I arrived at James's office building earlier than expected, the surprise lunch I'd prepared sitting in a bag on the passenger seat. The security guard recognized me immediately.
"Mrs. Williamson! Going to see Mr. Williamson?"
"Yes," I replied with a smile that felt increasingly foreign on my face. "He's been working so hard lately. Thought I'd bring him something special."
The guard waved me through without calling up—a mistake, as it turned out.
The elevator ride to the executive floor gave me time to compose myself. Seven years of marriage, and here I was, playing detective in my own life. The thought made my stomach twist.
James's assistant looked startled when I appeared. "Rowan! I didn't know you were coming."
"It's a surprise," I said lightly. "Is he free?"
"Just finishing a call. I'll let him know you're here."
Before she could pick up the phone, I raised my hand. "No need. I'd like to surprise him."
I walked past her desk toward James's office, but stopped short when I saw them through the glass walls—exotic orchids arranged in an elegant crystal vase, their purple blooms cascading over his desk.
My breath caught. Those were the same rare black orchids I'd seen displayed at Lila's spa during my surveillance. They weren't easy to find—I'd checked.
James looked up as I entered, his expression shifting from annoyance to forced pleasure in an instant.
"Rowan," he said, standing quickly. "This is unexpected."
I set the lunch bag down, moving closer to the flowers. Their heady scent filled the office—sweet, almost cloying.
"They're beautiful," I said, touching a velvet petal. "New clients must really appreciate your work."
James shifted uncomfortably. "They're from a grateful client, yes."
I picked up the small card nestled among the blooms. "May I?"
His hesitation told me everything before I even read the message: "Only the best for you. Your preferences are my command. -L"
"Your client knows your preferences quite intimately," I observed, setting the card down. "Black orchids aren't exactly standard office gifts."
"They're... they're for the executive team," James stammered. "A thank you for hitting our quarterly targets."
I smiled thinly, letting his lie hang between us.
---
Two days later, I sat in the boardroom as Marcus Chen presented the quarterly audit findings. James sat across from me, scrolling through his phone under the table.
"Moving on to the discretionary expense accounts," Marcus said, his voice taking on a careful neutrality. "I've noticed some unusual patterns that deserve attention."
James finally looked up. "What kind of patterns?"
Marcus's eyes met mine briefly before he turned to his laptop. "I've prepared a detailed analysis."
The screen behind him filled with spreadsheets and flow charts. My eyes narrowed as I recognized the pattern—small transfers, each just below reporting thresholds, moving from company accounts to various shell entities.
"These funds," Marcus continued, highlighting certain cells in yellow, "appear to be routed through three separate accounts before reaching their final destination."
"And where is that destination?" I asked, though I already knew.
"Lopez Wellness Sanctuary," Marcus replied. "Specifically earmarked for renovation costs, equipment upgrades, and premium product inventory."
James's face flushed. "These are approved marketing expenses for our wellness program."
"For eight months?" Marcus countered. "Totaling over two hundred thousand dollars?"
The room fell silent as board members exchanged glances.
---
Diana Hartwell's office was minimalist—all glass and steel, much like the woman herself.
"Mrs. Williamson," she greeted me, extending a manicured hand. "I understand you're interested in our discreet investigation services."
"Please, call me Rowan," I said, settling into the chair across from her desk. "And yes. I need someone who can uncover... hidden truths."
Diana's expression remained neutral as she listened to my situation. Only when I mentioned James's name did something flicker in her eyes—recognition, perhaps.
"I'll need access to his devices," she said finally. "And any accounts you suspect might contain relevant information."
I hesitated only briefly before handing over the list I'd prepared—his personal email, cloud storage accounts, and the encrypted folders Marcus had discovered during his financial investigation.
Three days later, Diana called me into her office again. Her expression was grim as she turned her screen toward me.
"You might want to prepare yourself," she warned.
The screen filled with images—dozens of them. Me changing clothes in our bedroom. Me sleeping. Me at company events, glass in hand, clearly intoxicated.
And me, unaware, in vulnerable moments he had captured and saved.
"He's been collecting them for years," Diana said quietly. "Some date back to your honeymoon."
My hands trembled as I stared at the evidence of his twisted obsession—images taken not with love, but with something darker, more possessive.
"He kept them in folders labeled with dates and locations," Diana continued. "Organized them like trophies."
I felt sick as I scrolled through his secret gallery of my life—moments he had stolen from me without my knowledge.
"Can you download these?" I asked, my voice surprisingly steady despite the rage building inside me.
Diana nodded. "Already done. And Rowan? There's something else you should know about these photos..."
