Chapter 2

"Cynthia, what did you say? Rayford can walk?" Brittney's voice on the other end of the phone was filled with disbelief.

I was sitting in the rehab center café, just finishing a conversation with Cary. His words had shocked me even more—Rayford's medical records showed that from his very first check-up, there had never been any issues.

"The doctor said his nerve and muscle functions have always been normal. These three years of rehab treatment were completely unnecessary." I took a deep breath. "Brittney, am I really this stupid?"

"You're not stupid, you just trusted him too much," Brittney said, her voice filled with anger. "But Cynthia, why would he do this? What's the point of pretending to be disabled?"

I remembered the phone call I overheard last night. "He said it was for the inheritance."

"The Wallace family fortune?" Brittney suddenly understood. "I remember Rayford has a half-brother who's been fighting for control of the company. If Rayford's considered disabled, he could definitely win his grandfather's sympathy…"

"So, I'm just a tool for him to gain sympathy?" I gave a bitter laugh. "A devoted wife taking care of her disabled husband would definitely earn him a lot of points."

There was silence on the other end for a moment before Brittney spoke again. "Cynthia, what are you going to do?"

I'd been thinking about that all morning. Should I confront him directly, or pretend I didn't know anything?

"I want to gather evidence," I decided. "But I'll need your help."

At 2 p.m. that afternoon, I went to pick up Rayford from work, just like I always did. His company had set up everything for him—accessible elevators, parking spaces, office desks—whatever he needed.

When the security guard saw me, he kindly offered to help. "Mrs. Wallace, let me bring your car to the front. You can wait in the lounge."

"Thanks." I smiled and thanked him, but inside, I couldn't help thinking: Rayford even uses a wheelchair to go to work. His act is flawless.

While I was in the lounge, I overheard two receptionists whispering.

"Mr. Wallace was acting strangely today. During the afternoon meeting, he actually stood up and wrote on the whiteboard."

"Shh! Keep it down, Mrs. Wallace's right there."

My heart skipped a beat. I immediately stood up and walked over to them. "What did you say? Mr. Wallace can stand?"

The two receptionists exchanged looks, and one of them awkwardly laughed. "Mrs. Wallace, we might have made a mistake…"

"Can you tell me more?" I asked, trying to stay calm. "I'm his wife. If he's showing any signs of recovery, I should be the first to know."

The young receptionist hesitated, then spoke up, "In the meeting room, Mr. Wallace suddenly stood up while explaining a key point and drew a chart on the whiteboard. We were all pretty surprised, but Mr. Wallace said he got too excited and quickly sat back down."

I clenched my fist, my nails digging into my palm. "Can he walk normally?"

"Well… we're not sure. But it looked pretty normal, just a bit uncoordinated."

Just then, Rayford's assistant walked in. "Mrs. Wallace, Mr. Wallace said the meeting will run a little longer and asked you to head home. He'll be back later tonight."

"Alright, please tell him I'll save him some dinner." I smiled and responded, though my mind was already racing with plans.

On the way home, Brittney texted me: [It's all set. Tonight at 8 p.m., Cloud Mall, B2 parking area.]

I replied: [Got it.]

At 7:30 p.m., I arrived early at the mall's underground parking lot. Brittney was already there, standing next to a young man I didn't recognize, holding professional camera equipment.

"This is my friend Floyd Dunlap. He'll help film the video," Brittney introduced him. "Are you sure Rayford will come here?"

"Sarah just finished work. They're meeting at the restaurant on the top floor of the mall." I checked the time. "They should be here soon."

No sooner had I spoken than a black sedan pulled into the parking lot. The license plate number was Rayford's.

I held my breath as I watched the car slowly pull into a parking spot not far from us. The door opened, and Rayford stepped out from the driver's seat—no issues at all, just like a perfectly normal person.

He opened the trunk, pulled out a bouquet of flowers, then walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. A woman in a pink dress got out—it was Sarah, the same woman from the photos.

Floyd had already started recording. I watched the footage on the monitor, feeling a mix of emotions inside.

Rayford wrapped his arm around Sarah's waist and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Sorry I kept you waiting so long. The meeting really ran over."

"It's okay, as long as I'm with you," Sarah cooed, nestling against him. "But when are you going to tell Cynthia? I don't want to keep sneaking around."

Rayford sighed. "Just a little longer. Next month, my grandpa will officially hand over the company to me. Then I'll divorce her."

"Don't you feel guilty at all? She's taken care of you for three years, even quit her job."

"I never asked her to take care of me." Rayford waved his hand dismissively. "Besides, her marrying me is her blessing. How much has she spent these three years? Living in a mansion, driving fancy cars, wearing designer clothes—has she lost anything?"

I clenched my fist, my nails digging into my palm. This was his mindset? He honestly thought three years of care and companionship could be reduced to money?

"Let's go, I've got a reservation." Rayford pulled Sarah toward the elevator.

It wasn't until the elevator doors closed that I realized I had been holding my breath the whole time.

"It's all recorded," Floyd said, handing me the camera. "The footage is clear, and we even got the audio."

Brittney patted me on the shoulder. "Cynthia, are you okay?"

I shook my head, tears streaming down uncontrollably. It wasn't because I was heartbroken, but because I was utterly disillusioned.

So, in Rayford's mind, three years of dedication and care were worth nothing more than the phrase, "Her marrying me is her blessing."

"Brittney, can you check the reservation system for that restaurant?" I wiped away my tears. "I want to know how often they meet."

Tonight, I was going to find out exactly how long this scam had been going on.

When I got home that night, Rayford was already in the guest room. I peeked through the crack in the door and saw him doing leg exercises on the wheelchair—exercises I had taught him.

What a great actor, I thought bitterly.

"Honey, I'm home." I pushed the door open.

"You're back so late?" He asked, concerned. "Have you eaten?"

"I had dinner with Brittney. How about you? Did your meeting finish early?"

Rayford avoided my gaze. "It was fine, wrapped up by six. I just grabbed something in the company cafeteria."

Lying, right off the bat. I made a mental note of yet another lie.

"By the way, Dr. Cook called me today." I casually mentioned. "He said your recovery is going better than expected and suggested we increase the intensity of your rehab."

Rayford's expression shifted slightly. "No need. I think it's fine the way it is."

"But the doctor said—"

"Cynthia, stop!" He suddenly raised his voice. "I know my body. Rehab isn't something you can rush. Don't put so much pressure on me!"

It was the first time in three years that he'd raised his voice at me.

I quietly watched him, thinking: Are you really in a rush? Or are you just afraid the truth might come out?

"I'm sorry, honey. I'm just so concerned about you," I apologized softly. "We'll stick to the original plan then."

Rayford quickly calmed down. "I know you're just looking out for me. It's just been a stressful time at work, and I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"I understand," I replied, moving to his side to massage his shoulders like I always did. "But honey, I need to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"If one day you found out I had been lying to you for three years, would you forgive me?"

Rayford's body tensed for a moment before he casually said, "Silly girl, why would you lie to me?"

Yeah, why would I lie to you? I thought, bitterly.

But honey, why are you lying to me?