Chapter 1
On our wedding day, my husband, Thomas Bennett, signed a loyalty agreement in front of all the guests, stating that if he ever betrayed me, he'd walk away with nothing.
My dying mother had warned me he would eventually leave me for his childhood sweetheart, Emily Lane.
Thomas handed me the agreement, his voice certain: "If that day ever comes, everything I own is yours."
For four years, he loved me and protected me. When Emily returned and asked for his help, he turned her down in public.
He cut off their family's partnership and even changed the phone number he'd used for ten years to put my mind at ease.
I finally believed my mother had been wrong about him.
On our fifth anniversary, Thomas said he had a last-minute business trip, but he filled our home with roses.
In the early hours, I received an anonymous email with an attachment showing a hotel receipt. Presidential suite, breakfast for two. Guests: Thomas Bennett and Emily Lane.
There was also a note in the comments: [Mr. Bennett requested no flowers in the room. His wife is allergic.]
But I was not allergic. Emily was.
At the end of the email was a video. In it, he was fastening the anniversary necklace he was supposed to give me around her neck.
I closed the video and pulled out the loyalty agreement that had sat untouched for five years.
*****
At 1:17 a.m., I scanned the agreement page by page and sent it to Sophie Grant, who managed our marital assets.
She called me right away. "Is something wrong? You're calling me so late."
"I need you to check all of Thomas's assets, including his company shares, investment accounts, and any major financial transactions from the past four years. I want a list by noon tomorrow."
Sophie paused for a moment before asking, "Should I give Mr. Bennett a heads-up?"
"No need."
I hung up and called a local cleaning service.
Half an hour later, two workers arrived with black trash bags. There were roses everywhere: on the floor, the dining table, even the windowsills. They stood in the doorway, unsure where to begin.
"Take them all away," I said.
One of them picked up a basket of flowers, hesitating. "These flowers are still fresh. Are you sure you want to throw them out?"
"No, I don't."
The bouquets were pulled apart, the wrapping paper crinkling as they worked. One by one, the roses were shoved into black trash bags. Soon, only scattered leaves and petals remained on the floor.
They made six trips back and forth before the living room was finally empty.
Just as the last bag was dragged out the door, Thomas called. "Still up?"
His voice was soft, as if he was afraid of waking me. Whenever he went on a business trip, he'd always call before bed. I used to think it meant he cared about me.
"No."
"I'm sorry for leaving you alone on our anniversary. Once this project is over, I'll make it up to you."
On the other end, I heard a door open, then a woman's muffled cough.
Thomas paused for a moment, then asked, "Did the flowers I ordered arrive?"
"Yes."
"Do you like them?"
I glanced at the payment slip from the cleaning crew and replied calmly, "They're beautiful."
He sounded relieved, then reminded me, "Just look at them. Don't touch them for too long. You're allergic to pollen, and if you feel sick tonight, there's no one to look after you."
A rose petal lay in the hallway, its edge crushed by someone's shoe.
"You remember I'm allergic to roses?"
"Of course I do," he replied quickly. "When have I ever forgotten anything about you?"
Another cough sounded on the other end of the line.
Thomas hurriedly said, "See you tomorrow," and hung up.
I picked up the petal and tossed it into the trash. Then I canceled all the household services I'd been paying for on his behalf: laundry, the driver, and personal meal deliveries.
I'd always handled these things for him. All Thomas had to do was ask, and everything would show up right on time.
He never wondered who always remembered his clothing size, or who made sure the pills he needed on the fifteenth of every month were waiting by his bed.
At 4 a.m., Sophie texted me, saying she'd started checking, but a few of the investment projects had tangled funding structures, and she'd need to access the company's internal files.
As a shareholder and lead on the main project, I was authorized to access those files.
I told her to list the suspicious projects first.
When I sent the message, I heard the front door unlock.
Thomas walked in, dragging his suitcase. He paused when he saw the empty living room. "Where are the flowers?"
"I threw them out."
"Why did you throw them out?"
"There were too many, and I had nowhere to put them."
He glanced down at the petals in the trash, his brow furrowing slightly, but he didn't press further. He took off his coat and draped it over his arm. A strange fruity scent clung to him.
"Why are you back so early?" I asked.
"I finished up early and wanted to come back and spend the rest of our anniversary with you."
As he spoke, he pulled a deep blue jewelry box from the inner compartment of his suitcase and set it on the dining table. "Here's your gift."
I stared at the jewelry box, but didn't reach out.
He checked the time, his tone soft yet weary. "It's late. You can open it in the morning. I chose it especially for you."
He leaned in, aiming to kiss my forehead.
I took a step back.
His hand stalled midair, his smile faltering. "Are you still upset I wasn't with you last night?"
"No."
I picked up the jewelry box and placed it somewhere he could see. "I'll make sure to look at it carefully."