Chapter 1

When my wife brought her lover home for the fifth time, I decided enough was enough.

I said nothing, not a word of complaint or protest. Instead, I superglued the windows shut and locked the bedroom door from the outside.

From the bedroom came the muffled sounds of her little escapade, breathless and feverish, carrying through the walls like a shameful melody no one asked to hear.

Calmly, I sat in the living room, picked up the phone, and called my mother-in-law.

"Jessie," I said, putting on my best tone of urgency, "it's bad—real bad! Your daughter's locked herself in the bedroom and says she's gonna end it all!"

Chapter 1

I bought myself a tube of superglue and went about sealing every last window in the bedroom. Not a crack was left open to the outside world.

When I finished sealing the final window, I pulled out my phone and dialed my wife's number.

"Rach," I said, calm and steady, "I've got a business trip today. Might be out of town for a couple of days."

My wife, Rachel Fraser, gave me a quick reply—so quick she could hardly wait to hang up. Before I knew it, the call was done.

I glanced at my phone again, this time at the message from my new employer about my new job. With barely a thought, I sent back a simple reply: [I accept.]

A look at the clock told me it was just about time for her to be heading home from work.

I packed a few changes of clothes, stuffed them into a suitcase, and wheeled it upstairs into the storage room. That room had one particular advantage: from there, I could see everything happening downstairs, clear as day.

I waited. About half an hour later, the sound of the front door opening reached me.

The first person to step inside was Rachel.

She called out as she walked in, craning her neck, putting on a little show. "Honey? Honey?"

Then, satisfied with the silence, she turned her head toward the door and said with a smirk, "See? He's gone. Come on in."

And in stepped a man.

He shut the door behind him, smooth as you please, and with his free hand, he pulled Rachel into his arms like she belonged there.

"So," he said, his voice carrying that sly kind of mischief, "does this mean I've got you all to myself tonight?"

Rachel let out a playful little laugh, squirming half-heartedly in his embrace before melting into it. "Oh, stop it—you're terrible," she said in that mock-scolding way that always means the opposite.

This wasn't the first time I'd seen such a thing.

Last month, I'd forgotten some documents at home and had come back unexpectedly. That's when I'd found the sofa in disarray, clothes scattered all over it.

Some were hers.

Some were a man's.

Chapter 2

I picked up the clothes and gave them a good look.

It was plain as day—they weren't my size.

Was Rachel cheating on me? I had thought back then.

I couldn't believe my own eyes. My heart was trying to argue otherwise, but the sounds coming from the bedroom told a different story—soft, breathless gasps that left no room for doubt. Rachel was lost in a kind of bliss and it wasn't because of me.

I couldn't bear to listen any longer. I couldn't reconcile the Rachel who clung to me every day with the one betraying me now, and in our own home, no less.

Quietly, I set the clothes back where I found them. My hand reached for the scissors on the table, and with my resolve hardening, I moved toward the bedroom door, ready to kick it open.

Just then, the phone inside the room started ringing.

I heard a man's voice pause mid-sentence.

My boss?

I couldn't have mistaken that voice if I had tried. It was Tommy Statham, my Avencia-born employer, speaking in his broken but unmistakable English.

But how could it be him? Just last week, he'd handed me a million-dollar order, personally signed and approved.

And now, the pieces began to fall into place. I thought back to the way he'd always looked at me, the way he spoke to me.

"Chris, keep working hard, you've got so much promise!" he'd say, his tone heavy with an encouragement I'd never questioned.

"Chris, if you pull off this deal, your wife will be able to live a good life!"

Each time, his words were met with envious glances from my colleagues.

"Chris, the boss really seems to like you," they'd say.

"He gave you that deal? I asked for it so many times, but he wouldn't give it to me. And now you've got it! But hey, with all the travel it'll take, do you think your wife will be okay with it? She's so attached to you."

And now, as I stood there, scissors in hand, replaying those moments in my mind, I saw his expressions for what they really were—not admiration, but mockery.

Chapter 3

In the end, I couldn't bring myself to kick down that door.

When I stepped out of the house, clutching my documents, my manager, Randy Beckham was already fussing at me.

"Chris, hurry up! The investors will be here any minute. By the way, have you heard from Tommy? I've been trying to reach him, but his phone's been off. Do you know where he is?"

I glanced back toward the house, then down at the contract in my hand. "No idea. I haven't been able to reach him either."

Randy was Rachel's cousin. In fact, he was the one who had brought us together in the first place.

Seeing the contract in my hand, his face lit up with satisfaction.

"I told you, didn't I? I've got a good eye for people. You've got potential, kid. Seal this deal, and the manager's chair in the sales department is yours. Rachel will be thrilled, too."

I smiled faintly and said nothing.

Over the past few years, I had worked myself to the bone trying to prove my worth. Early mornings, late nights—the money I earned was mostly spent by Rachel. I always thought that loving someone meant giving them the best.

When I returned home that evening, I found a table full of dishes waiting for me.

Rachel rarely cooked. She claimed the kitchen fumes would ruin her skin. It was only this year that she'd started cooking occasionally. This was the fourth time I'd ever eaten a meal she'd made.

The moment she saw me step through the door, she rushed over, practically skipping.

"Darling, I made your favorite—beef brisket! Go wash your hands!"

She guided me toward the bathroom, a fork in hand. Picking up a piece of beef brisket, she brought it to my mouth.

"Try it. Tell me if it's good."

