Chapter 1
I headed to the hospital to pick up my husband, Chris Ford, only to find his assistant, Vivian Lane, packing up his belongings.
To be precise, she was packing his underwear.
Vivian crouched by the suitcase, a pair of charcoal-gray briefs half-folded in her hands.
When she saw me, she didn't fluster. She pressed them to the bottom of the case, zipped it shut, stood, and bowed her head.
"Ms. Kate Simmons," she said.
Before I could speak, Chris frowned from the hospital bed, reaching to brush the rain-damp hair from my cheek.
"Why no umbrella?" he asked.
"The wind's too strong," I said.
In the car, he turned the AC up.
Passing a dessert shop, he asked, "Do you want a cake?"
I said no.
He asked again.
This time, he did not look at me.
The backseat fell quiet for two seconds.
Then Vivian said softly, "I'm not in the mood for sweets either."
Rain scraped across the windshield in a steady rhythm. The car was dead silent.
I looked at the man beside me. I'd raised him up, and I'd taught him to be ruthless. Suddenly, I felt something akin to regret.
He'd learned my methods, but not my boundaries.
Still, it did not matter. Rules were never truly learned through words.
They were carved in pain. Cross the line once, and he would understand.
*****
This was the second time in six months that Chris had been hospitalized for a stomach hemorrhage.
The first time he was lying in a hospital bed, he grinned, saying he wasn't going to die anyway. I stood there and tore into him for half the night, but the next day, I handled the toughest issue in Lencity for him.
The second time, when I came to pick him up, the first thing I saw was this scene.
After I got home, I sent a message to Hannah Yates.
[Help me look into someone,] I wrote.
After a couple of seconds, I added another line. [And while you're at it, find out how close she and Chris are day-to-day.]
When Hannah called me, all I could hear in the background was the sound of water running.
She handled all the connections and PR in our circle, and if there was one thing she never lacked, it was insider info.
She always got the scoop before anyone else, even the gossip sites, whether it was who was growing close to someone or which company was reshuffling its team.
She drawled, "Who do you want me to check out? You sound like you're about to do a background check on her."
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the rain-slicked street below. "Chris's assistant, Vivian Lane."
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"You suspect her?" she asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
"How far does your suspicion go?"
I didn't answer right away.
The rain outside hadn't stopped, and the streetlights blurred into long streaks through the wet night. I kept thinking about that suitcase being zipped up and the two times Chris asked about cake in the car.
In the end, I said, "Go ahead and check."
Hannah was sharp; she didn't ask any more questions. "Okay, give me two days. Sit tight for now."
"Okay," I replied.
The moment I hung up, I heard footsteps outside the door.
Chris was back.
He'd changed into loungewear, his hair was dry, and there was a faint scent of cedar on him. As he walked in, he was taking off his watch and looked at me.
"Why stand there like a bouncer?" he teased.
"I'm waiting for you." I turned around and gave him a smile.
Chris walked over, pulled me into his arms, and rested his chin on top of my head, letting out a soft sigh. "Why are you so sweet today?"
"Am I not usually sweet?" I shot back.
"Yeah," he said, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "But today, you're extra quiet."
I looked up at him. "Isn't being quiet a good thing?"
"It is," he said, watching me for a couple of seconds before gently squeezing the back of my neck. "It makes me worry a little."
He was only half telling the truth.
Back then, when he was uneasy, his eyes would give him away. Now, Chris would smile more and charm me more. He'd calm things down first, then quietly figure out how much I'd caught on.
I slipped out of his embrace and took my time smoothing out my sleeves, steadying myself. "Chris."
"Yeah?" he replied.
"So, your assistant's handling your luggage these days, too?"
He looked at me, his expression barely changing, but he answered right away. "I'm heading to two cities tomorrow, and I've got a lot of files to bring. Vivian took care of it while she was packing."
"Since when did underwear become work documents?"
He paused.
It was barely a heartbeat.
Then he looked down, gave a small smile, and reached for me. "If you don't like it, I won't let her touch my underwear again."
He said it with such composure, like he'd had this line ready from the start.
I looked at him and curved my lips into a smile. "Why so serious?"
"Me, nervous?" Chris raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "I'm trying to reassure you."
I said, "Well, you're pretty good at this."
I turned to get some water, but Chris grabbed the glass before I could. He poured half a glass of water and handed it to me, doing it so naturally, because he'd done it a thousand times before.
I took the glass, looked down, and took a sip.
The temperature was perfect.
I used to think no one in the world understood me better than Chris. He knew how I hated the cold, how my stomach was always sensitive, and how I'd shut down whenever I was upset.
Whenever I stayed up late, he'd offer me a hot beverage.
If I had a fever, he'd stay up with me all night.
If my project ran into trouble, he'd show up at my office door, eyes red, and say, "Forget what everyone else says. I'll fix this for you."
Back then, Chris really was like a fire. He was reckless, sharp, and burning with intensity.
Later, he matured, and his worth soared. Everyone outside would say, "Mr. Ford is incredibly composed."
But only I knew that his composure came from the habit of always checking with me before moving forward, year after year.
Whenever he finished a proposal, he'd ask me if it was ready to be shown.
And after sealing a deal, he'd hold me close at night and quietly ask, "Did I make you proud?"
I used to think it was all about love.
But now, I realized it wasn't just that.
It hit me today that there was something deeper going on. He was always trying to prove himself to me, like he needed my approval for everything.
Chris noticed I was quiet and reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Are you still thinking about what happened this afternoon?"
"Yeah," I said, looking up at him. "I was thinking, Vivian really is a jack-of-all-trades."
His gaze darkened a bit. "Kate."
"What's up?"
"You keep bringing her up today."
"Is that not allowed?"