Chapter two: The beginning of our deception.

I’d never been so triggered in my life.

​The last time I felt such shock was the day my father fell dead on our living room floor 11 years ago. And even then, I wasn't sure I was as shocked as I was right now. I watched Charles fumble for his clothes, but he was so shaken he couldn't even get his underwear on. His utter lack of dignity only added a layer of disgust to the fury building inside me.

My gaze shifted to Lisa. How could she do this to me?

​Every Saturday for about a year now, I’ve held breakfast brunches and never forgot to invite her. I actually took her as one of my friends; we’d talk most of the time about office gossip I was missing out on. She'd tell me about her flings, and she, more than anyone, would always emphasize how much Charles loved me and talked about me.

Right now, I felt so naive. Stupid even.

She'd been sleeping with my boyfriend all this while, and I was so blinded by love for him that I couldn't even imagine it, talk less of suspecting him. The terror of the highway felt distant and was immediately replaced by this sickening betrayal.

With trembling hands, I shut the door, ran out of his apartment, and toward my car.

On getting to the exit of his apartment complex, I spotted two officers examining my damaged black Audi.

Great.

I knew they were about to hand me a ticket or tow away the car. They were waiting since I'd left the keys on the ignition, the front lights on, and parked almost on the highway median. I was so shaken by the accident and the robbery that I forgot to even lock the car.

​Stupid me.

​Luckily for me, the keys to the G-Wagon were delivered to me this evening, and I'd stuck them in the inner pocket of my coat so the robbers weren't able to get them. I walked over to the massive SUV that was parked just around the corner, in front of Stella's place—I remembered how I begged her annoying ass for the favour of parking the car there so Charles wouldn't have any suspicions about me getting the G-Wagon for him.

​Again. Stupid me.

​I pulled the tarp off the car and unlocked it, watching the big blue ribbon bow taped over the bonnet. Just as I placed my hands on the steering wheel, I started crying.

​Crying because I loved him so much, and because I’d imagined a future with him: our three lovely kids, our dream house, and this ridiculous, extravagant car. I'm crying because I’d never been so hurt, and I’d never hated myself for loving someone so deeply. I cried because I was so oblivious to the signs. Crying because he slept with another woman in our bed. I cried because he slept with Lisa!

​In seconds, I had started bawling my eyes out, and my forehead pressed hard against the steering wheel. I wasn't sure I was mentally or emotionally stable enough to even drive a car this late, but I couldn't stay here. I had to leave this street.

​I started the engine and, driving with a heavy fog of tears and fury, headed straight for the clinic where I’d dropped Thomas and Joe.

On getting there, ​I walked into the emergency department waiting room, mistaken by the fluorescent lights in the halls.

​The doctors reassured me that Thomas had a badly bruised arm and whiplash, but he was fine. Joe had a nasty concussion from hitting the headrest, but the scans were clear, and he was resting. Seeing their pale but familiar faces finally let some of the tension drain from my shoulders.

They were fine. That was all that mattered.

​"I'll be back in the morning," I whispered to a sleeping Thomas, completely unable to tell them about Charles.

“Take care, Kylie”. He whispered, his eyes eyes still closed. I flashed a small smile and exited immediately. I couldn't shatter their concern for me with my own devastating news. I needed a moment to breathe before facing anyone else.

​The hospital was a maze of hushed anxiety and cold linoleum. I needed to move, to feel something that wasn’t grief. I remembered seeing a coffee shop near the main entrance in the sterile building.

​I walked down the long, empty corridor toward the elevators, my coat pulled tight around my sore shoulder. I was staring at my feet, my mind replaying the moment I opened Charles's door, when I rounded a corner sharply.

​I bumped hard into someone coming from the opposite direction.

​"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I gasped, reflexively reaching out to steady myself.

​I looked up, and the apology died in my throat for the second time that night.

​It was the man from the expressway. The guy who had appeared in the black Tesla and scared off the robbers. He was wearing the same black trench coat, and he looked just as composed as he had hours earlier, a stark contrast to my messy, tear-streaked face.

​

He didn't flinch at the impact, but his hand shot out to steady my elbow. His touch was firm, professional, and oddly steadying.

​"No apology necessary," he said, his deep voice calm. He held a small tablet in one hand, and a hospital visitor badge clipped to his coat. He was here for a reason.

​"You're... you were on the highway," I managed, my voice raspy.

​He looked at me with an unreadable, intense gaze that seemed to take in every detail—the bruise on my cheek, the way I clutched my side, the sheer exhaustion clouding my eyes.

​"It's a small city," he replied simply. He didn't acknowledge the robbery or the wreckage, giving me the same privacy I had offered him earlier by keeping silent about his involvement.

​"Thank you," I said, the words barely a whisper. "For what you did."

​He just nodded slightly. "Are you with one of the victims from the accident?"

​I felt my walls go up, automatically defaulting to the secrecy my minor celebrity status demanded. I had to let on nothing about the robbery, the new car, or the cheating.

​"Yes. My friends," I said, offering a tight, weak smile that felt like a lie.

​He returned the gaze, his expression unchanging, then finally took his hand away from my elbow.

​"And how are they?." He asked, burying his hands on his pocket.

“They're okay, thanks”. I smiled.

Out of nervousness and exhaustion, I turned to walk away with an apologetic look.

“Wait, Kylie! Your keys!”. He yelled.

​I froze. He knew my name.

Apparently, I'd dropped it when I bumped into him.

​Before I could form the question—how do you know my name?—he turned and continued down the corridor, disappearing into the glare of the hospital lights, leaving me standing alone, even more confused and exposed than before.

I dismissed the thought, bought my coffee and went to sleep in the G-Wagon.