Chapter 3
I didn't head straight home. Instead, I parked my car at a café across from my building, pulled out the newly bought SIM card, and gave a private investigator a call.
"Hey, I need you to dig up some info on someone," I said. "Name's Hank Miller. He's a personal trainer at Beyond Built.
"I want everything on him: address, marital status, social circle, the works. The more detailed, the better.
"Money's not an issue."
After hanging up, I lit a cigarette and took a long drag.
As the smoke swirled around me, my thoughts wandered back to my previous life.
After Shelly died, I became obsessed, investigating her like a madman.
It was then that I discovered Hank had already been married. His wife was a nurse who worked night shifts.
Hank took advantage of those nights, hooking up with my so-called dutiful wife in the very bedroom I'd decorated for us.
How pathetic was I? I actually thought Shelly was lonely at home, so I'd call her every night during my business trips, always right on time, to remind her to get some rest.
Now that I thought about it, every time she moaned breathlessly on the phone, saying, "I'm so tired, I'm going to bed," she was probably right on top of that bastard, grinding away.
The disgust was bone-deep, eating away at me.
I crushed my cigarette out in the ashtray, pulled out my phone, and checked the time.
It was almost time.
Shelly always took a nap around noon, usually for an hour. That was my golden opportunity.
I pulled into the parking garage, but didn't go upstairs right away. I sat there and waited.
Sure enough, not long after, I spotted Shelly posting in the neighborhood group chat: [Hey ladies, I whipped up some tiramisu. Anyone craving some? I'll bring it over after my nap.]
The chat blew up with neighbor replies.
[Wow, Shelly, you're such a perfect wife.]
[Man, Eric is so lucky to have you.]
[Shelly's desserts are basically legendary around here.]
Seeing all those compliments, I curled my lips into a cold smirk.
Perfect wife, huh? Sure, she was so "perfect" she used my hard-earned money to support another guy behind my back.
Once I was sure Shelly was asleep, I snuck back home, making sure not to make a sound.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The living room was dead silent, only the faint hum of the fridge breaking the stillness.
I put on shoe covers, careful not to make a sound, and quietly walked into our bedroom.
Shelly was lying on her side, deep asleep, a thin comforter barely covering her, her curves outlined beneath the fabric.
Looking at the sleeping face I used to be obsessed with, my heart didn't stir at all, only a cold, dead emptiness inside.
I didn't spare her another glance. I quickly pulled the cameras out of my bag.
One went into the pendant light fixture right above the bed.
Another slipped behind the digital photo frame on the nightstand.
The last one got tucked inside the living room AC vent.
I'd picked these spots carefully. They were at perfect angles and completely out of sight.
Once everything was set up, I left immediately.
Back in my car, I grabbed my backup phone and hooked it up to the surveillance feed.
On the screen, the bed in the bedroom was clearly visible.
Shelly was still fast asleep, completely unaware of what was about to happen.
I started the car and headed straight for the airport.
My project was out of town, and I had to make sure I was seen there in person.
I was crafting the perfect alibi for myself.
As the plane took off, I received the first report from the private investigator.
It was a photo of Hank.
In the picture, he was all muscle, flashing a bright smile. He seemed harmless enough.
But I knew all too well what kind of filth lurked beneath that facade.
I saved the photo and then sent Shelly a message: [Honey, I'm at the airport and about to board. Make sure you take care of yourself while I'm gone, and don't forget to eat on time.]
She replied almost instantly with a cute emoji: [Got it. You too, honey. Text me when you land, okay? Love you.]
Love me?
As I stared at those words, the smile on my lips grew even colder.
Shelly didn't realize that from the moment I boarded this plane, the deadly show I meticulously prepared for her had already begun.