On our wedding anniversary, I drove out to pick up the cake. I settled into the driver's seat and spoke to the GPS the way I always did: "Hey Siri, navigate to the bakery."
What came out of the speakers was not Siri.
"Of course, my darling Asher Sanchez! Your Winnie's personal navigation is at your service. Drive safe for me, okay? If you don't behave, I'll have to punish you~"
Every muscle in my body locked. The only sound left was my own heartbeat hammering against my ribs.
When had the GPS voice pack been changed? And why was it customized for Asher?
I dialed my husband, keeping my voice perfectly casual.
"Have you connected to the car's Bluetooth lately?"
A beat of silence on the other end. Then his tone slid into something easy and natural:
"Probably a client who paired their phone by accident when I gave them a ride. Why, what's up?"
I laughed, made small talk, and hung up. Then I opened the dashcam footage, scrolled until I found a blurry profile shot, and sent it to Mia Fox.
"Find out who she is. Ten minutes."
Then I floored it toward Sanchez Tower.
...
I was pulling into the parking garage when Mia's reply came through.
Several photos of the woman, plus screenshots of her social media posts.
[Your blind idiot husband hired this little secretary. One look at her and you can tell exactly what she is!]
[You've been way too generous with him. He takes advantage of the fact that you never go to the office, and now he's keeping a mistress right under your nose?]
[Say the word and I'm there. We'll take them both apart.]
I texted her back right away.
[Relax. I'll handle it.]
I stepped out of the car and walked into the building, scrolling through the photos as I went.
Asher's last secretary had been a man. I had no idea when he'd been replaced by a fresh-faced young thing.
She was striking in the photos, no question. Exactly his type.
The receptionist spotted me and started to ask if I had an appointment, but a senior employee who happened to be passing by stopped her.
"Mrs... Ms. Pruitt is the closest person to Mr. Sanchez. She doesn't need an appointment."
She turned to me with a small smile. I could read the awkwardness behind it, and the sympathy she was trying to hide.
I gave her a nod of thanks.
Then I stepped into the elevator and went straight to the top floor.
The doors opened, and there she was, walking out of his office in a floral sundress.
Young. Beautiful. Long hair falling past her waist, round doe eyes, impossibly cute.
In the split second before the office door swung shut behind her, I saw it: my personal throw blanket draped over the couch, and the matching couple's mug Asher and I had bought together, sitting on her side of the desk.
She froze mid-step when she saw me. The corners of her mouth went stiff for just a fraction of a second before she recovered and beamed at me, all sweetness.
"Hello! Do you have an appointment?"
I looked her straight in the eyes. My voice was unhurried, level, the kind of calm that comes from knowing exactly where you stand.
"Winifred Taylor. I'm Aileen Pruitt, Asher's wife. Do I need an appointment?"
Winifred's mouth fell open in a performance of shock.
"Really? You're his wife? I had no idea Mr. Sanchez was even married!"
Asher and I had been married for three years, but I could count on one hand the number of times I'd set foot in Sanchez Group.
I'd done it on purpose. I wanted to give him room, to make sure no one could say he'd built his success on the Pruitt name.
Outside of close friends and a handful of long-time employees, almost no one knew.
But he'd always worn his ring. He'd never once hesitated to tell people he was married. He said it was to make me feel secure.
So the wide-eyed girl standing in front of me was anything but innocent.
I let out a short, dry laugh and held her gaze.
"The 'Winnie's personal navigation' voice. That's you."
A flicker of panic crossed her eyes, gone almost instantly, replaced by a gentle, apologetic smile.
"Oh, you mean the GPS in Mr. Sanchez's car? It was raining the other day and I couldn't get a ride, so he gave me a lift. He asked me to type in the destination, and I must have accidentally connected my Bluetooth. That's all it was."
"Mrs. Sanchez, did you come all this way because of a misunderstanding? If you say things like this in front of the whole company, my reputation..."
Her voice trailed off, her expression settling into something wounded and delicate.
Every employee on the floor was staring at me now. To anyone who didn't know better, I probably looked like another jealous housewife making a scene.
I smiled and stepped closer to her.
"When Asher brought you in, did he forget to mention that I'm the one who has the final say in this company?"
Winifred stood rooted to the spot, still processing.
I was already on the phone with the cleaning service.
"Sanchez Group, executive office. Clear out everything inside."
Asher knew better than anyone that I couldn't stand anything unclean. The moment something was soiled, I threw it away.
Then I turned and walked out.
I'd barely gotten back in the car when his call came through.
The name on the screen read "My Husband Who Loves Me Most." The irony sat like acid on my tongue.
The moment I picked up, his voice came through, cool and smooth, not a single note out of place.
"Babe, what made you send a cleaning crew to the office? Did the janitors not do a good enough job? Was something bothering you?"
His little secretary sure didn't waste any time running to him.
I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and kept my voice perfectly even.
"I just felt like the things I'd left there had gotten old. Dirty. It was time to throw them out."
Asher swallowed audibly. His laugh came out stiff.
"Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets. I'm heading home soon. Love you."
Something deep in my chest clenched so tight I couldn't breathe.
Men really were born actors.
Love was just another thing they knew how to split between too many people.
