BEGINNING
Hangzhou, 2015
The restaurant glows with golden lights floating above each table, reflecting in crystal glasses and porcelain plates like fragments of captured stars. A soft murmur fills the air—conversations laced with muted laughter, the clinking of silverware, and the occasional pop of a wine bottle being uncorked. Outside, the city pulses to its own rhythm. The lights of Hangzhou flicker in the distance, illuminating the skyscrapers with an artificial glow that reflects on West Lake like a mirror to another world.
Hu Ge sits across from me, wearing an expression I can't quite decipher. His gaze is intense—more than usual. He's been watching me like this all evening, something hidden behind those dark eyes, a restrained emotion he hasn't yet revealed. His hand rests on the table near mine, but doesn't touch it. His fingers tap lightly against the tablecloth, a gesture so subtle only I would notice. He's nervous, and that unsettles me more than I care to admit.
"Do you like the place?" he asks in a low voice, as if he doesn't want to break the atmosphere surrounding us.
I glance away for a moment, taking in the surroundings with more focus. The dim lighting casts elegant shadows across the dark wooden walls. Waiters glide with precision, carrying trays of delicate dishes that smell of ginger and gentle spices. There's no loud music, no intrusive chatter. Everything in this restaurant seems designed so diners focus solely on the person in front of them.
"Yes, it's lovely," I reply, meeting his eyes again.
His lips curl into a smile, but he remains uneasy. There's something in his body language that keeps me on edge. His other hand disappears beneath the table for a moment, as if making sure something is still there.
Then he does it.
Hu Ge leans slightly forward and takes out a small blue box from his inner pocket. He sets it on the table with measured movements, though I see the way he swallows before speaking. The air around me shifts. The restaurant's sounds fade away. The golden light feels warmer, more intimate. My heartbeat quickens, and a knot tightens in my throat, making it hard to breathe.
He grips the box firmly and, with the same confidence he shows in business, steps out from behind his seat and kneels before me. A few people at nearby tables turn discreetly. A couple of women smile knowingly. A man lets out a low gasp. Hu Ge doesn't flinch. He looks only at me.
"Bai Yifei…" His voice is deeper than usual, steady and rich with a tone I've never heard from him before. "Years ago, you filled my life with love, with laughter, with moments I never imagined sharing with anyone. Since you walked into my world, everything changed. You made me better. You taught me how to truly love."
I feel the tears begin to cloud my vision, but I try to keep my eyes locked on his. He opens the box, and a diamond ring sparkles beneath the restaurant lights. It's elegant, understated, with an oval cut that catches every flicker in the room. Breathing becomes a challenge.
"I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he goes on. "I want to wake up next to you every morning, take care of you, make you happy. There's nothing I want more in this world than to see you smile every single day."
My voice is barely a whisper when I answer:
"Yes."
The restaurant erupts in applause, but to me, the sound seems distant. Hu Ge rises and wraps me in a firm, steady, overwhelming embrace. His lips press against mine with a mix of sweetness and restrained desperation, as if this kiss seals not just a promise, but a destiny. I cling to him, feeling his heartbeat match my own.
But then I pull back—just slightly—enough to look into his eyes.
"Promise me something," I whisper.
He frowns gently, still smiling.
"Anything."
The ring on my finger glints like a reflection of his love. Or so I want to believe. I take a deep breath, weighing my words before I speak them aloud.
"If you ever cheat on me… if you ever betray me…" My fingers graze his cheek tenderly, but my words strike like a sentence. "I will vanish from your life. Without a trace. To you, it will be as if I never existed."
Hu Ge blinks. For a moment, he looks startled. Then his jaw tightens slightly. His smile fades—just for a second, but I notice. He didn't expect those words. But when he speaks, he does so with the conviction of a man utterly certain of his own truth.
"That will never happen."
He smiles again, calm once more. I smile too and stroke his cheek, letting his lips brush against my palm. But deep inside, I wonder whether fate is truly listening.
Hu Ge kisses me again, sealing the promise with his mouth. The ring gleams on my finger, a symbol of our unbreakable love. Or at least, that's what I believe in this moment.
Yet somewhere, in the quiet corners of my mind, a voice whispers that love—like the diamond on my hand—can cut just as sharply as it shines.
