Chapter 1

After a two-week business trip, I came home to find my wife, Linda Taylor, wasn't there.

I collapsed onto the bed, playing with my five-year-old son, Henry Taylor.

"Dad, I want to play horsey," Henry said.

I rolled over and got on all fours, patting my back. "Climb on. Daddy's gonna take you flying."

But Henry stood by the bed, pointing at me with his chubby little finger. "Dad, that's not how you do it."

I sat up a bit, confused. "Then how are you supposed to ride?"

Henry stacked the pillows together, sat on them, and grabbed the corners.

He bounced wildly up and down, leaning forward, and started mimicking, "Giddy up. Giddy up."

But he wasn't done yet. He kept bouncing, and then, something creepier flew out of his mouth.

"Mom's supposed to lift her legs now," he blurted out.

In that instant, it felt like my blood ran cold, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

*****

I lunged over and covered Henry's mouth, my voice shaking. "Who taught you that? Tell me."

Henry started crying, struggling in my grip. "It was Mr. Kingston. He came over to play wrestling games.

"Every time you're not home, Mr. Kingston comes over. He and Mom play horsey in the room, and they're loud."

Then, I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door opened.

Linda walked in, carrying a bag full of groceries, wearing that light blue dress I loved so much, her face gentle and warm.

"Honey, you're back? Why didn't you let me know? I could've grabbed a few more groceries," she said.

She changed into her slippers and walked over, trying to hug me. She smelled like body wash, fresh from a shower.

I stiffened and dodged her touch, not daring to look her in the eye, for fear of losing control of the urge to kill.

"Just got back, I'm tired," I said, lighting a cigarette, my hand still shaking. "Has anyone dropped by lately?"

Linda paused for a moment as she untied her apron, then smiled like nothing was wrong.

"No one's been over. It's been Henry and me at home. We haven't even ordered takeout, as I'm afraid it's not hygienic," she said.

She bent down and slipped her high heels into the shoe cabinet.

As she leaned down, her dress slid up, revealing her smooth legs. There were two shocking bruises on her knees.

Those bruises could only be from having her knees pressed against a hard surface for too long.

Henry's pillow-riding stunt from earlier kept playing in my head, over and over.

*****

That night, Linda went to shower. The sound of water splashing echoed from the bathroom.

I grabbed her phone and entered the password without a second thought. It was our wedding anniversary date and she hadn't changed it.

Her messages and call history were all wiped clean, as if she'd been completely cut off from the world over the past two weeks.

I came from a data recovery background, so this kind of cleanup was a cup of cake.

I plugged in the data cable, connected it to my laptop, and my fingers flew across the keyboard.

Ten minutes later, a ride-hailing app trip log that had been permanently deleted was recovered.

In the past half a month, she has made eight trips to the same destination: Rosewood Manor, Building A.

That was where the richest bachelor in the company lived, my boss, Richard Kingston, who recognized my potential and gave me opportunities when no one else would.

I stared at the screen, scrolling through all those trips, then glanced over at Henry, who was sound asleep, still muttering in his dreams.

And then there was Linda, humming in the shower, scrubbing herself spotless like the so-called "good wife."

I wasn't about to call them out. If I did, it'd mean a divorce, and those two would get off easy.

I was going to catch them in the act.