After a week-long business trip, I expected a taxi. Instead, my wife came to pick me up.
Claire Vance—cold, aloof, an ice sculpture of a woman—had actually prepared a surprise.
I stared at the limited-edition, diamond-studded watch in her hand. Said nothing.
"Don't like it?" A flicker of confusion cracked her composed mask.
I didn't answer. Just looked at her.
"Claire." My voice was steady. "You slept with him, didn't you?"
Her expression tightened. She frowned, gaze shifting sideways. "What nonsense are you spouting now?"
I studied her profile, then let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"You're right. He has a clingy child. Joseph can't be left alone for a second. No matter how desperate Colin is, he probably wouldn't stoop low enough to do it in front of the boy."
——
"Ruby!" Her face flushed crimson. "How many times do I have to say it? There is nothing between Colin and me!"
Colin.
The way his name rolled off her tongue sickened me. Too intimate. Six months ago, she'd followed my lead—"Mr. James" or just "the neighbor." Now it slipped out like a lover's whisper.
I sneered and fell silent, letting the heavy atmosphere suffocate the car. The soft, slow melody on the speakers felt jarring against the tension.
I didn't know when it started, but Claire—a woman who used to despise music—had become obsessed with bitter ballads about forbidden love. She shared them on social media every few days. Even changed her ringtone.
What a coincidence. The exact same ringtone Colin used.
Claire started the car, her tone softening. "You know how hard it is for him to raise Joseph alone. We're neighbors. If we can help, we should. Isn't that what you told me back then?"
Yes. I was the one who'd invited the wolf into our home.
Colin was ten years my senior. His face bore the weathering of a difficult life, yet he maintained a facade of plain, gentle humility. In the elevator, he was always carrying heavy grocery bags, that timid, shrinking boy trailing behind him.
Whenever he looked at me, a flash of envy passed through his tired gaze. When our eyes met, he'd offer an embarrassed, self-deprecating smile.
I'd heard he was a single father with a child who had a genetic defect. Life was hard for him. A man like that—harmless, pathetic—would make anyone lower their guard.
That was why, when I saw him trying to stifle his sobs in the fire stairwell, I felt a pang of sympathy. The sound was heartbreaking. I quietly placed a pack of tissues near him and walked away to give him dignity.
The next day, he rang our doorbell, holding Joseph's hand and a plate of cookies.
Claire and I were both surprised, though her reaction was impatience. She'd just stepped out of the shower, wearing nothing but a loose bathrobe. Running into a male neighbor while half-dressed was hardly decent.
Colin had turned beet red. He hurriedly set down the homemade cookies and fled, ignoring my polite attempt to keep him—as if he were the one being violated.
I wasn't good at socializing, but the cookies were clearly made with care. Guilt and courtesy compelled me to invite him over for a meal later that week.
My intention was simply to return the favor. I never expected it to be the catalyst for them to start exchanging glances right under my nose.
I remained silent the entire drive home. The car pulled into the garage, darkness swallowing us.
In the elevator, Claire tried again. She pressed the watch box into my hand.
"I picked it especially for you, Ruby. Please, stop being angry."
She was a pragmatic woman. For her to go to this extent meant she was either truly sorry—or trying desperately to cover her tracks.
The elevator lighting was clinical and bright. I looked down at the velvet box.
Something caught my eye.
A single, short strand of hair resting against the plush interior.
I plucked it out. Not mine. Not Claire's long hair.
As I brought the box closer, a faint scent assaulted my senses. Not new leather or metal.
Cloying. Familiar.
The same cheap cologne Colin had started wearing recently.
Bile rose in my throat. I gagged, dry-heaving as the realization hit like a physical blow.
"What's wrong?" Claire's voice was laced with concern, her hand reaching for my shoulder.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open on the tenth floor.
I didn't answer. Shoved past her, stormed into the hallway. Fueled by a rage that blurred my vision, I marched to the apartment next door and hammered my fist against Colin's door.
"What are you doing?!" Claire shrieked, grabbing my arm to drag me back.
But it was too late.