CHAPTER 1
Hangzhou, 2022
The alarm goes off at six o'clock sharp, but I'm already awake. I don't know how long I've been staring at the ceiling, following the pattern of light and shadow the early morning draws across the molding. Outside, the morning breeze pushes the curtains with soft movements, as if the dawn itself were breathing calmly. In the distance, the faint hum of early Hangzhou traffic begins to fill the air reminder that the world is already moving, even though I still feel trapped in the stillness of the night.
Hu Ge is still asleep. His breathing is slow and steady, his body wrapped in linen sheets that seem to shield him from everything happening beyond our room. His face looks relaxed, free from the weight of the focus that marks him during the day. When he sleeps, he seems like another man. Calmer. More human.
I can't help but look at him. For years, these were the moments I felt most at home: mornings waking up beside him, in the quiet of our room, with the warmth of his body still lingering in the sheets. I used to curl up against his chest, let his arms surround me while the world was still asleep. That was when I felt we were invincible, that nothing and no one could ever tear us apart.
Today, though, I only watch him.
The alarm keeps buzzing, an insistent hum that seems determined to pull me out of my thoughts. I turn and switch it off automatically, as if my hands were acting on their own. I get up carefully, sliding my feet out of bed without making a sound. I walk barefoot across the wooden floor, each step light, already familiar with the morning routine. The chill against my skin wakes me fully as I enter the bathroom and turn on the shower.
Hot water falls over my back and I close my eyes, letting the steam fill the space. I lean against the marble wall and take a deep breath, trying to clear my mind. I think of nothing. Or at least, I try. But my mind won't rest.
I find myself revisiting the last few months—nights and days when he came home late. The cold dinners I quietly cleared away, the times he answered the phone in the middle of our conversations with a simple, it's work. I don't want to be the kind of woman who starts questioning every absence. I don't want to become someone who checks call logs, who interprets silences, who studies subtle shifts in her husband's routine.
But something inside me… doesn't feel right.
When I step out of the shower, the mirror is completely fogged up. I can barely make out the silhouette of my reflection through the mist. I wipe a hand across the glass, revealing my face. My eyes look different. More tired. Older. As if they've lost something I didn't even know could fade.
I walk away before I have to ask myself what that means.
Hu Ge is still asleep when I return to the bedroom. I move calmly, pulling clothes from the walk-in closet, selecting a skirt in neutral tones and an elegant blouse. As I get ready in front of the mirror, I study my reflection carefully. Applying makeup has become a mechanical act: foundation, nude lipstick, subtle eyeliner. But this morning, something about the process feels off. I used to do it because I enjoyed looking good. Now, I do it to cling to the routine. To the image of who I used to be before I began to notice the changes.
When I'm done, I turn away from the mirror and return to the bedroom. I walk over to the bed and lean down toward Ge, brushing a kiss across his cheek.
"Wake up," I whisper as my eyes search the face of the man who now feels somehow different.
He makes a low noise, turning his face slightly toward the pillow.
"Five more minutes…"
His voice is rough with sleep. I smile faintly; the same way I do every morning.
"You said that yesterday."
He opens his eyes slowly, with a lazy but genuine smile.
"And it worked, didn't it?"
His arm slides around my waist and pulls me gently back onto the bed.
"Ge…"
"Just a minute…"
His mouth finds my neck and presses soft kisses there, his hand glides down my back slowly.
For a moment, I let myself stay there. I close my eyes and focus on the feel of his skin against mine, the familiar warmth of his body. But the moment slips away quickly.
"You're going to be late."
He exhales against my neck but doesn't let go right away.
"There's still half an hour."
"You have an important meeting this morning."
"And I have an even more important wife."
He sits up slightly, looking at me with a smile that once would have undone any resistance in me. But this time, something in his voice—his casual tone—triggers a strange sensation. As if these words were nothing more than lines from a script, he's repeated so many times he no longer needs to think about them.
I stroked his face and pull away.
"Get up."
He chuckles but lets me go.
"I'm so lucky you love me this much."
I don't respond. I simply walked toward the dressing room and finished getting ready.
By eight, I'm ready to leave.
Ge is already dressed in his usual suit, sitting at the dining table, reviewing documents with a half-finished cup of coffee beside him. He looks focused, his jaw slightly tense as he scans each line with the meticulousness that has always defined him. I approach and press a kiss to his cheek.
"Should I come pick you up for lunch?" he asks without looking up.
"I'm having lunch with Na."
