Chapter 1

My usually well-behaved son, Sirius Cooper, suddenly kicked up a fuss, insisting on going to Bluehaven Island to see the ocean.

If I didn't give in, he'd throw a tantrum.

Left with no other option, I took Sirius there myself, while his dad, Andrew Cooper, stayed back in the studio, busy working on his paintings.

After staying there for about ten days, I was dead tired, but Sirius still wasn't ready to leave; he kept begging to stay a little longer.

I had already taken too much time off work, and my project team was urging me to return.

So I went ahead and booked a boat ticket for the next morning, deciding it was time to head back home.

But what I never expected was to overhear Sirius whispering into his game console late at night.

He said, "Dad, has Ms. Lane calmed down? Mom and I must return tomorrow. I can't stall any longer. Hurry, pack up Ms. Lane's things and get them out of the house. Make sure Mom doesn't notice."

*****

Waking up in the middle of the night, I reached out for Sirius, but he wasn't there. My heart skipped a beat, and I shot up in bed.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and it was pitch dark outside.

From somewhere in the suite, I could barely hear Sirius's voice coming from the balcony outside the living room.

I frowned. What was he doing out there so late?

I got out of bed and walked out of the bedroom, only to see Sirius curled up in the corner of the balcony, clutching his game console.

"Dad, has Ms. Lane calmed down yet? Does she like staying with us?" he whispered. "Mom and I have to go back tomorrow. I tried to stall so Ms. Lane could stay at our house a bit longer, but nothing I did worked.

"Mom's such a pain, always getting in the way. If it wasn't for her, I could've stayed home with you and Ms. Lane. Dad, hurry up and pack Ms. Lane's stuff and get it out of the house. Make sure Mom doesn't find out, okay?"

A moment ago, I was worried about Sirius. Now I felt like my soul had been sucked into a void. My thoughts shattered. My blood froze.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

The husband I loved and the son I had devoted ten years to were plotting against me?

All for some woman named Lane?

Ms. Lane?

My eyes locked onto the game console in Sirius's hands, and it suddenly hit me. Ms. Lane was the sponsor of his art class.

She was the one who gave him that console.

Back then, I told Andrew to return it. How could a kid accept such a pricey gift from someone who was not family?

Andrew promised he would, but Sirius totally lost it.

He cried and yelled, saying it was a reward from Ms. Lane for winning the gold medal in the national art contest. If I made him return it, it would be like I was denying his achievement.

With no other option, I got Marianne Lane's contact info through the art class and returned the favor by sending her an expensive set of porcelain.

But I never imagined that the game console would turn out to be the device Sirius, Andrew, and Marianne used for their secret exchanges.

"Mom?" Sirius stood up, and when he saw me, his eyes were flooded with sheer terror.

I steadied myself and forced a smile. "What are you doing out here so late? Why aren't you in bed?"

Sirius, still a kid, kept glancing away as he lied. "I... I missed Dad, so I messaged him a bit. Mom, I'm really tired. I'm going to bed."

He even let out a big, dramatic yawn.

As Sirius walked by me, I called out to him. My voice was shaky, barely holding onto a desperate hope. "Sirius, do you love Mom?"

Sirius spun around and dove into my arms, burying his face in my chest like when he was little. "I love you more than anyone, Mom. And I love Dad the most, too!"

Watching Sirius dash back to his bedroom, it felt like two wild beasts were ripping each other apart inside my head.

One voice howled, "Maybe this is all a misunderstanding," while the other snarled, "You need to dig up the truth."

Once suspicion sank its roots in, it went wild, devouring everything in its way.

I sank into the darkness of the couch, not bothering to turn on the lights, and opened Marianne's social media profile.

When I first added her, I set her privacy so only friends could view her updates.

This was the first time I ever scrolled through her timeline.

Her latest post was from today.

[That artist guy is way too clingy. What am I supposed to do?]

The picture showed her slouched against the headboard in a silky, provocative nightgown, with a man's arm wrapped around her waist.

I stared at the screen, my hands trembling so badly I could barely breathe.

Suddenly, a scorching tear fell onto the phone, and all my defenses crumbled.

I flung the phone aside, desperately covering my face with both hands, hot tears searing my skin as they poured through my fingers.

Everything in that photo was so familiar—the wallpaper, the sculpture, the bed, even my solo picture on the nightstand, staring me in the face.

And the man whose arm was wrapped around her? It was Andrew, the man I had loved for ten years and been married to for twelve.