Chapter 01

Zoya

[Stop waiting for him. Your "perfect" husband is busy warming someone else’s bed.]

Our fourth anniversary was supposed to be a dream. Instead, it became the night our picture-perfect marriage began to shatter.

To the public, I am Zoya, a high-flying architect with a stellar reputation. I’m a fixture on talk shows, often hailed as an inspirational powerhouse.

But beyond my career, the world considers my greatest achievement to be our marriage.

Alex is the quintessential dream husband. The kind who isn’t afraid to flaunt his love in the most extra ways possible.

From surprise deliveries of hundreds of red roses to my office, to the adoring gaze he locks onto me at every charity gala, he’s the envy of every woman I know. I’ve worn that label with pride.

"You’re the luckiest woman in the world, Zoya. Alex loves you like there’s no tomorrow," the host of a private talk show told me just a month ago.

I’d offered a modest smile back then. I really was that lucky.

But tonight, my smile faltered as I glanced at the wall clock. Eleven p.m.

Alex had promised to be home by eight. Three hours isn't a "slight delay", not on a night like this.

The silence of the apartment was pierced by a notification from the phone sitting on the table. I grabbed it instantly, hoping for a sweet apology.

I was wrong. The message was from an unknown number. It was brief, but it hit my chest like a freight train.

Attached was an image. A man’s back, his arm wrapped firmly around a woman’s waist.

The silhouette, the haircut, even the shirt, it was unmistakably Alex. My breath hitched in my throat.

My hands shook, but my survival instinct kicked in immediately.

"No, this is ridiculous," I muttered, aggressively deleting the message.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. In this day and age, AI-generated images were a dime a dozen.

This had to be the work of a bitter business competitor, someone trying to tank Alex’s reputation in the corporate world.

My husband loves me. He couldn’t possibly betray me after everything we’ve built.

I refused to let some pathetic spam message ruin our night.

The doorbell rang, cutting my spiral short. My face lit up instantly.

I tossed the phone aside and rushed to the door, sure that the man I’d been waiting for had finally arrived. He’d make up for his lateness with a warm embrace.

But as the door swung open, my smile froze.

It wasn't Alex. It was Shane, my brother-in-law.

He leaned against the doorframe. His eyes scanning me with a mix of pity and concern.

"Shane? What are you doing here this late?" I asked, feeling a surge of discomfort.

"Can I come in, Zoya?"

He didn’t wait for an answer, stepping right past me.

I closed the door and followed him into the dining room. He stood there, eyes drifting over the table. The melted candles, the food that had long since lost its steam.

A bitter smile touched his lips.

"Seems like you’ve been stood up again," Shane quipped, his voice cold in the quiet apartment.

"What anniversary is this? The fourth? God, you’re pathetic, Zoya. Sitting here like a fool, celebrating all by yourself."

My blood boiled. Shane had always been cynical, especially when I bragged about how perfect Alex was.

"Watch your mouth, Shane! Get out!" I snapped, my voice trembling with rage.

"I don’t want Alex getting the wrong idea if he walks in and finds you here alone with me."

Instead of leaving, Shane pulled out a chair and sat down, cool as a cucumber.

"Instead of sitting here crying into your cold dinner, wouldn't it be better to celebrate with me?"

Shane stared at me intently. "He isn't coming home tonight, Zoya. Take my word for it."

"Don't act like you know everything!" I barked, pointing a shaking finger at the door.

"Get out of my house!"

Shane didn't budge. His expression shifted, suddenly serious, thick with an emotion I couldn't quite pin down.

"Open your eyes, Zoya! Just for once, trust me," he pleaded, his voice dropping to a desperate low.

"Alex isn't the man you think he is. He’s no saint, and he definitely isn't the 'protector' you keep propping up for the media."

"Enough, Shane! Stop slandering my husband!" I screamed, my chest heaving.

"I know you’ve always been jealous of your brother’s success, but pulling a stunt this low is just disgusting!"

Shane let out a long, frustrated sigh. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his phone, and swiped through a few things before shoving the screen directly into my face.

"See for yourself," he challenged.

I hesitated. Deep down, a nagging doubt I’d been suppressing began to crawl to the surface.

Alex had been acting strange lately. He’d become obsessed with his appearance, working out, buying new clothes, showering me with expensive designer bags and diamonds.

