Chapter 1

While washing my husband Adrian Clark 's suit, I found a box of condoms, an ultrasound photo of a baby, and plane tickets.

Several condoms were missing. The dates on the two documents were clear---right during the month he claimed he was overseas on a business trip.

My heart instantly sank.

Suddenly I remembered how his phone had been on silent for the past six months, and how he'd take it into the bathroom even when showering.

Once, late at night, I noticed an unfamiliar orange blossom perfume scent on his shirt collar.

When I asked him about it, he just smiled and patted my head. "You're overthinking it. These things happen at business dinners."

I'd even felt guilty for being so sensitive, but now it seemed that scent was the smell of another home.

I immediately sent the photo to my assistant: "Book me a ticket to the same destination."

I got up and walked to the window. Below was our carefully landscaped garden, the roses in full bloom.

Adrian had planted them himself last year on our anniversary, saying he wanted to watch them bloom year after year with me.

I didn't call to confront him.

After all these years handling divorce cases, I knew too well that emotional outbursts got you nothing. Only evidence gave you leverage.

I opened my laptop and typed "Lily White" into the keyboard, starting my search.

There wasn't much public information, just a college graduation photo. The girl had delicate features and a shy smile.

But following the trail of her social media accounts, I found a private blog.

The most recent update was from last week, paired with a sunset photo at the beach. The caption read: "Someone once said, you fall in love with a city because someone you love lives there."

In the background of the photo was half of a man's arm, with a watch on his wrist---the birthday gift I'd given Adrian last year, a limited edition. He'd said he couldn't bear to wear it and only used it on important occasions.

My chest felt like it had been struck by something heavy. A dull ache.

I booked the earliest flight to Los Angeles and didn't tell anyone.

I landed in the evening and headed straight to the beachside inn mentioned in the blog.

The front desk checked the records. Last week, a couple with the surnames Miller and Clark had indeed checked in, staying in the top-floor ocean-view room.

"They seemed very much in love. The man was especially attentive to the woman. Every day they had us order fresh seafood for them," the receptionist said casually.

My phone vibrated. A text from Adrian: "Honey, done with work? Let's video chat tonight. I'll show you the souvenirs I got you."

I replied "okay" and turned off the screen.

Early the next morning, I waited outside the inn for Lily.

She wore a white dress, her belly slightly rounded, unconsciously supporting her lower back as she walked.

Adrian followed beside her, carrying breakfast, talking to her with his head lowered, that tender look in his eyes---I'd seen it before.

They walked into the inn side by side. Adrian held the door open for her, his fingers gently brushing through her hair.

In that moment, all my self-consolation and wishful thinking shattered.

I didn't approach them.

I turned and went to the airport, bought a return ticket.

When I got home, Adrian was already there.

He wore loungewear and an apron, cooking in the kitchen.

"Honey, you're back?" He came over, wanting to hug me.

I dodged to the side, making an excuse: "I'm a bit tired. Going to take a shower first."

In the bathroom, hot water rushing down, I stared at myself in the mirror.

Pale face, but clear eyes.

Seven years of marriage---it had all been a carefully staged performance.

He'd acted with commitment, and I'd watched intently, until the truth tore off the mask, revealing the filth and disgrace underneath.

When I came out of the shower, Adrian had already set the food on the table.

All things I loved to eat.

"What's wrong? You don't look well." He cut the steak and placed it in front of me. "Are you overworking? I've told you so many times not to push yourself so hard. It's not like we need your income."

I looked at him, this man I'd loved for seven years, trusted for seven years. His face was full of concern now. What great acting.

"It's nothing." I picked up my knife and fork. "Maybe I caught a chill."

"Then get some rest early after eating. I'll make you some honey lemon water." He started to get up to go to the kitchen.

"No need." I stopped him. "By the way, how was the summit last week? Did you meet anyone interesting?"

His movements paused for a second, then returned to normal. "It was alright. Mostly old acquaintances. Discussed a few potential partnerships. Just really boring. Home is better."

"Is that so?" I sipped my soup, tone neutral. "I heard from a friend that the coastal city had especially nice weather last week. Beautiful sunsets."

Adrian's hand froze mid-air with his fork, his eyes flickering. "Oh? Really? I didn't pay attention to that."

"Mm." I didn't press further.

The atmosphere at the dinner table was somewhat strange. He tried several times to start a conversation, but I blocked him with brief responses.

Before bed, he wanted to hold me like usual.

I turned over, my back to him. "I'm a bit tired. Want to sleep early."

He was silent for a while, then said "okay" and turned off the light.