I chewed on the meat, washing my hands at the same time. "It's delicious," I said.

Later that evening, while she was showering, I decided to take a chance and opened her phone.

We both knew each other's passwords, but we'd never once looked through each other's devices.

Her chat history was intact. As I scrolled through her WhatsApp messages, I found nothing suspicious at first.

Then I tried searching the phrase "miss you."

A name popped up in her recent chats—someone saved as "Miss A."

It had to be Tommy's private number.

I opened the chat. What I found was a stream of explicit messages:

[Miss you. I can't wait to do it with you.]

[Is your husband home?]

[Let's book a hotel tonight. I just took some supplements—guaranteed to please you.]

[Darling, you're better than my husband.]

[Yours is bigger.]

[Don't you dare do anything with Chris tonight!]

*

That was when I learned the truth. They had slept together at least ten times, with four of those encounters taking place right here in my own home.

Chapter 4

Today was the fifth time they made out at my home.

Rachel, with practiced ease, switched her phone to airplane mode and resumed her little sexy time with Tommy.

I had thought, just for a moment, of trying to win her back, to pull her away from this man and reclaim her for myself.

But the truth was bitter—she had no regard for me at all.

She'd even asked Tommy to have me assigned to out-of-town projects, making it more convenient for their affair to continue unimpeded.

Tommy, impatient and unrelenting, tore at her clothes, stripping them off piece by piece and tossing them carelessly onto the living room floor.

Rachel, breathless and flushed, clung to his neck with one hand while deftly undoing his belt with the other.

I watched as Tommy, now cradling Rachel in his arms, carried her hurriedly toward the bedroom.

She clung to him, naked, her lips pressed to his neck in a trail of kisses. Occasionally, she leaned into his ear, whispering something inaudible from my vantage point.

Her last words were clear enough, though: "Did you take the pill today? You'd better not be like last time—barely started, and it was already over."

Tommy nodded fervently. "Don't worry, baby. I've got you covered. You'll be satisfied."

With that, he pulled her slippers off and flung them into the hallway.

Rachel gave a coquettish laugh. "How am I supposed to get out of bed without my slippers?"

Tommy planted a forceful kiss on her neck. "Don't worry, sweetheart—you won't be getting out of bed today!"

From the second floor, I watched the scene unfold, my stomach twisting in revulsion. Covering my mouth, I gagged a few times but managed to keep it down.

When I heard the bedroom door slam shut, I descended the stairs quietly. Grabbing a garbage bag, I began collecting the scattered clothes from the floor and tossed them into the trash.

Once I was sure they were fully... occupied, I locked the bedroom door from the outside with my spare key, enabled the extra security feature, and then disposed of the key.

Finally, I made my way to the living room and called my mother-in-law.

"Jessie! Something's wrong! Rachel locked herself in the bedroom, and she's threatening to take her own life! I've tried everything, but I can't get the door open!"

Chapter 5

My mother-in-law, Jessie Fraser, was the backbone of their family. Though there were many brothers and sisters, she had always held the final say in the household.

Jessie's only blemish was the time her husband had been caught cheating, a betrayal she had caught him in the act of, and she'd thrown him out after forcing him to witness the miscarriage of the child from his affair.

Even though the child wasn't her husband's, she'd put up with a lot, but her strength had seen her through.

Over the years, raising Rachel alone had been exhausting, but it was steady work. She also had a boyfriend—one she'd never married.

When she heard that her daughter might be having suicidal thoughts, she quickly devised a hundred ways to punish me. In her mind, if a woman was upset, the man was usually to blame.

Within half an hour of my call, she stormed into my house with a host of aunts, uncles, and a few cousins.

"Chris, where's my daughter?"

I saw Jessie charging in, and hurried to meet her, trying to explain as fast as I could.

"Jessie, it was just a small argument. Rachel and I had a little fight, and she suddenly stopped answering my calls."

Before I could finish, Jessie grabbed a chair and hurled it straight at the door.

With a loud crash, everything went silent.

Jessie banged the bedroom door, calling out, "Rachel, don't do anything rash! If something's wrong, talk to Mom, and I'll help you, I promise."

When there was no answer, she called Rachel's phone, but it went unanswered.

Frustrated, she picked up the chair and smashed it against the door again, but still, nothing.

"What kind of door is this?" she fumed. "I've hit it a dozen times, and it hasn't even budged!"

I grabbed her by the arm, trying to stop her. "Jessie, this is the door you and Rachel picked out together. It's supposed to be burglar-proof. Even with the key, it's impossible to open from the outside. Please, stop! Don't push her any further!"

At my words, she paused.

But then Rachel's cousin, Max, not pleased with my interference, stepped up and punched me.

"Tell me, did you do something to hurt Rachel? I know men—none of them are any good!"

I shoved Max aside. "Not all men are like you, running around sowing chaos!"

"Then why else would Rachel be having suicidal thoughts?" he shot back.

Hearing this, Jessie was fired up again. "I knew it! I walked that path myself, and I won't let my daughter go down the same one. She's had a rough enough life, and now look—her father set a terrible example, and her husband's no better. What kind of life can she have now? Listen to me, Chris—if anything happens to her, I'll make you regret it!"

I grabbed her arm again, pleading, "Mom, I swear I haven't done anything!"

But Max wasn't done. He pushed me aside and started pounding on the bedroom door with both fists. "Rachel, don't be afraid. Whatever it is, I will take care of it. Just open the door, and we'll sort it out together."