"Oh, right. Well then, I'll see you tonight."
I adjust my coat and grab my bag.
"Don't work too late."
He smiles without lifting his eyes from the papers.
"I'll try."
Morning traffic is heavy. Through the taxi window, I watch the city wake up in its usual rhythm. Office workers cross the streets with phones in hand, street vendors set up their stalls in a rush, and the first cyclists slip between the cars like shadows.
The sun reflects off the skyscrapers, casting glimmers across the glass towers that rise in the distance. My eyes settle on one in particular—the tower where my husband works. I picture him sitting in his pristine office, with its panoramic view of the city stretching out before him. I imagine how he organizes his day with the same precision he used to build his empire.
And suddenly, I remember something.
Last night, just before falling asleep, his phone vibrated on the nightstand. It wasn't late, but it wasn't early either. Just past ten. I was reading, and he was lying beside me, eyes closed. The vibration lasted a second, yet his reaction was immediate. He turned quickly, grabbed the phone, and turned it off before the screen could light up. Then he simply set it back down and settled again, as if nothing had happened.
I didn't mention it. I didn't ask who it was.
But the knot in my stomach has been there ever since.
I look at the glass tower for another second before turning away. For now, I choose not to dwell on it.
Though I know I won't be able to avoid it for much longer.
CHAPTER 2
The cursor moves across the screen, waiting for me to do something. The design is nearly finished, but I haven't made a single change in over twenty minutes. I just sit there, staring at the blueprint, choosing without really choosing among the color options for the new proposal. My mind should be here, focused on the details of the render, on the proportions and balance of the composition. But it isn't.
I blink several times, trying to shake off the distraction, and force myself to read through the list of revisions they sent me this morning. Nothing complicated, just small adjustments I'd normally finish in minutes. And yet today, even the simplest task feels heavy. Outside in the hallway, I hear the click of heels against the floor and voices blending into routine conversation. The office is as busy as ever. Farther away, someone sets a coffee cup down on a desk—the dull clink of ceramic briefly cutting through the murmur of keyboards and ringing phones.
Nothing has changed. Only me.
I exhale and click on the document to begin the revisions, though my hand hovers motionless over the mouse. There's a knot in my stomach, a pressure I can't ignore. Last night, when Hu Ge got home, I looked at him differently. It wasn't intentional. I didn't suddenly decide to question him, to dissect every gesture. But something inside me had already shifted. The thought was there, dormant, waiting to be acknowledged.
I close my eyes for a second, replaying the scene in my head. His tone was the same as always, unchanged. His words flowed naturally. But there was a moment—just one—when his gaze faltered. A blink slightly longer than normal. It was subtle, barely noticeable. But I saw it. I feel it in my chest, like an invisible thread tangling with every new thought. Something inside me tells me that if I start pulling on that thread, everything I think I know will unravel.
The sound of my phone vibrating on the desk snaps me out of my thoughts. I reach for it without looking at the screen.
"Hello?"
"Tell me you didn't forget about lunch."
Na's voice makes me release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. I glance at the time on my laptop and realize I should've left ten minutes ago.
"I'm on my way," I say, shutting the laptop without a second thought.
"Perfect. Don't be late, I want the full gossip."
I don't give her a chance to press further and hang up. I grab my bag and leave the office with firm steps, trying to ignore the echo of my own thoughts.
The restaurant is filled with the usual crowd. Businessmen in flawless suits, couples eating lunch without saying a word to each other, groups of friends talking too loudly, and executives checking emails while chewing absentmindedly at their food. When I walk in, Na is already waiting at our usual table, twirling the ice in her water glass while strolling through her phone. She glances at me from the corner of her eye as I sit down across from her and lets out a quiet huff.
"You look like you didn't sleep well."
I lift the menu without needing to read it.
"Good afternoon to you too."
She squints and rests an elbow on the table, studying me.
"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. I know you. And what I'm seeing tells me there's something you haven't told me."
I sigh. I knew this was coming. Na has always been perceptive—especially when it comes to me.
"It's nothing."
"Liar," she replies without hesitation. "You're quieter than usual, and if I didn't know how much you love the food here, I'd say you didn't even want to come."
I set the menu aside and take a sip of water before speaking.
"It's just… Ge's been different lately."
Na puts her glass down and folds her hands on the table.
"Different how?"
I fidget with the napkin, as if I need something to keep my hands busy.
