Chapter 2

The Grand Luxe Penthouse Suite had been reserved under Daniel's commercial project account every Thursday for the past four months.

I sat in the dark of my home study at two in the morning, watching the digital records refresh across my screen.

After running my interior design studio for fifteen years, I'd learned to spot discrepancies in blueprints. Marriage was no different. Once I knew where the crack was, the whole foundation began to crumble in plain view.

I scrolled through the shared household utility ledgers and credit authorizations.

Daniel had always insisted on managing the master commercial files, calling my design work "artistic" while framing his property developments as "serious business."

Now, the pattern stared back at me.

Boutique jewelry charges during his supposed site inspections. First-class weekend flights to coastal resorts when he claimed to be attending zoning board hearings.

And hundreds of corporate line deductions categorized as "client hospitality," all originating on the exact days Maya claimed to be visiting her sister out of town.

I plugged an encrypted external drive into my laptop, downloaded every PDF statement, and exported the transaction logs.

Footsteps padded down the hallway.

I closed the browser tab with a single keystroke and opened a floor plan for an upcoming residential project.

Maya appeared in the study doorway. She was wrapped in my ivory cashmere robe, holding a steaming mug of herbal tea.

"Elena? You're still awake?" She tilted her head, leaning against the doorframe with an air of effortless belonging.

"Daniel says you obsess over work because you're terrified of getting older. You really ought to let him take over the finances. A woman shouldn't carry all that stress."

She walked closer, setting her mug down on my mahogany desk right over my project blueprints.

As she leaned in, a warm, suffocating cloud of fragrance washed over me.

It was ambergris, crushed iris, and cedarwood -- Nocturne.

It was a bespoke fragrance blended exclusively for me by an artisan perfumer during my last trip to France. The bottle was kept inside my locked vanity drawer.

"Did you take something from my bathroom, Maya?" I asked, keeping my tone light, almost curious.

Maya touched her collarbone, laughing softly. "Oh, the perfume? Daniel told me to try it. He said you barely wear it anymore, and it seemed like a waste to leave such an expensive bottle sitting in the dark."

Before I could reply, the phone on the console table behind her began to vibrate.

It was Daniel's personal phone -- the one with the encrypted lock, the one he never left unattended.

The screen flashed with a private caller notification.

Maya didn't ask for permission. She didn't flinch.

She picked up the phone, swiped the screen, and brought it to her ear with practiced ease.

"Hey," Maya whispered into the receiver, her voice dropping into an intimate, playful purr right in front of me. "Yeah, she's right here doing paperwork. Did you remember the key I asked for?"

She glanced at me, offered a slow, victorious smile, and walked out into the corridor with my husband on the line.