Chapter 4
By the seventh week, on Wednesday, I did something reckless.
At 2 PM, Henry left the house on time. The sound of his Porsche rumbled up from the underground garage, fading into the distance.
I changed into something low-key: a beige trench coat, flats, and sunglasses. My hair was pulled back under a baseball cap.
I called an Uber and headed to No. 17 Lakeview Avenue.
The apartment building was more understated than I'd imagined. The outer walls were made of dark gray stone. There were no signs, and there wasn't even a security booth by the lobby entrance.
There was only a brass plate that read: [Lakeview Garden].
I didn't go in. Instead, I sat down at a café across the street, picked a window seat, and ordered an Americano. Then I waited.
At 4:18 PM, the apartment building's gate opened, and Henry stepped out.
He was wearing a gray turtleneck, his trench coat draped over one arm. He looked way more relaxed than usual.
It was like he'd briefly let go of some tension he'd been holding onto.
A woman followed two steps behind him.
She was slender and wore a cream-colored dress. Her long hair flowed freely, and she walked so lightly that it was as if she were floating.
She paused at the entrance, tilted her head up to Henry, and said something.
Henry turned slightly. I couldn't see his face.
But he reached out and tucked the wind-tousled hair behind her ear.
His touch was so gentle, like he was afraid she might shatter if he wasn't careful.
My fingers tightened around my coffee cup, the heat scalding in my grip. It wasn't jealousy. It was that gesture, something he'd never done for me.
I'd never seen that kind of careful, almost worshipful tenderness from Henry before.
The tenderness he gave me was calculated, only enough to keep me content, never more.
But with her, it spilled over, totally unrestrained.
The gap between those two kinds of tenderness was more convincing than any proof I could dig up.
I held my breath, pulled out my phone, and snapped a couple of photos.
The angle wasn't great. I only managed to capture her back and the side of her face.
But that side profile had delicate features and a sharp chin. There was a curve to her eyes and brows I knew all too well because I saw similar features every time I looked in the mirror.
She was only a bit thinner, more delicate, and more like someone who needed to be protected.
The woman was Yvonne, my half-sister.
Alex announced in front of everyone at a party three months ago that he was going to marry her.
Her fiancé was Alex.
And now, every Wednesday afternoon, she'd show up at Henry's private apartment.
This was really interesting. I set my coffee cup down and tucked my phone away.
As I got up to leave the café, a light rain started to fall.
Henry's Porsche was already gone. I guessed Yvonne had gone back inside the apartment.
I stood in the rain, pulling my cap down.
My mind was weaving a web.
Alex was to marry Yvonne.
Henry married me, but he was sneaking around with Yvonne.
There were birth control pills in the milk.
Henry kept something locked away in the safe, out of my sight.
He married me, trapped me, and made sure I couldn't carry a baby.
I wondered what he was waiting for.
I questioned whether he waited for Yvonne's marriage into the Pierce family to lie low until an unknown time to confront me, or if pursuing me for eight years and marrying me had been all for Yvonne from the start.
The thought hit me like a punch to the gut.
It wasn't pain. It was the overwhelming disgust of realizing I'd been nothing but a pawn for eight whole years.
I flagged down a cab and headed home.
On the way, I shot a text to a contact: [Look into someone for me. I need to know who owns the apartment at No. 17 Lakeview Avenue, registered to Henry.
[And I want every money transfer between Henry and Yvonne from the past three years up to now.]
The reply came back instantly: [Three days.]
The contact was my college roommate, now working in banking oversight.
I owed her a favor, but this one was worth it.
*****
When I got home, I took a shower, changed into my pajamas, and put on my act as the sweet newlywed who didn't suspect a thing.
Henry got home at 6:30 PM, carrying a bag of fruit and still smelling like the rain outside.
"Did you go out today?" he asked, sounding casual.
My heart beat faster, but not a flicker showed on my face. "Yeah, I browsed around the mall. Got a new coat. Thought I'd see if it matches that gray dress."
"Show me how it looks later."
"Sure."
He headed into the kitchen and started washing the fruit.
I sat on the couch, watching his back.
He had broad shoulders and a slim waist, and every move he made was smooth. Even the way he peeled an apple was nice to look at.
It was such a shame. He was so good-looking, yet his heart was all twisted up.