"I don't know… He's been more distant. He's been coming home late, says it's work, but sometimes I feel like his mind is somewhere else—even when he's with me."
She nods slowly, as if processing every word.
"And have you noticed anything else?"
I stay silent for a moment. Have I noticed anything else? The changes in his routine. The shirt that went missing without explanation. The way he acted last night—that barely perceptible blink when I mentioned lunch with Na. They're not proof. They're not facts. Just scattered pieces of something I can't quite make out yet.
"No," I finally say, though it doesn't sound very convincing.
Na watches me for a few more seconds, then exhales and leans back in her chair.
"Look, I don't want to put ideas in your head, but… if something feels off, it's probably not just your imagination."
I let out a humorless laugh.
"I know. But I don't want to make a big deal out of something that isn't real either."
"And you shouldn't ignore what you feel, either."
I look up and meet her gaze—serious, with no trace of mockery or exaggeration.
"Trust your gut, Yifei. If something doesn't feel right, don't just sit there and do nothing."
The waiter arrives with our food, interrupting the conversation, but Na's words linger in my mind.
Trust your gut. If something doesn't feel right, it's for a reason.
When I return to the office, I sit at my desk and open my laptop, but I don't look at the screen right away. I just sit there, hands on the keyboard, staring into nothing. I've never been a paranoid person. I've always believed in communication, in trust.
And yet here I am, going over every conversation, every detail, every moment from the past few months.
I try to shake the thought, to focus on work.
But my instinct is screaming that this is only the beginning.
*****
The ride home feels longer than usual. I stare out the taxi window while the city carries on without me. Traffic lights blink with their monotonous rhythm, motorcycles weave between cars, and pedestrians cross the streets with their usual urgency. Everything seems to move with unshaken normalcy, as if the world continues its routine unaware that something inside me is starting to crack.
Na's words still echo in my mind, fitting together like scattered pieces beginning to form an incomplete picture. "If you feel something is wrong, it probably isn't just your imagination."
I refuse to believe this unease has any real weight, but the more I try to ignore it, the louder the feeling grows—like a voice deep within me is warning that I'm missing part of the picture, something beyond the obvious, something I don't want to face.
The taxi stops in front of my home, and I step out with my thoughts still tangled in doubts I don't want to complete. The sound of my heels tapping against the marble hallway echoes in the silence as I cross the garden, hoping for a sense of relief at coming back home. I open the door, and the apartment is dark. I flip the switch, and the warm light floods the room, bathing it in the same quiet glow as every night. Everything is in its place, untouched. The air smells of wood and the subtle trace of the perfume I wore this morning. I set my purse on the counter and head to the bedroom, slipping off my heels as I go. My feet instantly feel the relief of bare contact with the floor as I walk to the dressing room, seeking the comfort of my loungewear—the familiar softness of routine that I need more than ever.
But as soon as I step inside the dressing room, my eyes stop.
There, hanging on Hu Ge's rack, is a shirt.
Not just a shirt.
That shirt.
The shirt that had been missing for over two weeks.
My heart jumps in my chest. I blink, making sure I'm seeing it. I'd recognize it anywhere. It's linen, a dark gray tone he often wears when he wants to look relaxed but still elegant. But what hits me the hardest isn't just seeing it, it's the absolute certainty that it hasn't been in this closet all this time.
I step forward, as if getting closer might help me make sense of it. I remember clearly looking for that shirt more than once. I checked the laundry, the hamper, the drawers, and the entire wardrobe. I even asked Ge if he'd left it at the office.
He swore he hadn't seen it.
And now it's here, hanging like nothing ever happened.
I reach out and run my fingers over the fabric. It's clean. Perfectly pressed, neatly hung. No creases, no signs of having been folded, not a single indication that it spent days missing. It's as if it just came from the dry cleaner—but I didn't take it there.
I bring it closer, inhaling softly.
The smell is off. It's not the detergent I use for our clothes, nor the fresh scent of laundry dried at home. It's not his usual cologne. It's something else. Something unfamiliar.
A drier scent, slightly sweet, with a note I can't place right away.
Something that doesn't belong in this house.
