Chapter 4: I know exactly what to do.

Caroline

The house is too quiet, cold. I never realized how silent it can be. For six years, the mansion was always alive.

The sounds of Ariana’s laughter, Grey’s footsteps and low chuckle, the maids moving around, the television singing kids’ songs while my daughter giggled and watched with so much interest.

The house was always full of life, but now, there is nothing. Just silence—the kind that presses against my heart and makes it hard to breathe.

I sit curled up on the living room sofa with a blanket wrapped around me. The reporters are gone; Grey left last night and never came back. The gates are closed.

The world has moved on to the next piece of gossip, while I sit here, wondering where it all went wrong.

My life shatters before my eyes, and I have no idea what I have done to deserve it.

My gaze drifts to the front door, hoping he will somehow appear there and look at me like he used to since I married him.

But the door remains closed, no sound of his footsteps echoing.

A sob threatens to escape my throat. I force it back; crying won't change anything. It won't make him love me or undo the scandal that threw me into this mess.

“Caroline.”

I look up to see Ginger, my maid, standing nearby. She has a pitiful look on her face. She is old enough to be my mother—older even. She has worked for us since I married Grey, and she is the closest person I have.

Ginger is kind, with gentle eyes. Tonight, she looks especially heartbroken—for me, no doubt.

“Would you like anything to eat?”

I shake my head. “I'm not hungry.”

She sits beside me anyway. For several minutes, neither of us speaks. Then she gently pats my hands.

“Men can be foolish.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “That’s one way to put it.”

Her eyes soften.

“Whatever happens, you are stronger than you think.”

Am I? Because right now, my insides are busy shattering.

Those words almost make me cry again because I feel stupid, used.

Ginger squeezes my hand before standing. “You should get some rest.”

I nod. “I will. Thanks.”

The moment she leaves, I wander aimlessly through the house—studying everything as if this is my first time here.

Room after room, I check it all, like a ghost. I don't even know what I'm looking for.

Maybe memories, maybe answers. My mind is blank.

When I enter Grey’s office, I feel like I’ve entered a stranger’s personal space.

My gaze roams the entire place—from the walls to every piece of furniture. Unable to stop, I trail my fingers over them, feeling each texture against my skin.

I go over to the big table. My eyes linger over the stacks of papers. The big chair on the table is empty. His cologne fills my nose—a familiar scent I used to love.

As I stare longer, something catches my eye—a small card on top of a large book sitting on the table.

I frown; it doesn't belong there. I pick it up, and my stomach immediately twists.

A hotel key card.

My fingers tighten around it. What the hell is it doing in my husband’s office? It’s strange.

The name of the city’s most expensive hotel is printed on it. I stare, trying to make sense of it.

I tell myself it doesn't mean anything, but deep down, I know a hotel card doesn’t just appear out of nowhere.

It belongs to Grey for a reason I don't want to believe right now.

My pulse begins to race. Then I see it—a reservation slip underneath.

Booked for tonight, suite 204.

Two guests. Not for a business meeting. Just two guests.

The room spins in my vision. I clutch the big table to steady myself as my legs give way.

I stare at the card longer than I should because, deep down, I know Grey wasn’t planning on coming home tonight. This was booked days ago—before the scandal, before our argument.

He’s already made plans with her—plans that don’t include me. Plans meant to slowly ruin my life while I remain oblivious.

A tear slides down my cheek. I don't bother wiping it. Then a loud, anguished cry bursts from my lips. The sound cuts through the silence of the office.

I cry until I feel like I’ve emptied every drop of water from my body. Hours later, I'm still here—thinking, wondering, crying.

The room gets darker and colder.

Every passing car makes my heart race. Every set of headlights makes me look toward the gate.

Because part of me still hopes this isn’t true—that he’s coming home tonight to make things right. That he’s finally realized his mistake.

As I sit there, I hear the honking of a car pulling into the driveway.

Grey. My husband.

Hope blooms in me, despite everything, I rush out of the office into the living room. Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass, I watch.

The car stops, and the driver steps out. Every hope that might have risen in my chest dies instantly.

Because the man entering the house is not my husband—it’s his PA, Mr. Thompson.

My heart sinks.

The front door opens before I even reach it. He steps in, looking expressionless.

“Mrs. Grand.”

I already know. The disappointment tugs at my heart, along with heartbreak and humiliation.

“Where is he?”

He clears his throat. He looks away for a second, then fixes his gaze on me again.

“Mr. Grand won't be coming home tonight.”

The words cut through me, ripping inside. I force myself to stay standing, even as every part of me shakes with rage.

“Why?”

“He has an important business meeting out of the state.”

Business meeting—the lie is so obvious it almost makes me laugh because I know exactly where my husband is.

Hotel. Room 204. Two guests.

My chest aches. Mr. Thompson continues, offering various excuses, but I don't hear a single one.

And the fact that I'm standing here waiting while he’s with another woman, doing God knows what.

After making sure I understand, Mr. Thompson bids me goodbye and leaves.

I stand there, thinking, contemplating.

And right now, I know exactly what to do.

Going back inside, I throw on a gown and step out of the house, clutching the hotel card tightly in my fingers.