Chapter 1

I was assigned to inspect a hotel room, but when I opened the door, I froze. Inside were my husband, David Shaw, and the female suspect—alone together.

Just three minutes ago, David had sent me a voice message.

He said, "Sophie, I just landed a big client tonight. I'll be working late, so don't wait up, okay?"

So this was his so-called "big client"?

I thought back to last night, when he handed me a wilted rose and smiled, "Sophie, I brought this all the way from Baloria just for you."

But a few hours later, I saw someone's Instagram post—David's hand holding another woman's, the two of them soaking in a rose petal bath. My heart turned cold.

After ten years of marriage, this was what I got—lies, excuses, and betrayal.

All the love I gave him now felt like it was completely wasted.

*****

I never imagined that a routine assignment would lead me straight to my own husband.

The moment the hotel door opened, my world shattered.

Still, I forced back the tears and kept my face expressionless. In front of everyone, my voice came out cold and official. "Get dressed. Now."

Even I was startled by how flat and professional I sounded.

I realized that when love finally died, there was nothing left to miss.

David stepped out first, and right behind him was Grace Winters, hiding timidly behind his shoulder. She had that polished, fragile look—the kind of girl who pretended to be innocent so everyone wanted to protect her.

Just like the first time I saw her. She was all fake smiles and pretension.

David noticed the way I was looking at Grace, and his expression darkened.

He said, "Sophie, it's not what you think."

"Really?" I shot back. "So this is what you mean by 'talking to a suspect'?

"What's she done this time, huh? Needed you, the great negotiator, to talk her through it?"

As soon as I finished, Grace's eyes filled perfectly on cue with tears. Her hand trembled around David's arm, her voice soft and pitiful—just the kind of performance that could make any man's heart melt.

David's face turned grim.

He took a deep breath. "Sophie, don't mix your personal feelings with work. You know better than that."

I gave a cold laugh. "Fine. Let's keep it professional, then."

I turned to my colleague. "Ben, take them in for questioning."

"Sophie," David said, his voice tightening, "do we really have to do this here? Can't we talk at home?"

"Mr. Shaw," I said evenly, "I'm just following your advice. Keeping business and personal life separate. You can explain yourself at the station."

I didn't look back after that. I handed everything off to my team and walked out.

Partly because I had to avoid a conflict of interest, and I just couldn't stand to face him anymore.

Downstairs, I called my best friend and lawyer, Megan Fletcher. When she heard what happened, she was furious.

She said, "Sophie, don't worry. I'll handle the divorce. He's not walking away with a single cent."

After we hung up, I went home and started packing.

While cleaning, I found a piece of lingerie wedged in the couch—something that definitely wasn't mine.

I let out a bitter laugh.

Disgusting.

They didn't even try to hide it.

The thought of what they'd done on that couch made my stomach turn.

I tore the couch apart and dragged it down to the trash myself—three trips, twenty-three floors.

When David finally came home around midnight, he froze in the doorway, staring at the empty living room.

He looked at me sitting by the dining table, stunned into silence.

After a long moment, he took a hesitant step forward, trying to pull me into his arms.

I didn't play along like I usually would. I pushed him away instead.

He blinked at me, clearly shocked. "Sophie, you don't trust me? It's not what it looks like with Grace."

I looked up, waiting.

"Grace had another episode today," he said. "Her depression's getting worse."

Depression? He used that excuse again.

Grace's fragility had always been an act.

A woman who bullied a coworker so badly she ended up hospitalized—depressed? Please.

When she was arrested back then, she cried and begged for mercy.

Because she showed genuine remorse and hadn't directly hurt anyone, she was released after only three years.

In the end, it wasn't her who suffered, but the girl she tormented—crushed by depression, too afraid to even leave her house.

When that story broke, the internet tore Grace apart.

And what did she do? She turned it into sympathy. She got a fake diagnosis from the city's top psychiatric hospital, then staged a dramatic "suicide attempt" on their rooftop.

There was little we could do about someone like her. She had always been under our close watch, yet we could only stretch our attention so far.

We all knew that the only way to keep someone like Grace from hurting more people was to guide her back onto the right path.

That was how David, my husband—a crisis negotiator and psychologist—met her. He was the one who talked her down from the rooftop that day.

After that, Grace's mood did seem to stabilize. But David started coming home later and later.

At first, I thought it was just work. Until one day, I got a friend request from Grace.