Chapter 3

For three whole days after that, James didn't come home, and he never noticed that I really stopped going to the company.

Until the third evening, our fifth wedding anniversary.

The backup phone on the table suddenly rang.

As soon as I answered, James's voice came through, sounding somewhat guilty.

"Sophie, where are you? Are you still mad about that night?"

He paused, his tone becoming even softer, like he was coaxing a disobedient child. "I'm sorry, I know today is our fifth anniversary, and I remember promising to take you to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. But Sophie, the company really can't do without me right now."

"To make it up to you, I bought you that diamond necklace you liked last time. Stop being upset, okay? Come home. The house feels so empty and cold. I miss your cooking."

Listening to his heartfelt confession, I just felt it was ridiculous.

"Busy keeping Vivian company?" I asked softly. "James, I'm asking you one last time. We've been married for five years. Can you make our relationship public? Tell everyone that I'm your wife, not your 'distant cousin' or 'secretary'?"

Dead silence on the other end.

After several seconds, James finally spoke up, pissed off and embarrassed, his voice dripping with irritation. "Sophie, why are you dragging this shit up again? Can't you just chill? We're in the middle of a crucial funding round right now. Vivian's got all the connections for that major deal. Her family's loaded and well-connected, and she... she doesn't want me getting sidetracked by personal drama right now. What if I tell everyone I'm married and Vivian gets pissed and bails on us?"

The project again. Vivian again.

"Just be patient a little longer, Sophie." He started his familiar routine of empty promises. "Once we land this project and the company goes public, I'll definitely give you a grand wedding and tell the whole world."

Just then, my other phone vibrated.

It was a picture message from an unknown number.

I opened the image, my pupils contracting slightly.

The background was an executive suite at some five-star hotel.

In the photo, James was sleeping soundly, shirtless.

Vivian, wearing a bathrobe, was taking a mirror selfie, deliberately framing both James's sleeping face and the suggestive marks on her neck.

Then came a provocative text: [Sophie, James is exhausted from working on that project. He said you're too boring, and being with me is much more exciting.]

In my ear, James was still rambling on the phone: "You know I'm working this hard for our future. The necklace was really expensive. Come home and see if you like it..."

Looking at that photo while hearing his fake lies, I felt disgusted like never before.

"James," I interrupted him, my voice cold as ice, "stop making excuses. That project—you'll never get it."

He paused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I hope you two assholes stay together forever."