Isabella Waterlow, the queen of New Ark City's elite and a wife famed for her boundless devotion, has always lived in the headlines. To mark my birthday, she spared no expense—every firework that burst across the night sky and every rose blooming in the city was hers.
Beneath the riot of colors that lit up the heavens, Isabella leaned in, her delicate frame rising on tiptoes, her lips brushing against mine in a kiss as soft as a whisper.
“Darling,” she said with a gleam in her eye, “I won’t let you envy any man.”
Her promise stood tall—a castle made entirely of blood-red roses reaching skyward. From its 33rd-floor pinnacle, her fiery proclamation blazed out, “I love you, Claude Smith.”
When I fell ill with a fever, Isabella's reaction was as dramatic as her affections. She wanted to summon every private doctor in the city to ensure my swift recovery. Even our love story found its way onto the largest screens downtown, with our wedding photos heralded as a modern-day romance for the ages.
But now, reality had its moment of intrusion.
The scene was unremarkable at first: I reached out to hand Isabella her coat, only for a small object to tumble from its pocket—a shiny pink package. The moment stretched unbearably. It was a condom. Strawberry-flavored. A flavor I despised.
The air around me seemed to chill as I stooped down to retrieve the package. The faint, saccharine scent wafted toward me—cloying, greasy, unmistakable. As I studied the packaging, an unsettling familiarity crept in.
Last month, during an unannounced visit to Isabella’s company, a curious incident replayed in my mind. Her new secretary, Samuel Castillo, had rounded a corner carrying a parcel, only to collide with me. Startled, his grip slipped, sending the contents spilling. Tiny pink packages lay scattered across the floor.
I knelt to help. “Are you okay?” I asked.
Samuel flushed crimson, his hands scrambling to gather the items. “Mr. Smith! I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you.” His embarrassment was palpable.
He explained with a shy, proud grin, “My girlfriend uses these. We run out so quickly—I’ve been buying a few boxes every few days. Please don’t mention this to anyone.”
At the time, I chuckled, brushing it off as a trivial office mishap. But now, clutching an identical package, the cold realization crawled up my spine. My hands were trembling as my mind stitched the pieces together.
“Darling, what are you thinking about?” Isabella’s voice melted into the moment, trailing steam as she emerged from the bathroom, her damp hair framing her radiant face. She slipped her arms around me, her warmth jolting against my chilled composure.
Her brow furrowed as she took in my pallor. “What’s wrong, darling? Who upset you? Tell me and I’ll have them fired immediately!”
I lifted my gaze to meet hers. Six years of marriage, her every gesture crafted with love, flashed before me. From the flowers to the private cinema to her undying devotion to my whims—she had always been the embodiment of care.
People would often comment on how indulgent she was and with a wry smile, I’d tease her, “If you keep this up, you’ll be another Mark Antony and they’ll call me Cleopatra—a calamity in disguise.”
But Isabella would just laugh, unbothered by the jest and cradle me close. “If you’re Cleopatra, then I’ll gladly be Mark Antony. He waged wars for his queen and I’d spend my fortune tenfold for my Claude.”
Her vows lingered, ghostlike, but now they felt hollow.
With a bitter smile, I raised the offending pink package between us. “What’s this?”
A flicker of panic danced across Isabella’s features, but she quickly regained composure.
“Where did you find that?” she asked, feigning innocence.
I pointed to her coat. “It fell out of your pocket.”
Her eyes widened before she slapped a hand to her forehead with a laugh, an almost theatrical gesture. “Oh, silly me! I must’ve taken it by mistake. Last month during team building, one of my colleagues ordered fried chicken. I was grabbing disposable gloves and must have grabbed this by accident.”
Her explanation hung in the air, fragile and thin as glass.
