Chapter 2 · His Fake Trip Cost Him Everything

Chapter 2

Three years ago, I'd walked out of Sullivan Estate and sworn to live an ordinary life. I'd find a regular guy, fall in love the normal way, and prove I didn't need the Sullivan fortune to build something real.

Well, I'd found one alright, an ordinary guy through and through.

So ordinary that he managed to father a son on a business trip.

The next morning, I called in sick to work.

I was a copywriter at Unity Advertising, a small agency downtown. The pay was 2,800 a month after taxes, and I'd been on the job for two and a half years.

My coworkers all saw me the same way. Quiet, agreeable Nina, married to a decent enough husband, living in a mortgaged two-bedroom on the east side. A simple life, and she seemed content with it.

At half past nine, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a middle-aged man in a gray suit standing in the hallway, every hair in place, a leather briefcase in his hand.

"Ms. Sullivan, I'm Killian Shaw. Mr. Sullivan sent me," he said.

"Come in."

Once he sat down, I pushed everything across the table. Every screenshot, every photo, every printout of our text messages that I'd compiled the night before.

I'd also pulled Eric's credit card statements from the bank that morning. I was an authorized user on his account, which gave me full access to the primary card's transaction history.

Killian spent 10 minutes going through the documents. "Ms. Sullivan, these records show that over the past year, Mr. Carter made frequent purchases at baby supply stores and OB-GYN clinics. There are also repeated transfers to an account under the name Laura Bennett."

"How much total?" I asked.

"Roughly 120 thousand dollars."

Our mortgage payment was 2,300 a month. Eric brought home five grand, and after the mortgage and bills, he always said there was nothing left to save.

Turns out he'd been saving it all, just not for us.

"Mr. Shaw, the apartment was purchased after we married. I put down 65 thousand for the deposit. He put in 15 thousand. We split the mortgage payments 50-50, and I have the bank records to prove it."

"Then the property would be divided according to each party's contribution in the event of a divorce."

"I don't want the apartment."

Killian looked up at me.

"I want him to pay."

I slid one last document out from the bottom of the pile.

It was a copy of our marriage certificate, with a small note in the margin that read [Registered March 16, 2021.]

"Eric had an affair during our marriage and fathered a child outside of it. I want him to walk away with nothing," I said.

Killian nodded without a flicker of expression.

"Mr. Sullivan also asked me to relay something."

"What?"

"He said that if you need it, the Sullivan Group's legal department can handle the entire case."

"That won't be necessary," I said. "I'll handle this myself. You're more than enough."

"Understood."

After I saw Killian out, I went back to the living room. My phone screen lit up with a text from Eric.

Eric: [Hey babe, negotiations didn't go great today. Might need to stay a couple extra days. Be good at home, okay?] He'd tacked on a kiss emoji at the end.

That emoji held my gaze for five seconds, then I typed back one word: [Okay.]

Then I opened Leo Jackson's Instagram. He'd posted a new Story that day, and the location tag read Millbrook Women's Hospital.

Eric wasn't in Silvercrest. He was right here in Millbrook, barely 40 minutes away, sitting by another woman's bedside.

I grabbed my car keys. Before I left, I changed into a dress and put on makeup, not too much and not too little.

Just enough to look like a woman whose life was going perfectly fine.

*****

The drive to Millbrook Women's Hospital took 35 minutes. Inside the main building, I stopped at the front desk. "Hi, could you tell me which room Laura Bennett is in?"

The nurse checked her screen. "Room 1203."

I stepped into the elevator. It opened on the 12th floor, and I walked to the end of the hallway.

Eric sat at the edge of the hospital bed, a bowl of soup in one hand and a spoon in the other, feeding a woman one careful sip at a time.

She looked about 25 or 26. Laura Bennett had a round face, fair skin, and loose hair falling past her shoulders. Her expression was that particular blend of post-delivery exhaustion and deep contentment.

A bassinet sat beside the bed. Inside it, a newborn wrapped in a blue blanket slept soundly.

I recognized the look in Eric's eyes as he watched her. He'd looked at me the same way during our first year of marriage.

