Chapter 2
"Drop by his office?"
Claire's smile froze.
In a heartbeat, her hand clamped around my wrist. "No! Corporate security is on lockdown this late. Plus, it's a closed-door executive meeting. You'll only distract him!"
She steered me toward the exit. "You've been waiting for hours. You look pale. Let's get you home to bed. Don't overthink this."
The second the car pulled into the garage, my phone buzzed on the console.
A bank alert.
The "weeks-in-advance" sapphire necklace had just been charged to our joint account.
He bought a hotel lobby trinket with my money to silence me.
Claire followed me inside, chattering nonstop, making sure I wouldn't turn the car around.
The foyer sensor light clicked on. The villa was pitch-black and dead silent.
On the leather sofa lay a charcoal suit jacket -- the one Daniel wore this morning.
I picked it up.
A heavy, cloying cloud of tuberose hit my face. An aggressive, feminine scent from an expensive private salon.
"When did Daniel switch to perfume like this?"
Claire kicked off her heels, completely unbothered. "Oh, that? High-end dry cleaners use scent beads like that now. My cashmere coats smell the exact same after a wash."
Rehearsed. Word for word.
I turned the lapel. On the pristine white silk lining of the collar, there was a smooth smear of concealer foundation.
"Does the dry cleaner throw in foundation for free, too?"
I held the collar inches from her face.
Silence dropped like lead.
The smile cracked on Claire's face, but only for a fraction of a second. Her eyes darted.
"Oh... wait! The lead on Daniel's merger is a French female exec! A hug after signing a deal is totally standard. The French do cheek kisses. What's the big deal with a little makeup rubbing off?"
She reached to snatch the jacket.
I stepped back.
"Claire. At the restaurant, you swore he was locked in the boardroom on a video call."
"Now he's doing cheek-kisses with a French executive?"
Cornered, Claire's expression shifted. No apology. Instead, she took a sharp breath, and tears spilled instantly down her cheeks.
A practiced counter-attack.
"Irene! Are you interrogating me?!" Claire clutched her chest, her voice shrill.
"Look at yourself! Paranoid, crazy! I raced across town in the middle of the night to comfort you, and you're treating me like a criminal?!"
She wiped her cheeks, laying on the venom:
"Daniel is breaking his back out there for this family! Instead of showing him any support, you're picking fights over a dry-cleaning stain!"
"This suffocating control would drive any man away. No wonder he didn't want to come home to you tonight!"
The old Irene would have questioned herself and apologized.
Now, I just watched her perform.
The necklace, the laundry excuse, the French executive, the tears -- they had built an airtight script together.
"Don't cry," I said softly, letting a trace of weary defeat slip into my voice. "You're right. I waited four hours. I'm just on edge."
Her tears vanished instantly.
A flash of smug relief flickered in her eyes.
"I'm glad you see that, Irene! We're family. Why would I lie? Go drink some warm water and sleep. Daniel would be heartbroken if he knew you were doubting him."
"Okay."
I hung the tuberose-scented jacket on the coat rack.
Deep inside the silk breast pocket, my fingers hit plastic.
A keycard to the Penthouse Presidential Suite at The St. Giles Hotel.
Tucked into the card sleeve was a handwritten lounge note:
[11:00 PM. Waiting in the suite. -- Vivian]
With my back to her, hidden under my sleeve, I angled my phone.
Two silent photos: the foundation stain on the collar, and the hotel note peeking from the lining.
The moment the camera clicked, violent dizziness and a burning heat crashed over me.
Four hours in the cold restaurant had caught up with me. The room tilted.
I bit my lip, bracing against the wall, fighting to stay upright.
Before everything went black, I caught Claire's satisfied smirk.
And laughed cold inside.