Chapter 1

My husband took my parking spot again.

His car was parked badly, the front crossing the line and taking up two spaces.

This was the third time.

I didn’t call him to come down and move the car. Instead, I took a video and posted it online.

Right away, a new intern I trained, who said he had dated eighteen girls, sent me a message.

[Alora, from my experience, something is wrong. If you still want to stay with him, call your husband and ask him to move the car. If you don’t, go upstairs, open the bedroom door, and record everything.]

My hands felt cold.

Nervous, I went upstairs. I saw my husband sitting calmly on the sofa, working.

The bedroom looked normal too.

I was about to relax, thinking I worried too much.

But then I looked again, and my heart dropped. The tie he was wearing was not the red one he wore this morning.

And he usually only worked in the study…

I set my bag on the shoe cabinet, slipped into my slippers, and tried to keep my voice steady. "You parked in my spot again."

"I got a last-minute request to rewrite something when I got home, so I parked in a rush. I was going to move it when you got close, but I'll take care of it after I finish up."

"It's fine, I parked in the surface lot."

I tried to steady my nerves and sat down across from him.

"Why are you working in the living room?"

"The desk lamp in the study is busted. The bulb keeps flickering."

Noticing my gaze, Mylo Case stopped typing and looked up. "What's up?"

"Where's your tie?"

He glanced down, looking a bit helpless. "I spilled coffee on it when I was having lunch with a client. It's the one you gave me, so I rushed home and washed it myself."

As he said this, he shot me a look, clearly trying to win me over.

"It was an accident, don't be mad at me, okay?"

Out on the balcony, a blue striped tie was hanging on the drying rack, still soaking wet and dripping onto the floor.

It all made sense.

Everything made sense.

But my heart was in chaos, and I instinctively bit my finger.

"Are you feeling overwhelmed lately?"

Before I realized it, he was crouched in front of me, carefully pulling my hand away from my mouth.

He sighed softly, pulled me into his arms, rested his chin on top of my head, and started patting my back, slow and steady.

He knew my anxiety was acting up again.

"Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

Mylo took my hand and led me to the study.

The desk lamp really was broken. When I flipped the switch, the bulb flickered twice before going out.

The desk was spotless, the trash can was empty, and there wasn't a single thing out of place.

"Do you feel reassured now?"

He kept his hand on my shoulder, speaking softly and tenderly.

I nodded, then shook my head.

I honestly didn't know.

He didn't get mad at me. Instead, he guided me back to the couch, poured a glass of warm water, and grabbed a bottle of calming meds from the drawer.

They were prescribed by my therapist three years ago.

I'd stopped taking them for a while now, but he always kept them on hand for me.

He handed me two pills, holding them right up to my lips.

Suddenly, a wave of anxiety crashed over me.

I pushed his hand away, knocking over the glass, warm water spilled all over him.

Mylo paused, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of fatigue in his eyes.

I held my breath.

But as always, he stayed calm. He picked up the glass, grabbed some tissues to wipe the table, and smiled as he gently patted my head.

"I'll make you some pasta."

I curled up on the couch, knees pulled to my chest, watching his back as he moved around the kitchen. My eyes stung with tears.

Guilt washed over me, but my mind kept spinning. Had Mylo really cheated on me?

I'd asked myself that question a thousand times three years ago, and the answer was always the same. No.

But going through all that almost broke me.

So what about this time? Was I going to torment myself and him again?

I spent the whole night wide awake, obsessing over his excuses about the parking spot and the tie, my head splitting from all the overthinking.

The next morning, Mylo was gone before I woke up. He'd left breakfast on the table, with a note that had a little smiley face drawn on it.

I didn't eat a single bite.

I stood on the balcony, staring at the tie that was almost dry.

I took it down and flipped it over. Most of it was clean, but on the back of the narrow end, right near the label, there was a tiny white spot.

Coffee stains were brown. Even if he couldn't get them out, they'd be light brown or yellowish, not white.

This definitely wasn't coffee.

Yesterday, the tie was still dripping wet, so he must've washed it in a rush.

But if it was just dirty, he could've just tossed it in the laundry room and let the cleaning lady throw it in the washer when she came by. Why did he have to wash it by hand, and in such a hurry?

Without even realizing it, I brought the tie up to my nose.

Underneath the scent of laundry detergent, there was a faint hint of something. Milky.

Clutching the tie, I felt like my nerves were stretched to the limit.