Chapter 3

A week before the annual gala, Lester suddenly became unusually attentive toward me.

In the mornings before I woke up, breakfast would already be on the nightstand. When I came home from work, the room would be spotless, my clothes folded neatly on the bed, even my slippers aligned and facing the door.

In the evenings, she'd lean against my shoulder while watching TV, tracing circles on my chest with her finger, occasionally looking up at me with a smile—exactly like when we first got together three years ago.

I knew what she was doing.

She needed me to appear at the annual gala with her. She needed me to cooperate. She needed me to look stable, obedient, and not cause her any trouble.

She needed me to be what I'd been for the past three years—the person kept in the dark.

I played along. I smiled when she handed me water and asked her, "Why are you being so nice to me lately?" She wrapped her arms around my neck, pressed her face close, and said, "Because I love you, of course."

That necklace hung around her neck, glinting under the lights.

That weekend, she dragged me to the mall and picked out a shirt for me at a discount store—over eight hundred dollars. At checkout, she told the sales clerk, "He doesn't usually pay attention to these things. If I don't keep an eye on him, he'll just wear those same old T-shirts everywhere."

The clerk smiled without saying much, her eyes sweeping over me with a look I understood—she thought I wasn't worth Lester spending that money on.

On the drive home, she was behind the wheel, reminding me the whole way: speak less at the gala, don't mention being a designated driver, and if anyone asks, just say "I'm considering a career change." Don't randomly chime in at David's table—"they're on a different level, you won't be able to keep up." Don't toast people on your own initiative, don't look around everywhere, just sit properly.

Her tone as she said all this was natural—not a discussion, but instructions. Like teaching a not-so-bright child how to behave before going out. Patient, but condescending.

I sat in the passenger seat, nodding, saying "got it."

She patted the back of my hand with satisfaction, a smile on her lips, then lowered her head to reply to a message. She angled her phone screen slightly away from me, but I caught a glimpse of the contact name in the reflection of the car window—"D," followed by a red heart.

The night before the gala, she went out, saying she needed to coordinate with the company about the venue.

This time, I didn't follow. I had enough evidence. I didn't need one more piece.

I called Wesley and told him to double-check the documents we'd prepared in advance: the dashcam video, the hour-long car footage, the financial records compiled by legal, the petty cash transfer agreement signed with Lester's name—everything compressed into one file, with the projection equipment ready.

Wesley asked, "Julian, are you sure you want to play this at the annual gala?"

I said, "I'm sure."

He was silent for two seconds. "Alright. Leave it to me."

Lester came home in the early morning hours. As usual, she walked in saying "I'm exhausted," took a shower, crawled into bed, and before sleeping, turned on her side to look at me, her tone instructive. "Tomorrow, wear a tie, don't wear sneakers, and stick close to me. I've already talked to David. Just don't say anything stupid."

I said, "Okay."

She turned off the light and lay down. Her breathing evened out quickly.

On the morning of the gala, she got up very early, put on makeup, wore a new dress, and stood by the door waiting for me.

I walked over. She picked up a tie, stood on her toes, and focused intently on tying the knot, her fingers looping it twice before pulling it tight. She looked up to check, adjusted it once more.

"There. All set." She patted my chest and said with a smile, "Don't embarrass me."

I looked down at her, wanting to say "I won't," but in the end, I just nodded.

Because today, the one who would be embarrassed wouldn't be me.