opened his mouth, and it was the same damn question.

I turned my head to look at him. "Richard, we've been married for eight years. Our son is seven. And now you're telling me you had a daughter with another woman?"

My voice was eerily calm. "Is this bigamy, Richard?"

"Helen." He frowned, seemingly taking offense at my choice of words. "It's not what you think."

"What is it then?" I pressed him. "Tell me, Richard, am I the crazy one here, or has the whole world gone mad?"

Richard stayed silent, took out a cigarette from the glove compartment, and lit it.

The red ember pulsed at his fingertips, and in the swirling haze of smoke, his expression became a blur.

"Her name is Claire White," he said. "She's... someone from my past."

"Someone from your past?" I repeated the words and laughed. "A 'someone' who just happened to bear your child?"

Richard took a sharp drag and blew the smoke hard against the window. "She's always frail. The doctors said she'd probably never have kids. This was an accident... She insisted on keeping it."

He said it so casually, as if he were talking about something that had nothing to do with him.

"And?" I stared at him. "So, because of an 'accident,' you just let her have it? Richard, what am I to you? And what about our son, Leo?"

"I never had any intention of divorcing you." He finally turned to look at me. His gaze was deep but cold as ice. "Helen, after all these years together, I thought you understood me."

"Understood you?" It felt like I'd just heard the world's biggest joke. "So, because I 'understand' you, I'm supposed to just look the other way while you play the field and father a bastard daughter?"

"She is not a bastard!" His voice suddenly spiked, sharp with the irritation of a man whose buttons had been pushed. "I will take responsibility for her."

"And what about me?" I kept my eyes locked on him. "What about our son? How do you plan on taking responsibility for us?"

Richard crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray. A suffocating silence filled the car.

It felt like an eternity before he spoke again. "Helen... Claire just gave birth. She's emotionally unstable. Can we just put this on ice for a while?"

His tone felt like he was throwing me a piece of charity. "Just calm down for now. I'll take care of things at the company. Don't let this mess affect our jobs or daily life."

Affected our lives? Our life had already been ruined by his own hands.

I stared at Richard—so familiar, yet suddenly a complete stranger.

Eight years of marriage, and for the first time, I realized I'd never truly known him. His calm and rationality right now felt like a thousand knives cutting me to the quick.

I took a deep breath, shoving all my emotions down.

"Fine," I said. "I won't make a scene."

Richard seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and the tension in his eyes softened. He reached out, trying to take my hand, but I pulled away.

"Richard, I only have one question," I said.

"Go ahead," he replied.

"Does she... Does Claire know I exist? Does she know about Leo?" I asked.

Richard's hand froze in mid-air. He averted his gaze, looking out the car window instead. "No," he said. "I never told her."