Chapter 2

Kelsey POV

After seven years with Griffin, I received a special anniversary gift.

Not jewelry. Not the Hampton property.

But an automatically backed-up dashcam recording from the cloud.

The screen was pitch black-the lens clearly covered by a coat-but I could hear the audio crystal clear.

"Griffin, not here. Someone might see us."

It was a girl's voice, tinged with panic but more prominently, rapid breathing.

Then came the rustle of fabric, the mechanical sound of a seat reclining, and a man's low, triumphant laugh.

"What are you afraid of? This car has privacy glass. No one can see anything from outside."

That was my husband Griffin's voice.

I would never forget the sound of that moment, even if I turned to ashes.

Just ten minutes earlier, he'd called me, his voice gentle as if soothing a child. "Babe, I'm stuck in a multinational video conference at the office. I'll have to cancel tonight's anniversary dinner. I had my assistant send that latest haute couture dress home-try it on first."

The recording continued.

"Gentle... that's the tie Kelsey gave you."

"Why bring her up? Focus."

"But aren't you supposed to be with her tonight for your anniversary? I'm taking up your time-won't she be angry?"

"She won't. Kelsey's so understanding. She never checks up on me."

Then came the sound of a zipper opening, heavy breathing, the sharp clink of a metal belt buckle hitting the car window.

And those nauseating wet sounds, echoing with perfect clarity in my study-a room that might have once felt warm but now felt deathly silent.

I listened without expression.

I didn't cry. My hands didn't shake.

I simply clicked "Save" with cold precision, backing up the forty-minute audio file to three different encrypted cloud drives.

It was 3 PM.

I had been in the kitchen preparing his favorite lasagna. The oven's heat had scalded my hand, raising a blister.

I looked down at the red mark on my hand and suddenly felt nauseous.

All that devotion now seemed like nothing more than a ridiculous comedy show.

Every media outlet called Griffin the "devoted husband."

When I was twenty and hospitalized with appendicitis, Griffin was so worried he canceled a hundred-million-dollar deal to stay by my bedside for three days and nights. He insisted on feeding me water himself, on wiping my face with his own hands.

At twenty-two, when my graduation exhibition was vandalized, Griffin flew in two thousand blue enchantress roses from the Netherlands by private helicopter, filling the entire hall. He knelt on one knee and proposed. "My Kelsey deserves the very best this world has to offer."

At twenty-four, when I mentioned wanting to see the Northern Lights, he cleared his schedule for half a month and took me to Iceland. Holding me in the freezing night, he whispered, "Whatever stars you want, I'll pluck them from the sky for you."

Turns out those star-plucking hands were also eager to unbutton someone else's clothes..

Turns out Griffin, who swore he'd fight the whole world for me, would also work up a sweat over another woman.

Even with that lucky coin I gave him still in his pocket.

The girl's name was Joyce.

I'd seen her before.

She was a scholarship intern Griffin had sponsored, only three months into the company. Her features bore a slight resemblance to mine, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that she had that kind of naive, timid innocence fresh out of school-something I, the so-called "perfect wife," had long since lost.

My phone vibrated.

An iMessage from Griffin.

"Babe, meeting's over. Heading back now. Got your favorite red velvet cake. Wait for me."

Looking at the words on screen, I smiled bitterly.

If I hadn't heard that recording, he'd seem absolutely perfect.

Ten minutes later, the fingerprint lock chimed.

Griffin walked in, wearing just the right amount of fatigue.

He wore his charcoal gray bespoke overcoat, his tie knotted meticulously-the very tie Joyce had mentioned in the recording.

He carried an elegant cake box. Seeing me on the sofa, he strode over immediately, his eyes full of adoration.

"Why aren't the lights on? It's bad for your eyes."

He set down the cake and moved to kiss my forehead, as he always did.

I instinctively turned my head away.

Griffin froze for a moment, but he didn't get angry. He just reached out to feel my forehead. "What's wrong? Not feeling well?"

His palm was warm, carrying a faint tobacco scent, along with a subtle, cloying cheap perfume smell.

Forcing down the churning in my stomach, I didn't push him away. I stood up and said, "Just a bit tired."

Griffin immediately showed his usual concerned expression, pressing me back down onto the sofa.

He knelt on one knee before me, looking up and saying, "I'm sorry, today was unexpected. That board of directors is such a pain to deal with. Since we missed dinner, I promise next year's anniversary, I'll spend the whole day with you."

As he spoke, he pulled a velvet box from his pocket and opened it, revealing an enormous pink diamond ring.

"This is my apology. I won it at a Christie's auction-one of a kind in the world."

I looked at the ring.

The pink diamond was dazzling, priceless.

But I remembered clearly-just ten minutes ago, Joyce had posted an Instagram Story set to "close friends only."

The photo showed a young hand wearing that very pink diamond ring, with Griffin's Maybach passenger seat in the background.

The caption read: "Some things I can't own, but trying them on still makes me happy. Thanks, boss."

Turns out what I got was secondhand goods someone else had already tried on.

Even the "one of a kind" claim was a lie.

I didn't take the box.

I looked into Griffin's seemingly loving eyes and suddenly said, "Your tie is crooked."

Griffin reflexively touched his tie, his expression flawless. "Is it? Must have bumped it sitting through that long meeting."

I reached out and touched the silk tie.

The texture was cool and smooth.

Suddenly, I yanked hard, tightening it around his neck.

Griffin was forced to lean forward, his face nearly pressed against mine. He looked surprised, then smiled. "Babe, so passionate tonight?"

I stared into his eyes, my voice eerily calm. "Griffin, if you ever betray me, I'll kill you."

Griffin froze.

Then he grasped my hand and kissed it, his eyes so sincere it made me sick. "Kelsey, what are you talking about? You're the only woman in my heart for life. If I betray you, you won't have to do anything-I'll jump off the company building myself."

Such beautiful promises.

All complete bullshit.

I released my grip and smiled. "Just joking. I'm going to take a bath."

I turned and headed upstairs.

The moment I turned, the smile vanished from my face, leaving only ice-cold emptiness.

I walked into the bathroom and locked the door.

I turned on the shower, using the water to cover all sounds.

Then I retrieved a backup phone from the hidden compartment deep in the bathroom cabinet and made an international call.

"Initiate Plan B."

"I want all assets under my name secretly transferred within three months."

"Also, help me forge medical records-something terminal."

Since Griffin loved putting on such devoted performances, I'd put on the ultimate show with him.

A show that would leave him ruined and regretful for the rest of his life.

After hanging up, I switched to the monitoring software on this phone. The screen showed real-time footage of the living room downstairs.

In the frame, Griffin was loosening his tie.

Just then, the cloning software on my end vibrated-it had synced a message from his phone.

It was a "disappearing photo" from Joyce.

In the picture, she wore an oversized men's white shirt, a vivid hickey on her collarbone.

The caption read: "Your shirt smells like you. I don't want to wash it."

I stared coldly at the screen as Griffin frowned and quickly replied: "Delete it. Don't send photos like this again. Kelsey might see."

After sending that message, I watched his sickeningly practiced routine-delete the conversation, clear the cache, eliminate all traces.

Having completed these steps, he looked up toward the second-floor bathroom.

Even through the surveillance screen, I could feel his gaze shifting back to that chillingly "tender" look.

I knew him too well.

He craved Joyce's young, vibrant body as relief from his tedious work.

But he loved even more the shell of the "perfect family" I provided him. I was his weakness, his bottom line, and the indispensable wife maintaining his upper-class status.

Right now, he must be confidently thinking that as long as he hid things well enough, he could have both women.

Forever.