But for the last four months, we hadn't been intimate. Every time I tried to get close, he’d gently brush me off, claiming he was "exhausted" from the stress of his company’s near-collapse.

He said he was working himself to the bone to provide for me. His sweet talk always kept me hooked.

As a "supportive wife”, I’d even transferred a massive chunk of my personal savings to keep his business afloat. Given that my architectural firm was far more stable than his.

But looking at Shane’s screen, my walls went back up. I shot a dismissive glance at the photo.

"That’s AI manipulation, Shane. Even a kid could fake a photo like that to ruin a marriage," I said coldly, convincing myself more than him.

"Alex wouldn't do this to me after everything I’ve sacrificed for his career."

Shane looked at me like I’d completely lost my mind. "AI manipulation?" He let out a harsh, dry laugh.

"I don't know how else to reach you. Your husband is literally sleeping around on your dime!"

He stood up, stepping into my personal space.

"Or maybe, you already know, and you’re just too deep in denial? You’re too scared of what the public would think.”

“That 'harmonious marriage' you parade on TV is just a sham, isn't it? You’re too damn proud to admit you’ve been played!"

"That’s enough, Shane! Get out—"

The door opened, cutting the argument dead.

Alex walked in, looking as polished as ever in a charcoal suit.

In his right hand, he held a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. In his left, a small jewelry box with a designer logo.

A wave of relief washed over me so hard it almost knocked the wind out of me. I felt vindicated.

I shot Shane a look of pure triumph, silently telling him that his accusations were nothing but pathetic, unproven garbage.

"See? Still trying to smear your own brother, Shane?" I hissed before turning to welcome my husband.

"Alex! You’re finally home." I draped myself over him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Alex looked momentarily stunned by the sudden show of affection. But he quickly recovered, pulling me into a hug and kissing my forehead.

Then, his eyes landed on his brother standing by the table.

"Shane? What are you doing here this late?" Alex asked, his brow furrowed.

"Oh, just dropped off some important documents, brother," Shane lied, his voice flat.

He looked at Alex with cold, undisguised contempt. "But I’m done now. Happy anniversary, Zoya."

Shane shot me one last look, a lingering, heavy gaze, before walking out the door.

Once the door clicked shut, I let out a shaky breath. I took the roses from Alex and inhaled their scent.

"I’m sorry I’m late, Honey. The traffic was a nightmare, and I had to go pick up your gift first," Alex said softly, handing me the small box.

"It’s fine. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters," I replied, choosing to let go of the earlier drama.

My phone vibrated on the table again. A glance at the screen revealed a text from Shane.

Shane: If you still don't believe me, I can send you the hotel transaction logs and the actual CCTV footage.

Shane: Open your eyes before it's too late, Zoya.

I scoffed and deleted the message without a second thought. For me, Alex’s presence right there was proof enough that he was still mine.

We sat down for dinner. Even though the food was stone-cold, I ate it with a beaming smile.

Listening to Alex’s stories about how hard he’d been grinding at the office to save his latest project. I loved that about him, his ambition.

After dinner, I followed Alex into the bedroom.

I climbed onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and nibbling on his jawline. I was trying to spark a flame that had been dead for months.

"Alex, tonight is so special. I’ve missed you," I whispered, my fingers dancing to the top button of his shirt.

But he gently grabbed my wrists, stopping me. He looked at me with dull, exhausted eyes.

"I’m sorry, Babe. I’m just wiped out. The pressure at the office, it’s giving me a migraine," he said, sounding genuinely remorseful.

He gave my forehead a quick peck and got up. "I need a hot shower to clear my head. You go to sleep, okay?"

I sat there on the sofa, staring at his back as he walked toward the master bath. The icy disappointment of being brushed off spread through my veins.

The perfect anniversary I’d planned had fallen apart again, for the same tired excuse.

Needing something to do, I decided to be the "good wife" and hang up his suit jacket. As I lifted it, I felt a bulge in the inner pocket.

My curiosity got the better of me. I reached in and pulled out a small, cylindrical object.

My heart didn't just skip a beat, it stopped dead.

It was a soft pink lip balm. It smelled like sweet, artificial strawberries. I knew it wasn't mine. I only wore matte lip cream.

So, whose was it? And why was it in my husband’s pocket?