ست الحسن

I had been married for five years to my husband, Tristan Wolfe. Always claiming to have urgent duties, he had missed four of our anniversaries in a row.

After using my father to get promoted to Deputy Fire Chief, he finally agreed to celebrate our fifth anniversary.

The moment our dishes were served, he saw the news about a fire at a postpartum center downtown and turned pale.

I tried to reassure him by saying, “The fire headquarters is right across the street. You’re on your rare day off. Your team can handle it.”

He shook off my hand impatiently. Glaring at me with teary, red eyes, he called me heartless.

“I earned this position by risking my life! How could I neglect my duty for personal affairs? I’d be letting my coworkers at the headquarters down!”

He was in such a rush that he left his personal phone behind. Shortly after, it rang with a special notification tone.

When I picked up, a voice said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, Mr. Wolfe. Your wife’s VIP suite is on the top floor. It’s completely safe from the flames.”

I hung up and scoffed as I stared coldly at the screen.

Just two weeks ago, Tristan had held me in his arms while coaxing me with promises that we would start trying for a baby after his promotion.

He had even complained about postpartum centers being too expensive and suggested that his mother could take care of me instead.

I genuinely wondered what kind of woman could make my notoriously stingy husband pay for a top-tier postpartum center. It would easily cost a packet dollars per month.

...

Without hesitation, I took the shortest route and drove straight to the postpartum center.

The fire was out, but the ground floor was completely charred and in disarray.

I was about to rush upstairs when several firefighters stopped me.

“What do you want? We’re still cleaning up the site. Nobody’s allowed in,” one of them said impatiently, almost spitting in my face.

I suppressed my irritation and said, “I’m looking for my husband, Tristan.”

When the firefighters heard this, they let out a scornful sneer.

“Mr. Wolfe? Take a look in the mirror! What makes you think you have any business with someone like him?”

There was a boastful tone in his voice. “The only reason Mr. Wolfe wrapped up the operation so quickly was to protect his wife and his newborn son!”

“His wife?”

When I frowned, the man retorted, “I bet you don’t even know her name, do you? How ridiculous! Why would you even try to impersonate her?!”

He jabbed a finger at my shoulder. “Fine, I’ll do you a favor. Her name is Phoebe!”

Phoebe?

My heart sank.

Phoebe Fields? Was she not Tristan’s autistic, distant cousin?

Three years ago, Tristan had desperately begged me to let her come to Pinecrest to work. I reluctantly agreed to sponsor her.

Every time I suggested meeting her over those three years, Tristan would use her condition as an excuse. He would claim she was too afraid to meet people.

The firefighters were about to shoo me away when they noticed a woman strut out from inside. Instantly, their irritated expressions shifted into an ingratiating smile.

“Mrs. Wolfe!”

She wore a tight bodycon dress and strutted on diamond-studded four-inch heels.

When she saw me, she frowned impatiently and urged, “Are you the new nanny? Don’t just stand there!

“God, this is so annoying. The last one died, and now the baby won’t stop crying. I don’t have time for this. I’ve to go buy a limited-edition bag. Only one person gets to buy it. If I’m late, I’ll miss out on it!”

I sized her up. Her outrageous words left me speechless.

The woman before me bore no resemblance to the plain, country girl from the photos I had seen.

Money could truly change people.

When I was still rooted in place, Phoebe stamped her foot irritably.

“Hello? Are you deaf or something? Who do you work for? I’m reporting you.”

I sneered and said, “I’m not a nanny. I’m here catching a cheater.”

Phoebe froze. Before she could speak, a familiar voice sounded from behind her.

“Darling, aren’t you going to buy a bag? I’ve booked a ride for you.”

Phoebe instantly strutted over and threw herself into Tristan’s arms. She then said in a cutesy voice, “Honey, I’ve had the worst day today.

“I’m already upset that the nanny died. Now I have to deal with this crazy lunatic!”

When Tristan saw me, he gulped nervously.

I gave a cold smirk. “Care to explain?”

Phoebe glared at me and yelled, “Explain what? Who do you think you are? Are you trying to seduce my husband? Do you expect us to believe you’re here to ‘catch a cheater?’ Give me a break!”

I scoffed. “I’m here to expose your affair! Tristan, you’ve got some nerve. Your mistress is already with child!”

My words sent the onlookers into an uproar.

“That can’t be! Phoebe is definitely Mr. Wolfe’s wife. They’ve been together for three years. We witnessed their entire relationship unfold.

“Everyone knows how much Mr. Wolfe dotes on his wife! He’s been saving his salary and bonuses tirelessly for months just for her postpartum care!”

The postpartum center staff exchanged looks.

“Exactly! What mistress would be brazen enough to stay in our VIP suite? In all my years working here, I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Disappointment washed over me.

His monthly salary was eight thousand dollars, yet I gave him an allowance of at least six figures every month.

Seeing everyone taking her side, Phoebe looked at me triumphantly.

“Know your place and get lost! A man like my husband is way out of your league.

“I’m Mayor Victor Grant’s niece. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away now.”