I step back suddenly, letting go of the shirt. My pulse has started to race beyond my control. I run a hand over my face and exhale slowly, trying to come up with a logical explanation. I'm overreacting. There's no way something as simple as a shirt is proof of anything. Maybe it was at the dry cleaner's and Ge hung it here without saying anything. Maybe he left it at the office and someone returned it. Maybe…
I slowly turn toward the mirror in the dressing room and look at my reflection, trying to find myself in the expression staring back at me. The air in the room feels heavier, as if the walls are closing in. My hands are trembling slightly, and I feel the dampness of my palms mixing with the cold fabric I just released.
I'm not imagining things.
Something is happening.
And this time… I can't ignore it.
CHAPTER 3
The sound of the door opening breaks the calm of the home. The lock clicks softly, and a second later, I hear keys sliding across the marble console in the entryway. Then comes the rustle of his coat as he hangs it on the rack, followed by the muffled sound of his shoes against the Persian rug. A perfectly rehearsed routine. His return, identical to every other night.
But something inside me feels different.
I stay in the dressing room a few seconds longer, still staring at the shirt hanging in place as if it had never gone missing. I don't know what I expect to find by looking at it like this. It's just a garment. Just a piece of fabric. But now I see it differently. As if, by coming back, it's trying to tell me something I can't quite decipher.
I take a deep breath and leave the room. My husband is in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. He leans against the granite counter with his usual calm, as if his world is in perfect balance. He smiles when he sees me and sets the glass down before walking over. His arm slides naturally around my waist, and his lips press a light kiss to my forehead.
"How was your day?" he asks in that relaxed tone I've always found comforting.
The scent of his cologne wraps around me immediately, but this time I catch something else. It's subtle, barely there—but it's there. A strange undertone, something sweet and floral that doesn't belong in our home or on me. A feminine fragrance I don't recognize.
I try to focus on the feeling of his embrace, on the warmth, on the routine that has so often grounded me. Before, the simple act of being welcomed like this was enough to dissolve any worry. Now, that same contact stirs something in me I don't know how to name.
"Fine," I reply, though the word feels heavy in my mouth.
We stay like that for a few seconds, but I'm the one who pulls away first. He frowns slightly, as if sensing my distance, but doesn't try to hold me. He simply looks at me for a moment before turning and walking to the dressing room.
I follow slow steps, not intending to draw attention to myself. I rest against the doorframe as he unbuttons his shirt with precise movements, just as he's done hundreds of times before. The fabric slides off his shoulders and falls effortlessly, leaving his torso exposed.
I watch him in silence.
Before, I never paid attention to how he undressed. It was a mundane act, meaningless, automatic, something I never thought to analyze.
But now I notice each of his movements feels more controlled, as if he's subconsciously avoiding anything that might raise suspicion.
And then I see it.
It's just a detail. A barely visible trace on the collar of the shirt now hanging from his hand.
My entire body tenses.
The lipstick is faint, almost invisible, but it's there.
It's not my shade. It's bolder, deeper. A red I don't wear, one that's never touched my lips.
And someone tried to wipe it off.
The fabric is slightly damp in that small area, with a blurred edge where the color should have been more vivid—like someone rubbed at the stain in a hurry, unsuccessfully.
Hu Ge holds the shirt a moment longer before dropping it into the laundry basket. His face remains calm, his expression unchanged.
"Did you have any special meetings today?" I ask, measuring each syllable.
He turns his head slightly while slipping into his loungewear.
"No, the usual."
I watch him. Not a single shift in his tone, no hesitation in his words. He seems relaxed, almost indifferent.
But his lips are trembling slightly faster than normal.
It's a small detail—imperceptible to anyone not watching closely.
But I notice it.
It's an involuntary reflex.
My mind begins registering every one of his gestures. His posture remains unchanged, yet his shoulders seem just a bit more rigid. His smile looks the same as always, though now I wonder if it's the one he wears with someone else. His eyes stay on me, but not for too long.
I cross my arms, searching for his expression for an answer I don't want to have to ask aloud. He keeps talking about workload at the company, an important contract signed in the afternoon, and how exhausting the day's been. His tone is light, his words perfectly normal.
But I no longer hear them the same way.
I lower my gaze for a second and see the shirt in the laundry basket.
The pale blue fabric blends with other clothes, meaningless to him now—but not to me.
I say nothing more.
I ask nothing more.
And yet tonight, my heart is broken.
