Chapter 2

Once that thought took root, I couldn't bury it.

"The client—man or woman?"

I tried to sound casual, turning to fold clothes.

"A man. Some old guy in his fifties. So annoying."

Samantha complained as she stood up to grab the storage bag.

My heart jumped to my throat.

She opened the bag, checked it, but didn't dig to the bottom layer.

"These are maternity sets. So comfortable."

She muttered to herself, sealed the bag, and put it in the suitcase.

I turned to pour water, avoiding her eyes. Afraid I'd lose it and slap her across the face.

"Babe, did you pack that pregnancy oil? I'll need it there too."

She smiled and walked over, hugging me from behind, her hand rubbing her belly.

"The baby just moved. You wanna feel?"

Her chest pressed against my back.

I felt no warmth. Just a snake wrapped around me.

She lied. Without hesitation. Like it was nothing.

That kind of composure doesn't develop overnight.

I gripped the water glass. My knuckles turned white.

"Yeah."

I took a sip of water, but all I tasted was bitterness.

"Get some rest. You have a flight tomorrow."

I pulled away from her embrace, got into bed, and lay with my back to her.

That night, I listened to her breathing, eyes open until dawn.

In these five years, how much else has she been hiding from me?

Her so-called business trips—what the hell has she really been doing?

Six a.m. Samantha got up.

She put on light makeup. Said she needed to look fresh for the client.

She wore a loose trench coat that hid her baby bump. She looked almost girlish.

I stood on the balcony, watching her wheel her suitcase to the door.

"Babe, I'm leaving. I'll text you when I land."

She turned at the entrance, blowing me a kiss.

I leaned against the doorframe, expressionless, and nodded.

"Safe travels."

The moment the door closed, I grabbed my car keys and bolted.

I'd already called in sick. Even if the sky fell today, I wasn't going to work.

To avoid being spotted, I didn't take my usual car.

I borrowed my neighbor Rick's beat-up van, saying I needed it to help a relative move stuff.

Samantha didn't take the subway. She hailed a cab at the gate.

I followed from a distance, keeping two car lengths behind.

The cab got on the highway, but it wasn't heading toward the airport.

My hands strangled the steering wheel. My knuckles went white from the pressure.

I knew this route. It led to the city's most exclusive wealthy district.

Half an hour later, the cab stopped in front of "Skyline," a private club.

I knew this place. Members-only. Annual fees start at hundreds of thousands.

Rumor had it they offered every kind of service. Total privacy.

Samantha got out of the cab but didn't go straight in.

She stood at the entrance, looking around, then pulled out her phone to text.

I parked across the street in the shade, cracking the window open.

Even from a distance, I could see the anticipation and excitement on her face.

Two minutes later, the club's main door opened.

A tall man in a black suit walked out.

The moment Samantha saw him, she jogged over—completely ignoring her six-month pregnancy.

She hooked her arm through his with practiced ease.

His hand went straight to her waist. Samantha giggled and playfully hit his chest, pressing her body closer.

I sat in the car, feeling all the blood in my body rush to my head.

I grabbed my phone from the passenger seat and frantically snapped photos.

Who the hell is this guy?