"Come with me to the auction tonight. That watch you've been eyeing? I'll win the bid and it's yours."
Adrian Dickerson's arm snaked around her waist, his tone possessive. "So, when are you going to have a baby for me, Hannah?"
"What's the rush?" She chuckled softly, her fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. "Have you forgotten? I already aborted his child for you."
He lowered his head, capturing her lips. "I know. You love me the most."
She leaned against his shoulder, her voice light but chillingly clear. "The Hensons have always looked down on me. Once I'm pregnant with your child... we'll claim it belongs to Aaron. Let them raise our baby."
A smirk played on her lips. "Besides, it's the least they owe me."
They straightened their clothes and left the office, the door slightly ajar.
I stepped out of the shadows in the hallway and into the room they'd just vacated.
A cloying, musky scent assaulted my senses—the smell of their intimacy.
I walked to her desk to place the official seal I'd brought, but my gaze snagged on a document left open. A business proposal, tailor-made for Adrian Dickerson. The terms were absurdly generous; it wasn't a partnership—it was a gift.
I stood there in silence, the paper trembling in my hand.
From the initial capital for her startup to this prime location and the luxury renovations, I had paved every inch of the road for her.
I never imagined that road would lead straight to another man's bed.
Sitting in my car, I dialed a number.
"That heart surgery you mentioned," I said, my voice flat. "I'll do it."
My friend Farley paused on the other end. "Why the sudden change? You know the risks—you have to go abroad, the specialist is elderly, and the schedule is brutal. You always said you couldn't leave your wife alone."
I stared out at the gray skyline. "I don't need to accompany her anymore. I'm filing for divorce."
Silence stretched between us.
"Farley," I said, my throat tightening, "I need a favor. Pull Hannah Pruitt's medical records. Specifically, her abortion history. Every detail."
"Consider it done."
Minutes later, my phone buzzed. An encrypted file appeared on the screen.
I opened it.
The records were clinical and cold. She had indeed been pregnant. But the very day after confirming the pregnancy, she had scheduled the abortion.
The date stared back at me like an accusation.
It was the day of my mother's funeral.
The "miscarriage" due to grief, the weeks of "recuperation"—all of it was a lie. A fabrication so she could sneak away to Adrian while I mourned my mother alone.
A red haze clouded my vision. My grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles went white.
Farley's voice came through the speaker, hesitant. "Aaron? I also took a quick look at the financials. The funds Hannah's siphoned from your joint accounts and personal holdings over the last few years... plus the personal guarantees you signed for her company... the numbers are staggering. If you want to recover the assets, it's going to be a war. Do you want to pursue it?"
I looked up at the office building, seeing the lights of her company—my money—shining in the twilight.
"The house," I said slowly, my voice like ice. "Let her keep the marital home."
It wasn't a gift. It was a tomb for our marriage.
The moment I stepped through the front door of the villa, the doorbell rang.
A delivery man brought in a massive bouquet of red roses. The heavy, sweet fragrance flooded the foyer.
My chest seized.
The scent hit my airways like poison. My throat constricted, and a familiar, terrifying wheeze rattled in my lungs.
My phone rang. Hannah.
"Honey, happy third wedding anniversary! Surprised?"
Surprised?
She had actually forgotten.
I am severely allergic to pollen.
In the first year of our marriage, a minor exposure had sent me into anaphylactic shock. I nearly suffocated. Hannah had been hysterical, weeping by my bedside all night, refusing to sleep.
Three years later, she sends me a death trap.
I turned my head, gasping for air, and barked at the nanny. "Throw it out! Now!"
Evening fell, and the front door opened.
Hannah walked in, looking radiant. But she wasn't alone.
Adrian Dickerson stood beside her, oozing practiced charm.
"Hello, Mr. Henson," Adrian said, extending a hand with a natural smile. "I'm Adrian Dickerson."
I stood frozen, staring at the hand that had been all over my wife just hours ago.
Hannah beamed, her tone relaxed and innocent. "Honey, this is Adrian. He's a special consultant for my company. I had a bit too much to drink at a dinner meeting, and since he was on his way here, he kindly drove me back."