*****
I run…
I try to reach him, but the distance between us only grows. My feet sink into the ground, as if I'm trapped in quicksand, while he keeps moving forward, walking away without looking back. The fog around us thickens, wrapping everything in a gray veil that blurs the line between what's real and what's imagined. His silhouette fades into the shadows, and no matter how hard I strain my eyes, I can't make out his features clearly.
"Wait!" I shout, but my voice barely comes out—muted, as if it's drowning in the heavy air surrounding me.
Suddenly, she appears.
At first, she's just a shadow in the mist, a blurry figure walking beside him, too close.
Then I see her clearly. Long dark hair, pale skin, lips painted a bold, deep red. The woman leans in and whispers something into Ge's ear.
And he smiles.
My body freezes. I want to call out again, but the words catch in my throat. He's no longer running; now he walks calmly, with the certainty of someone who has made a choice. The woman clings to his arm, and without hesitation, he lets her. He leaves with her.
I want to move, to reach him, to touch him.
But my legs won't respond.
My chest tightens.
The fog swallows them whole and, in the blink of an eye, they vanish.
A dull thud shatters the silence.
I wake up…
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. My breathing is uneven. Goosebumps rise all over my skin as I try to focus on the room. It takes a few seconds to recognize the soft light filtering through the curtains. The dream is still vivid in my mind, every image marked with terrifying clarity.
I blink several times and slowly turn my head. My husband is still asleep beside me. His face is as peaceful as ever, calm and serene, as if the entire world could collapse and he wouldn't so much as flinch. His breathing is steady, rhythmic. He doesn't look like someone hiding a secret. He doesn't resemble the man from my dream.
But the tightness in my chest doesn't go away. I still feel that sense of loss as if it were real.
I slip out of bed carefully, making no noise, and walk barefoot to the bathroom. I turn on the tap and let the cold water run over my fingers before splashing it onto my face. I need to clear my head. When I lift my gaze, the reflection in the mirror stares back at me with eyes I barely recognize. Something in them looks different.
I step into the shower, letting the hot water run down my body, hoping it will wash away the restlessness clinging to me. But it's useless. It's not just the dream that's left me shaken. It's what I felt last night when I saw the lipstick stain on his shirt. Barely there. Smudged. As if someone had tried to wipe it off in a hurry.
He hadn't noticed I was watching him. Or if he had, he hadn't shown the slightest concern. His demeanor was unchanged, his words flowed naturally. But now, looking back, that calm is what unsettles me the most.
When I come out of the bathroom, he's already awake. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking at his phone with a relaxed expression, completely unaware of everything going through my mind. He looks up and smiles at me.
"Good morning."
I try to answer naturally.
"Good morning."
He stands and walks toward me, leaning in to kiss my cheek before heading to the dressing room. His touch is warm, familiar, but it no longer feels the same. I watch him as he looks through his clothes, moving with the same fluid ease as always. He seems like the same man from yesterday, from a week ago, from months or years ago. But I don't see him the same way anymore.
"What are your plans today?" I ask, feigning disinterest while brushing my hair in front of the mirror.
"Nothing unusual. Lunch with some clients, then a meeting in the afternoon. I'll leave the office late, but not too late," he replies without looking at me.
His tone is light. Too light. My stomach tightens. He never mentioned that lunch before.
"Where are you going?"
"To that restaurant by the lake. The one we always book for these meetings."
His response is quick, automatic, without hesitation. Then he changes the subject effortlessly.
"Are you seeing Na today?"
My mind is still processing what he said.
"No, not today."
He nods and adjusts his jacket with precise movements. He looks like the same husband as always. But then his phone vibrates.
I glance down quickly. Unknown number. He answers immediately.
"Hello."
His voice is neutral, but after a second, I notice a shift. His posture changes. He steps away, lowers his voice, and turns his body slightly, just enough so I can't see his face directly.
My heart starts to pound harder. I can't hear what he's saying. But I can see him. And now, just seeing him is enough.
When he hangs up, he pockets his phone with his usual calm and turns back to me with a faint smile.
"Ready to start the day?"
I try not to let my face betray what I'm thinking.
"Yes."
We walk together to the entrance. He grabs his briefcase and, before leaving, kisses me on the lips. The gesture is routine. But to me, it feels like the sting of knives sliding into my back. From the window, I watch the taxi he called pull away down the drive and disappear beyond the gates of the mansion. I remain there, unmoving. The heaviness in my chest doesn't fade.
How long has it been since we shared a taxi? Three years?
