Before being with me, Clark was a notorious playboy. Known for his smooth talk and carefree attitude, he chased thrills and new romances, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. His motto, "No strings attached," perfectly reflected his philosophy: love was a game and emotions were mere obstacles.
Then I came along.
To everyone's surprise—including my own—Clark changed. He turned his back on his frivolous past, showering me with love and affection. He was attentive, thoughtful and utterly devoted, surprising me with gifts, preparing my favorite meals and holding me close as though I were the most precious thing in his world. Friends and family marveled at how I had 'tamed' him. I believed them, that I was the reason he had become the man I thought he wanted to be.
Until the day I stumbled upon something that shattered that illusion.
I hadn't been snooping. It was just there—a casual comment he had left on a private group chat, one that painted a chillingly different picture of him: [Getting away with cheating? All about the game. I usually play the good husband until after she pops out a kid.]
***
8:00 PM.
After a long, hot shower, I wrapped myself in a thick robe and sank into the plush sofa, phone in hand. Lately, I had developed a habit of reading news articles before bed—mostly reports on domestic issues, ranging from marital disputes to cases of violence. Tonight, however, the stream of grim headlines hit differently. My fingers trembled slightly as I scrolled, my chest tightening with a mixture of fear and anger.
I hadn't even noticed I was muttering curses under my breath until Clark, who had been slicing fruit at the kitchen counter, walked over. He set down the knife and wiped his hands on a towel before approaching me.
"Hey," he said softly, crouching in front of me and gently patting my head. "Don't get too worked up, baby. I would never do that." His voice was calm, reassuring.
Before I could respond, he picked up a slice of apple and brought it to my lips. "Here, have some. Sweet things are supposed to help with stress, right?" His eyes twinkled mischievously as he added, "Besides, I don't want my queen going to bed with a frown."
I couldn't help but smile, albeit faintly. Clark always had a way of disarming me, of diffusing my darkest moods with effortless charm. I took the apple slice and leaned back, allowing myself to relax as he cracked a few silly jokes.
Just as the tension in my chest began to ease, his phone rang, breaking the moment.
Clark glanced at the screen and I caught a flicker of something in his expression—was it an irritation? He pressed his lips into a thin line before answering, his voice low but composed.
"Hello?" He paused, listening intently. "Do I have to go now? Can't I skip this?" His tone was measured, but I noticed the slight clenching of his jaw as he rose to his feet and walked a few steps away.
"That serious, huh? Alright, give me a moment." With a sigh, he ended the call and turned back toward me. His expression softened, but there was a hint of guilt in his eyes.
"Baby, something urgent came up at the office. I might be home late tonight."
I could tell he hated breaking his promise to stay home with me today. He'd been looking forward to it as much as I had. Yet, the weight of responsibility pressed heavily on him—something I had seen more and more in recent months.
I reached out, brushing my fingers through his hair in a soothing gesture. "It's okay," I said gently. "You go ahead. I'll be fine."
His relief was palpable as he leaned down to kiss my forehead. "Thank you. I won't be too late."
I watched him hurry to the bedroom, where he swiftly changed into work clothes, sending rapid replies on his phone between steps. Once ready, he slipped on his shoes at the entryway, gave me one last apologetic smile and stepped outside.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in the quiet apartment. I sighed, picking up my phone to send him a quick text.
[Drive safe, hubby. Thank you for all your hard work!]
The familiar sound of a message notification echoed in the entryway. Confused, I stood up and walked over. That was when I saw it—Clark's phone, resting on the cabinet where he had apparently forgotten it.
I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "What a scatterbrain."
Reaching down to pick up the phone, I was about to place it in a drawer when something caught my eye. The screen hadn't locked and a chat was still open—a chat with someone named "J."
Frowning, I skimmed through the messages:
[What are you doing?]
[Why aren't you replying?]
[Where are you now?]
[Hurry up. The girls have been waiting.]
I blinked, my heart thudding in my chest. This wasn't Clark's usual WhatsApp account. The number associated with it was unfamiliar, one I had never seen before.
Clark had always been open with his phone. I knew his passcodes, had seen every app he used and he never gave me a reason to doubt him. So why... why was there an account I didn't recognize?
My hands trembled slightly as I navigated the app, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. The account name was Clark's and he was part of a group chat with over fifty members—people I didn't know, talking about plans that didn't sound work-related at all.
Something wasn't right. My gut twisted as I tried to ignore the sinking feeling creeping through me.
