Chapter 3
I woke up in a private hospital room, shivering under a 104-degree fever.
Daniel was nowhere to be seen.
The harsh bite of antiseptic burned my nose. An IV line ran into the back of my hand.
My phone on the nightstand showed a text from two hours ago:
[The deal is at a critical phase, I can't leave. Claire is staying with you. Rest up, and don't overthink things.]
Beside the bed, Claire was delicately peeling an apple.
Seeing me stir, she instantly wore a look of tender reproach.
"You're finally awake! The doctor said the chill triggered an acute fever. You terrified me!"
She handed me a cup of warm water, stepping right back into her script.
"Daniel was going to rush over, but I stopped him. He has dozens of jobs on the line with this deal. Irene, marriage takes compromise. Don't start drama with him right now."
"Compromise?" My voice rasped.
"Yes!" Claire squeezed my hand. "A man fighting out there needs support. If you pull him away over a fever, what will the board think? A good wife is an anchor, not a deadweight."
A good wife.
Three years of swallowing my pride for his "career." And my reward was him spending our anniversary in a luxury suite with another woman while his sister lectured me on obedience.
I drank the water and let my eyes fall shut. "I'm tired. I need the bathroom."
I peeled back the tape on my hand, gripped the IV pole, and stood.
As I passed the sofa, Claire's phone lit up on the coffee table.
Sender: [Daniel]
[Is she asleep?]
I froze.
Claire lunged across the couch, snatching the phone and flipping it face down.
Her voice cracked with panic. "Uh... Irene, don't get the wrong idea! That's... a client from my studio. Total coincidence!"
"A coincidence?" I looked at her pale face.
"Yes! Total coincidence!" She forced a tight smile, ushering me toward the bathroom. "Go, quickly. The doctor said you need deep sleep to break the fever."
I locked the door behind me.
In the mirror, my face was chalk. But my eyes were terrifyingly sharp.
They were checking in in real-time. Every breath I took was being reported.
Five minutes later, I climbed back into bed, pulled the blanket up, and closed my eyes.
I slowed my breathing into the rhythm of heavy sleep.
Ten minutes in, a hand nudged my shoulder.
"Irene? Irene?"
I didn't flinch. A quiet sigh of relief escaped her lips, followed by the soft click of the door closing.
My eyes snapped open.
Barefoot, I crossed the freezing floor to the door.
It was cracked open a sliver.
Under the hallway lights, Claire had the phone glued to her ear, whispering:
"Relax, the fever knocked her out. I tested her -- she doesn't suspect a thing."
"Did you handle Vivian? Did you check out of the suite? Did she throw a fit about the necklace?"
"Just get over here. And air out that perfume. Don't leave any more damn clues..."
I gripped the doorframe, nails sinking into the wood.
No tears. No trembling.
Only a cold fury burning away the last trace of warmth in my blood.
I pulled out my phone, tapped record with steady fingers, and captured every whispered word.
As the call ended, the file synced straight to my encrypted drive.
Click. Clack. Click.
Hurried dress shoes echoed down the hall.
The handle turned.
I slipped silently back beneath the sheets and closed my eyes.