Faced with the girl’s plea, Cayden’s expression turned icy.
"No." His tone was resolute. "It’s too risky if my wife sees you here. I’ll take you to a hotel."
Without another word, he stepped inside, grabbed his suit jacket, and draped it over Sydney’s trembling shoulders. Then, with a practiced indifference, he tossed her the car keys.
"Wait in the car," he said curtly, handing her the umbrella before turning back toward the house.
Inside, his steps faltered as he approached the bedroom. He flicked the switch, but before the room could plunge into darkness, my voice broke the silence.
"...Don’t turn off the lights."
Cayden froze, his hand was still on the switch.
For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned to look at me, his smile strained and unconvincing.
"Dear, when did you wake up?"
I sat up, feigning a drowsy yawn, and tilted my head at him. "Honey, what are you doing standing there? Why don’t you come to bed?"
My eyes lingered on his suit, the crisp lines a stark contrast to the pajamas he’d been wearing earlier. My brow furrowed.
"Weren’t you in pajamas just now? Did you need to go out for something?"
"No, not at all," he said quickly, his voice steady but his eyes too careful. "I was just trying on what I’ll wear tomorrow. Now I’ll sleep with my wife."
His attempt at nonchalance felt rehearsed, but I didn’t press further. Not yet.
He leaned down, brushing a hand over my hair. "Why don’t you sleep first? I’ll join you in a minute."
I shook my head and gave him a faint smile. "No, I’ll wait. I want to see you lie down beside me."
A flicker of unease crossed his face before he nodded. Pretending nothing was amiss, he changed back into his pajamas and slid into bed, pulling me into his arms with practiced ease.
"My dear," he murmured, his voice soft and warm, "your husband will hold you until you fall asleep."
I closed my eyes, letting his words wash over me. But no matter how tightly he held me, I couldn’t escape the image seared into my mind—the sight of him standing in the rain, allowing Sydney’s lips to touch his.
Sydney. The secretary who had been with his company for two years.
Before this, I never suspected that there was anything between Sydney and Cayden.
After we got married, Cayden made it clear—he only employed male assistants to reassure me. He ensured no woman ever got too close.
The day Sydney applied for a job was sheer coincidence. I dropped by the office to deliver some fruit to Cayden.
When I learned she wasn’t hired, I thought it was the end of the matter. But then Sydney collapsed on the ground, tears streaming down her face.
"Please, Mr. Jenkins, if I don’t get this job, I’ll die."
Cayden remained unmoved, his expression cold and distant. But then Sydney ran to the rooftop of the company, her voice ringing out in defiance.
"Cayden, I meet all the requirements! Why should I miss this job just because I’m a woman? I won’t accept it!" Her trembling voice carried an edge of desperation. "If you don’t hire me, I’ll jump right now."
The situation was spiraling. I could already see how this could tarnish the company’s reputation. Reluctantly, I urged Cayden to give her a chance.
From that moment on, Cayden treated her with strict professionalism, keeping her in a background role. He never softened, and I never saw a reason to doubt him. So when—when did this start?
My thoughts churned as I lay in bed with Cayden that night, holding his hand tighter than usual. He seemed distracted, his tension palpable.
At one point, he sighed softly, reaching for his phone. He typed quickly, the faint light casting shadows across his face.
I squinted, barely making out the message, "Sydney is in my car. Take her to a hotel—I can’t leave right now."
His assistant’s reply came swiftly. Cayden exhaled in relief, put his phone aside, and turned to me with a forced tenderness.
"Dear, sleep well. I’m here."
But sleep didn’t come easily.
The next day at the office, I sensed something was off immediately. The atmosphere was tense, uneasy. Sydney had caused a commotion, her desk a mess as colleagues hovered around her, trying to console her.
"Sydney, did you have a fight with your boyfriend?" one teased, their tone lighthearted.
"Why are your eyes so red and swollen? Don’t tell me your boyfriend kept you up all night?" another chimed in with a smirk.
"Enough nonsense!" someone else snapped, clearly annoyed. "Can’t you see Sydney’s upset? It must be her boyfriend’s fault. Men are all the same—horrible!"
At that moment, I walked in, and the chatter abruptly died. All eyes turned to me—and then to Cayden behind me.
Sydney’s red, swollen eyes locked onto him, a spark of something unreadable flashing across her face.
"You’re right," she said coldly, her voice sharp as a blade. "All men are bad. They’re all liars."
She lingered on those words, her tone deliberately ambiguous. Then, as if driving the point home, she turned to the male assistant, her behavior suddenly playful, almost flirtatious, clearly meant to provoke.