We used to share every second, taking advantage of that time just to hold hands or exchange a look. It's been three years since we stored our car at one of the homes outside the city. We take separate taxis to work now.
How had I not noticed that detail before?
CHAPTER 4
The silence in the mansion is the soundtrack of my heart. It's no longer the peaceful silence of the morning, when sunlight filters through the curtains and everything feels calm. It's not the comfortable quiet of the evenings, when Ge and I share dinner and take refuge in the routine that always brought us comfort. This stillness is different. It's heavy, loaded, as if the very walls were holding in a secret they don't want to reveal.
I try to focus on my routine, but everything feels mechanical. I sit in the living room with my laptop, check emails, drink coffee, and call my assistant to go over a few work-related matters. The words flow between us as usual, but my mind isn't there. It's somewhere else stuck in that uncomfortable place where doubts accumulate, and answers never arrive.
Every time I hang up, the same thought returns. The lunch Ge never mentioned. The call this morning. The unknown number. His movements have been so subtle that anyone else would have overlooked them. Anyone but me.
I get up and walk to the window. Outside, the sun shines brightly, reflecting on the pristine driveway of the mansion. Everything seems calm, as if the world continues without disruption, but I can feel something inside me has shifted. I take the cup in my hands and sip, realizing the coffee has gone cold without me even noticing. I have no idea how long I've been lost in thought.
I set the cup down and begin walking through the house. I don't have a destination in mind, only the need to move. My steps take me to the second floor, to our bedroom, where everything remains in place. Our framed photos, the bed perfectly made, Ge's scent lingering in the air. Everything looks exactly as it always has, but the feeling of strangeness won't leave me. It's as if my own home no longer feels like mine.
I pass through the dressing room and stop in front of the door to my husband's study. I stare at it for a moment, hesitating. I've always respected his space but today is different. My intuition pulls me forward.
The air inside is sober and orderly, with his dark wooden desk impeccably arranged. Everything is in its place—too much so. I walk around the table, run my fingers over the polished surface, and open a drawer almost instinctively. I don't know what I'm looking for, but my breath catches when I find the small, folded piece of paper tucked in the corner.
I take it carefully and unfold it.
Renhe Jewelry. Date: five days ago.
My eyes scan the receipt quickly. The description doesn't specify the item purchased; it only labels it as a "Luxury Jewel." Paid by card.
My heart beats faster.
Hu Ge hasn't given me anything recently. Our anniversary was months ago, and although he's surprised me with gifts for no reason before, this time he hasn't mentioned a word. If that jewel was for me, why haven't I received it?
I grip the receipt tighter as my mind scrambles to find a logical explanation. It could be something for the company, a business gift, a gesture for an important client. But those possibilities feel weak, forced. Something inside me knows that's not the case.
My gaze turns toward the window. My reflection looks back at me—lips pressed together, jaw tight. I don't want to become a paranoid wife, but something inside me keeps urging me to stop ignoring the obvious.
A sound startles me.
The ring of my phone vibrates through the living room, piercing the air with a sharp tone. I rush out, leaving the receipt exactly as I found it so he won't know I've seen it. My pulse quickens as I grab the phone. It's a message from my husband.
"I'll be home later than I thought. Don't wait up for dinner."
The air catches in my throat.
I read the message again, making sure I haven't misread it. Hu Ge has always done everything he can not to be late. His schedule is meticulously planned so nothing keeps him from coming back to me.
My hand tightens around the phone as I type a reply.
"Something came up?"
I wait. Five seconds. Ten. Twenty. The typing dots appear on the screen.
"Yes, but I'll sort it out. See you tomorrow. Get some rest."
My fingers clench tighter around the phone. Nothing important… If it isn't important, why didn't he mention it this morning? Why doesn't he drop everything and come home to me?
I walk over to the window and pull the curtain aside. The sky is beginning to turn amber, announcing the end of the day. Something inside me stirs with greater force. A feeling that's no longer possible to ignore.
My mind returns to the receipt from the jewelry store.
Hu Ge hasn't just changed his plans suddenly today—he's been doing it for over two years. Yet it's today that has upset me. Today's change. Today's absence…
I draw a deep breath and stay still, watching the road that leads to the entrance of our home.
I fight with everything in me not to keep doubting.
I need an answer—and I won't find it if I keep standing still with my arms crossed.
