"Did you lock the front door?" Kai asked.
His voice sounded thick, muffled by the expensive down pillow.
"Double-checked it," I said. I pulled the duvet up to my chest.
"Did you set the security alarm?"
"Not yet. I need to grab my charger from the study first."
"Use mine," he offered. He tossed his white cord across the sheets.
"It's frayed, Kai. It ruins my battery," I countered.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "You work too hard, El."
"The sponsor links are due at midnight. You know how strict these brand contracts are."
"Come here first."
He reached out. His heavy arm threw over my waist, pinning me to the mattress. He buried his face in my neck.
"I missed this," he murmured.
"I missed you too," I managed to say.
"Five minutes," he bargained. "Then you can go upload your links. Then you come right back."
"Promise," I whispered.
I waited. One minute. Two. Three.
His breathing leveled out into a deep, rhythmic snore. His grip on my waist loosened.
I slipped out from under his arm.
I closed the study door and turned the brass lock.
I pulled my laptop open and grabbed my phone. I dialed Jess, my manager.
"You saw the chat," Jess answered on the first ring.
"I saw it," I said. "I have the screen recording."
"Ella, PR-wise, this is a nightmare. Who was the woman?"
"I don't know. But I need you to stay on the line while I check something."
"What are you doing?"
"Pulling up the video."
I imported the massive file into my editing software. The progress bar crawled across the screen.
"Talk to me," Jess demanded.
"I'm scrubbing through the timeline. Give me a second."
I dragged the playhead back. Frame by frame.
"There," I muttered.
"There what?"
"Zero point seven seconds. She stepped fully into the mirror's reflection."
I hit the keyboard shortcut to enhance the frame. The pixels sharpened into a clear image.
"What do you see?" Jess asked. Her keyboard clacked rapidly on her end.
"A St. Jude Maternity logo. And a patient tag on the handle of the bag."
"Can you read the name?"
"Just initials. M.R."
"St. Jude? You delivered Noah at Memorial."
"Exactly."
"Pull up your influencer portal," Jess instructed. "Check your sponsored hospital records. Maybe there's a crossover campaign we forgot about. Some PR stunt."
I typed in my credentials. "Opening them now."
"Read me the dates."
"Admitted August first. Discharged August fourth. Memorial General Hospital."
"No overlap," Jess said. "So who the hell is M.R.?"
"I'm going to find out. Don't hang up yet."
"Search the St. Jude website," Jess suggested. "Look up their maternity ward."
I opened a new tab. "They have a public registry. Let me type in M.R."
"Anything?"
"No public matches. Wait, they have a private donor wing. The VIP section."
"Does Kai have VIP money?"
"His firm does. If he expensed it through a dummy corporation..."
"We need to know if he actually went on that trip. Check his flight miles."
"Good idea. Let me log into his airline app."
I typed in his frequent flyer number. "Checking the January statement."
"What does it say?"
"Nothing."
"What do you mean nothing?"
"He didn't fly to Boston that week. He didn't fly anywhere. There are no miles logged for January twelfth."
"He never left the city," Jess said, her voice dropping. "He was here. With her."
"I need to check his calendar," I said, my hands shaking.
"The shared one?" Jess asked.
"Yeah. His big transparency rule from when we got married. He swore he'd never hide a single meeting from me."
I clicked the green icon. "I'm exporting his entire year. Filtering by business trips, overtime, and client dinners. Sorting by date."
"Okay, so a full-term pregnancy is forty weeks," I told Jess.
"Right. If that baby was discharged three weeks ago... count back."
I scrolled up the screen. "Ten months ago. Second week of January."
"What does his schedule say for that week?"
"Sorting by date."
My eyes scanned the rows.
"East Coast Client Tour," I read aloud. My throat tightened. "Seven days."
"Read me the exact entries," Jess urged.
"Monday: Flight to Boston. Dinner with the Kensington group."
"But we just proved he didn't take a flight," Jess pointed out.
"Exactly. Tuesday: All-day strategy session. Wednesday: Dinner at... wait. There's no location. Just 'Dinner'."
"Check his expenses," Jess said. "You share the Amex, right?"
"Logging in now."
I opened a new tab and authenticated my account. I set the filter for January.
"Nothing," I said.
"Zero charges for that entire week on the shared card. No flights. No hotels. No dinners."
"He used cash," Jess whispered. "Or a secret account."
"Jess, that was the exact week I found out I was pregnant with Noah."
Silence stretched over the line.
"Are you sure?" she finally asked.
"Positive. He came home from that fake trip with pink roses and a fetal doppler."
A dry laugh scraped its way up my throat. It sounded entirely wrong in the quiet room.
"Oh my god," Jess whispered.
"The dates match perfectly."
"He has another kid."
"A kid the exact same age as Noah."
I hit save on the spreadsheet. The click of the mouse echoed loudly.
"What are you going to do?" Jess asked. Her voice shook.
"Back everything up."
"Do you want me to call the police? A private investigator?"
"No. If I spook him, he deletes everything. I need to secure the files."
"Call me the second you wake up, Ella. I mean it."
"I will."
I dropped the call.
The sky outside the window shifted from pitch black to a bruised purple. Dawn was coming.
I created a new folder on my desktop. I dragged in my hospital records, Kai's travel itinerary, the blank Amex statements, the enhanced screenshot, and the full stream video.
I opened my browser and logged into a hidden cloud vault. I used this for storing raw footage before edits. Only I knew the master password.
I generated a zip file.
I renamed it. *January_12.zip*. The exact day he supposedly left for the East Coast.
The progress bar filled with a bright green line.
Upload complete.
I closed the laptop.
I crept back down the hallway. The hardwood floors felt like ice against my bare feet.
The primary bedroom remained dark. The only sound was the low hum of the air purifier in the corner.
I slid under the covers, keeping to the very edge of the mattress.
Kai shifted. His arm flung out, smacking the sheets beside my head.
"Ella?" he mumbled.
"I'm here," I whispered.
He rolled over, turning his back to me.
As he moved, his pillow slid sideways.
My hand brushed against the fitted sheet. My knuckles hit something solid.
I froze.
It wasn't a phone. It wasn't the television remote.
It was heavy, cold, and hidden right under where his head had been resting.
My fingers traced a sharp metal edge.
I held my breath, staring at the back of my husband's head.
What are you hiding under here, Kai?
