Chapter 5

He changed his shoes while placing the delicate paper box he was carrying onto the entryway cabinet—it was a Napoleon pastry from Ophelia's favorite bakery.

The living room lights weren't on, only a floor lamp casting a dim yellow glow. Ophelia sat quietly on the sofa, her entire figure hidden in the half-light and shadow, like a lifeless sculpture.

Matthew immediately sensed something was wrong.

Without even taking off his coat, he quickly walked to the sofa and knelt on one knee in front of her.

"Ophelia, what's wrong?" His voice was low and gentle, full of concern. He reached out with his warm palm and gently touched Ophelia's pale cheek, his brow furrowing slightly. "Why are you so cold? Did you get caught in the rain today and catch a cold?"

Ophelia didn't pull away from his hand. She just looked at him quietly.

His eyes were so clear, filled with worry and concern. If she hadn't seen that surveillance footage, if she hadn't seen that photo, she really would have believed she was the happiest woman in the world.

"Should I make you some hot honey water? Or I can take tomorrow off and take you to see a doctor?" Seeing her silence, Matthew's worry deepened. He reached out to put his arm around her shoulders. "Don't scare me. Where exactly do you feel sick?"

Looking at this face, both familiar and strange, watching his flawless display of devotion, Ophelia felt the fire that had been building in her chest all day, mixed with desperate ice water, explode.

She'd had enough.

Enough of these lies, enough of being played for a fool.

"Matthew."

Ophelia finally spoke, her voice hoarse and unlike herself.

She stared into the man's eyes and asked, word by word: "Where exactly did you go yesterday afternoon?"

The air seemed to freeze in that moment.

Matthew's hand on Ophelia's shoulder paused slightly, and a barely noticeable flash of shock crossed those eyes that were always filled with tenderness.

He withdrew his hand, sighed, and his tone carried a hint of helplessness and indulgence: "Ophelia, did someone tell you something again? I already told you yesterday..."

The urgent buzzing of a phone suddenly interrupted Matthew's words.

He instinctively glanced at his phone on the table, the screen flashing "Kismet."

"Sorry, I need to take this call." Matthew picked up the phone like he'd been given a reprieve and answered it right in front of Ophelia.

A panicked female voice came from the other end. Even without speakerphone, Ophelia could vaguely hear Kismet's tearful plea for help.

"Matthew! My car broke down on the road, and it's so deserted around here. I'm so scared, can you come help me?"

Matthew's brow immediately furrowed, his tone becoming serious: "Don't cry first, send me your location, lock the car doors, and wait for me inside. I'll be right there."

After hanging up, he immediately grabbed the coat he'd just thrown on the sofa and turned to look at Ophelia, his face full of apology: "Ophelia, Kismet's car broke down in the suburbs. That area is pretty isolated; it's too dangerous for her to be there alone. I'll explain everything about yesterday when I get back, but I need to go help her right now."

He didn't even wait for Ophelia's response. He quickly bent down and planted a light kiss on her forehead, then strode toward the entryway, pulled open the door, and walked out.

As the door closed, the living room fell into deathly silence again.

Ophelia raised her hand and roughly wiped away the lingering sensation on her forehead, feeling a wave of revulsion.

Kismet? Matthew did have a distant cousin named Kismet Rivera, but they didn't interact much. How could her car just happen to break down at this exact moment?

Too convenient—so convenient it seemed like a deliberately arranged excuse to escape.

Ophelia didn't hesitate. She quickly got up, grabbed the car keys from the table, threw on a trench coat, and hurried out after him.

In the underground parking garage, Matthew's black Cayenne had just started up.

Ophelia lightened her steps, quickly slipped into her own car, and without turning on the headlights, followed the Cayenne from a distance.

The rain was getting heavier, drops hammering against the windshield with dull thuds. The wipers moved mechanically as Ophelia gripped the steering wheel tightly, her eyes locked on those two crimson taillights ahead.

The car was so quiet she could only hear her own breathing.

Watching that familiar car ahead, Ophelia's heart sank bit by bit, cold and trembling.

If Matthew really was cheating, what should she do?

Five years of marriage—she'd been with him from a basement apartment to his now publicly traded company. She'd given up her own education and career to be the woman behind him.

She'd thought this was what love looked like at its best, but reality had slapped her hard in the face.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she forced them back. Now wasn't the time to cry.

If it really came to divorce, she absolutely couldn't be kicked out like a fool.

Matthew's current company had her blood, sweat, and tears in it—all those nights working on proposals, running business deals. Her half of the assets—she wouldn't let a single penny go.

More importantly, there was Katya. Katya was her life. Even if she had to fight with everything she had, she had to get custody of Katya.

Making him leave with nothing might be hard, but as long as she got solid proof of his affair, she'd have the upper hand in court.

The Cayenne ahead was driving fast through the rainy night. After a few turns, it merged onto a main road leading to the suburbs.

Ophelia pressed the gas pedal, trying to close the distance.

Just then, the traffic ahead suddenly became dense, red brake lights forming a continuous line.

Ophelia's heart tightened as she watched Matthew's car accelerate hard through the intersection in the last second of the yellow light.

But when her car reached the intersection, the red light came on, followed by the sharp sound of brakes and a heavy crash ahead.

A car accident.

Two cars had collided in the middle of the intersection, and debris was scattered everywhere, completely blocking the road.

The red and blue flashing lights of police cars were especially glaring in the rain, and traffic police were already directing traffic.

Ophelia slammed her hand against the steering wheel, her knuckles white.

She was stuck in the middle of the traffic, unable to move forward or back, forced to watch as that black Cayenne completely disappeared into the vast night.

She'd lost him.

With no other choice, Ophelia could only follow the traffic police's directions to turn around and head back the way she came.

By the time she got home, it was already past ten at night.

The house was empty, with only the monotonous ticking of the wall clock.