Chapter 3

I kept two cars between Nathaniel’s black Maybach and mine as we drove across the city.

He did not go anywhere near Reed Holdings.

Twenty minutes later, he turned into the underground entrance of The Hawthorne Residences.

I parked across the street and watched his car disappear beneath the building.

For several seconds, I remained behind the wheel.

Part of me still wanted an explanation that would make everything I had seen harmless.

Perhaps the apartment belonged to a client.

Perhaps the pregnant woman was a relative.

Perhaps my husband had a reason for sending prenatal meals, jewelry and flowers to someone else.

Then I remembered the message on his phone.

The doctor said everything looks perfect. The baby kicked again after you left. I wish you’d stayed.

I took my handbag and crossed the street.

A catering employee entered the lobby ahead of me, carrying an insulated box from an exclusive prenatal meal service. The address printed on the delivery label was visible beneath the clear sleeve.

Penthouse 2804.

My heart began to pound.

I followed at a distance and entered the elevator behind him.

When the doors opened on the twenty-eighth floor, I slipped behind the half-closed fire door at the end of the corridor.

The catering employee knocked softly.

A few seconds later, the apartment door opened.

The woman standing inside was young and delicate. The pale silk robe draped over a clearly rounded five-month belly.

Then she turned toward the light.

My blood froze.

Lyra Vance.

She was my younger sister. I had spent years protecting her, covering for her mistakes and making sure she never had to face anything alone.

After our parents died, I had been the one who held her together through the worst months. Their estate gave Lyra a separate financial trust, while I became responsible for the family properties and foundation voting rights, but I still promised that she would always have me.

She had cried in my arms more times than I could count and called me the one person she trusted more than anyone.

She was not like a younger sister. She was my younger sister.

Now she was standing inside my husband’s secret apartment, pregnant and wearing his robe.

The dark blue silk was custom-made. Nathaniel’s initials were embroidered over her heart.

“Please leave it on the entryway table,” Lyra told the catering employee. “The smell of food has been making me nauseous.”

The door opened wider.

Nathaniel stood behind her in his shirtsleeves, holding a cup of coffee.

He had removed his tie. The top buttons of his shirt were open, and his hair was still damp from a shower.

The man who had promised to return and take me to lunch had already made himself at home in another woman’s apartment.

On the wall behind him hung a large framed photograph.

Nathaniel was kneeling on a white carpet with both hands around Lyra’s waist. His lips rested against the full curve of her bare stomach while she smiled down at him.

I raised my phone and took three photographs.

Lyra wearing his robe.

Nathaniel standing behind her.

The maternity portrait on the wall.

My hands trembled, but the images were clear.

Lyra accepted the food and closed the door.

I remained in the shadow of the fire exit, unable to move.

A moment later, my phone vibrated.

Nathaniel.

I stared at his name before answering.

“Hi.”

“Isolde, baby, I’m sorry.” His voice came through the phone, warm and apologetic. “Something came up at the office, and I don’t think I’ll be able to pick you up at ten.”

From behind the apartment door, I heard the faint echo of the same voice.

He was only a few yards away.

Lying to me from inside his mistress’s home.

“I know it’s your birthday,” he continued. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Once this project is over, I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

Lyra laughed softly in the background.

Nathaniel immediately covered the phone.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Someone from the finance department.” He answered without hesitation. “The office is chaos this morning.”

My hand moved instinctively to my stomach.

I was ten weeks pregnant.

Lyra was five months pregnant.

While I had spent years wondering why I could not give him the family he wanted, Nathaniel had been building another one behind my back.

“Isolde?” he asked. “You understand, don’t you?”

I looked at the closed door.

“I understand everything now.”

Before he could respond, I ended the call.

I walked down the emergency stairs without looking back.

By the time I reached my car, my tears had stopped.

I uploaded the photographs to the encrypted folder and removed the location-sharing app from my phone.

Then I drove home.

Nathaniel believed I would be waiting when he finally decided to return.

Before he walked through that door again, I would be gone.