A middle-aged woman I'd never seen before sat in the chair across the bed, peeling an apple. "Eric, honey, this soup is wonderful," she said. "Laura, drink up. You need it for your milk supply."

"Thanks, ma'am. I learned it from the postpartum nurse," Eric replied with a smile.

He'd called that woman's mother "ma'am," and the word rolled off his tongue with a warmth I'd never heard him use with mine.

Chapter 2

Well, I'd found one alright, an ordinary guy through and through.

So ordinary that he managed to father a son on a business trip.

The next morning, I called in sick to work.

I was a copywriter at Unity Advertising, a small agency downtown. The pay was 2,800 a month after taxes, and I'd been on the job for two and a half years.

My coworkers all saw me the same way. Quiet, agreeable Nina, married to a decent enough husband, living in a mortgaged two-bedroom on the east side. A simple life, and she seemed content with it.

At half past nine, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a middle-aged man in a gray suit standing in the hallway, every hair in place, a leather briefcase in his hand.

"Ms. Sullivan, I'm Killian Shaw. Mr. Sullivan sent me," he said.

"Come in."

Once he sat down, I pushed everything across the table. Every screenshot, every photo, every printout of our text messages that I'd compiled the night before.

I'd also pulled Eric's credit card statements from the bank that morning. I was an authorized user on his account, which gave me full access to the primary card's transaction history.

"How much total?" I asked.

"Roughly 120 thousand dollars."

Our mortgage payment was 2,300 a month. Eric brought home five grand, and after the mortgage and bills, he always said there was nothing left to save.

Turns out he'd been saving it all, just not for us.

"Mr. Shaw, the apartment was purchased after we married. I put down 65 thousand for the deposit. He put in 15 thousand. We split the mortgage payments 50-50, and I have the bank records to prove it."

"Then the property would be divided according to each party's contribution in the event of a divorce."

"I don't want the apartment."

Killian looked up at me.

"I want him to pay."

I slid one last document out from the bottom of the pile.

It was a copy of our marriage certificate, with a small note in the margin that read [Registered March 16, 2021.]

"Eric had an affair during our marriage and fathered a child outside of it. I want him to walk away with nothing," I said.

Killian nodded without a flicker of expression.

"Mr. Sullivan also asked me to relay something."

"What?"

"He said that if you need it, the Sullivan Group's legal department can handle the entire case."

"That won't be necessary," I said. "I'll handle this myself. You're more than enough."

"Understood."

After I saw Killian out, I went back to the living room. My phone screen lit up with a text from Eric.

Eric: [Hey babe, negotiations didn't go great today. Might need to stay a couple extra days. Be good at home, okay?] He'd tacked on a kiss emoji at the end.

That emoji held my gaze for five seconds, then I typed back one word: [Okay.]

Then I opened Leo Jackson's Instagram. He'd posted a new Story that day, and the location tag read Millbrook Women's Hospital.

Eric wasn't in Silvercrest. He was right here in Millbrook, barely 40 minutes away, sitting by another woman's bedside.

I grabbed my car keys. Before I left, I changed into a dress and put on makeup, not too much and not too little.

Just enough to look like a woman whose life was going perfectly fine.

*****

The drive to Millbrook Women's Hospital took 35 minutes. Inside the main building, I stopped at the front desk. "Hi, could you tell me which room Laura Bennett is in?"

The nurse checked her screen. "Room 1203."

I stepped into the elevator. It opened on the 12th floor, and I walked to the end of the hallway.

Eric sat at the edge of the hospital bed, a bowl of soup in one hand and a spoon in the other, feeding a woman one careful sip at a time.

A bassinet sat beside the bed. Inside it, a newborn wrapped in a blue blanket slept soundly.

I recognized the look in Eric's eyes as he watched her. He'd looked at me the same way during our first year of marriage.

A middle-aged woman I'd never seen before sat in the chair across the bed, peeling an apple. "Eric, honey, this soup is wonderful," she said. "Laura, drink up. You need it for your milk supply."

"Thanks, ma'am. I learned it from the postpartum nurse," Eric replied with a smile.

He'd called that woman's mother "ma'am," and the word rolled off his tongue with a warmth I'd never heard him use with mine.