*****
The clock on the nightstand glows in the dark with a faint red light. 1:47 A.M.
I'm lying still, breathing evenly, as if I were sound asleep. But my eyes, hidden beneath closed lids, remain wide awake. My mind won't rest. Neither will my body. Every beat of my heart echoes in my ears—a constant reminder of what's at stake.
The silence in the house is absolute. Beside me, the sheets remain cold, untouched. Hu Ge still hasn't come home.
Every passing minute feels eternal, dragging with it an anguish that eats away at me from the inside. I try not to think about what he could be doing, where he's been, or with whom. But it's impossible. Doubt is like a poison that has slowly spread through my veins, infecting every thought, every memory, every moment of what I once believed was real.
A sound at the entrance makes me hold my breath.
The lock turns softly, almost cautiously, as if he doesn't want to disturb the stillness of the house. As if the weight of returning at this hour were something to be hidden. I hear the rustle of his coat as he sets it aside, the muffled steps on the carpet. He doesn't turn on any lights. He moves with the care of someone who doesn't want to be noticed.
I remain motionless, letting the warmth of the blanket wrap around me, pretending to be deeply asleep. I don't want him to suspect that I've been waiting. And yet, inside me, there's a storm. A mix of anger, pain, and a sorrow so deep it makes it hard to breathe.
The bedroom door opens slowly. From where I lie, eyes barely cracked open, I can see his silhouette frozen in the doorway. He stands there for several seconds, watching me in silence. His breath is held, his presence heavy. I wonder if he's thinking of me, of us, or if his mind is somewhere else. With someone else.
I force myself to keep my breathing steady, to not move a single muscle. If he hesitates, if he thinks I'm awake, he won't do what he normally would. And I need to see. I need to know.
Finally, he moves. He walks to the dressing room, takes off his jacket, sets his watch on the shelf with his usual precision. Then he disappears into the bathroom.
The sound of water filling the air sends a chill through me. Every drop that falls seems to mark the rhythm of my anxiety, a countdown toward the inevitable. I wonder if he's washing his hands, his face—or if he's simply trying to erase any trace she might have left on his skin...
I don't know how much time passes. Maybe ten minutes, maybe twenty. I force myself to stay in the same position, though the waiting is unbearable. Every second is agony, an internal battle between the urge to confront him and the fear of what I might uncover.
Then I hear it. A low hum, followed by a muffled vibration.
The phone.
He doesn't answer right away. He takes a few seconds, as if hesitating. Then, the soft click of the screen unlocking, and his voice—low, controlled.
"I just got in. Everything's fine."
My chest tightens. The voice he's using isn't the one he uses with me. It's softer, more intimately, like he's sharing a secret. A secret that doesn't belong to me.
My fingers clutch the sheet, but my face stays serene, unmoving. I must keep pretending. Even as each of his words drives another blade into my heart.
"Yeah…" A brief pause. "I've been thinking about what you said earlier."
My stomach sinks. The words echo in my mind over and over again, a sound I can't silence. What did she say? What promises did he make her? What plans do they share?
"We could take that trip soon. I think it'd be a good time to go to…" He stops for a moment. "I know you like it."
The hollowness hits me hard. It's not just what he says. It's how he says it. His tone is intimate, gentle, with that slow cadence of someone making a promise with a smile. That's how he used to talk to me. That's how he used to make me feel special. That's how he used to promise me things…
The pain in my chest is unbearable, but I force myself to remain still.
This isn't the moment.
Not yet.
I hear the faint sound of the phone being set on the nightstand. Then, the soft whisper of fabric sliding over his skin. He approaches the bed. I squeeze my eyes shut just as I feel the mattress sink under his weight. The warmth of his body fills the space that had remained empty all night. And then, something happens I never would've imagined in this moment.
His arm slides over my waist.
He holds me.
Just like always. As if nothing had happened.
The weight of his breath against my neck, the heat of his skin next to mine, the way his fingers gently graze my side—it's all a lie. A performance. A betrayal.
The tears I've been holding back finally fall.
Silent. Cold. Devastating.
My chest trembles slightly with each stifled sob. I don't want him to notice. I don't want him to know I've heard everything. But the pain is too great, too real. I clench my fists under the sheet, feeling my nails dig into my palms. This isn't the night when everything ends.
Not yet.
But now I know it with certainty.
Hu Ge is betraying me.