CHAPTER FOUR

I tried to calm myself and control my breathing, but I couldn’t. I walked slowly out of the bathroom. It was like I was having a panic attack. I tried to slowly breathe again.

I needed to ask him.

I was not sure if this was just a business trip. If that was the ticket for the business trip, then it was definitely not a normal business trip. I slowly walked outside to see if he was still there. I couldn’t run. By the time I was outside, he had already gone. I could see the faint trail of dust at the end of the driveway where he had driven off. I stood there on the lawn for a moment, the morning air cool against my skin, and then I sat down on the front step and cried quietly to myself. 

I walked slowly back into the bedroom and reached for my inhaler on the dresser, pressed it once and waited. The tightness in my chest loosened just enough for me to think straight.

I had cried over Henry before; silent tears in the bathroom, muffled sounds into a pillow late at night, but this felt different. This wasn't the quiet grief of a woman who had gotten used to being lonely. This was something else, because it was the first time I would ever have thoughts of Henry cheating on me. I knew he was not exactly a good husband to me, but I never believed or thought of him as a cheater.  

I wiped my face after a few minutes and went inside. I had to work, so I couldn't fall apart. I had a booking today — a private chef job at a celebrity's house across town. I had built this career and had my own brand called Quinnsy. Working is the only thing that puts my mind at ease. I prepared and left. I first went to the market to get the ingredients I would use, then I went to the house where I was to cook.

The house I was cooking at was large. It belonged to a music producer named Damien Cole. His assistant showed my kitchen assistant and me to the kitchen, and we got to work, moving through the prep with silence. I cooked some and stored it in the fridge, then I plated some. 

I was already done and was prepared to leave, so I went to look for his assistant. I called out his assistant's name and even tried calling him on my phone, but he didn’t pick up. I walked towards a room where I heard a voice, thinking it was the assistant. I looked inside and saw the producer with another man backing me. I wanted to tell him that I was already done before I found myself unintentionally eavesdropping on their conversation.

"The Stellar Award is this weekend. Are you attending?" the man backing me said.

"Might as well," the producer replied.

"Henry Brown is nominated again. This time he is nominated in the best actor category."

I paused when I heard the name. What were they talking about? I became curious to know more, and now I was intentionally eavesdropping. I stood in front of the room and hid myself well to avoid being seen.

A scoff came from the producer. “Of course, he is. His fans vote as if their lives depend on it. Man could cough, and they'd still give him the award.”

The other one laughed. “You don't like him. Didn’t you work with him once?”

“I did. And I can truthfully tell you that he has no talent. He's manufactured and being used by his company to make more money. The whole humble smile is all an act. He has a really bad temper, and he is very rude to the core. All of it is managed. His PR team probably works overtime.”

“You think I don’t know all this?  But do you think he'll win this one?”

“Maybe. His fans are too powerful; they’ll argue if he doesn’t. But I hope he doesn't win it. I genuinely hope someone finally cancels that man.”

I walked away from there, back to the kitchen. My kitchen assistant had already been able to reach the assistant's phone. He confirmed that we could leave through the door we came in, so I walked calmly out of the house.

Something strange happened inside me. My first instinct was to defend him, but right underneath it was something else that felt like I should probably be happy that someone is already noticing his true side. I was satisfied, pleased and happy, but I still felt bad for the Henry I knew in college, the Henry who was so sweet and always wanted to be a celebrity.

I was still thinking about it on my drive home when my phone buzzed. I picked up my phone. It was a text from Henry. It read, “I won't be back tonight. I have things to handle.”

I read it once, put my phone face down, and drove the rest of the way home in silence.