Chapter Seven

“Michael Jobs, please come, take a seat. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Selene said, her voice calm and composed, though her insides were anything but. Her nerves fluttered beneath the surface like a butterfly.

Michael offered a polite smile as he walked over, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mrs. Harrington.”

“Please,” she said, returning the handshake firmly, “call me Selene.”

He gave a small nod. “Alright then. Selene,” he repeated with a faint chuckle, easing the edge of tension between them.

They both gave a small laugh. It was awkward. Polite. A mask for what was coming as they sat down across from each other.

Selene gestured to the open seat across her, and Eileen didn’t wait to be asked twice. She walked over and sat. Selene trusted her more than anyone. If anyone else was going to know what she was about to hear, it should be Eileen. She had stood by her for over five years, not just through long work hours and hectic deadlines, but through the kind of secrets that bound people together beyond contracts or titles.

Once everyone had taken their seats, the room slipped into a brief, heavy silence.

Michael cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly, putting the black folder on top of the desk. “So… shall we get into it?”

Selene nodded once, then whispered, “Yes.” Her hands tightened together beneath the table.

Michael opened the folder and carefully pulled out a small stack of photographs, each one neat and ordered.

“I arranged them by time frame,” he said, his tone calm and focused.

Selene’s eyes dropped to the photos in his hands, her heart already bracing itself.

She gave a slight nod.

He placed the first photo on the desk between them. Cole was mid-stride, entering a golf arena.

“He left the house at exactly eight and arrived thirty minutes later. From eight-thirty to ten-thirty, he was at the course. Playing golf, nothing suspicious yet.”

Selene nodded again, lips pressed tightly together.

The next photo slid into place. Cole, walking out of the golf arena, phone pressed to his ear.

“At ten-thirty, he exited the golf arena, but as you can see, he was already on a call. I couldn’t catch who he was talking to. But I followed him, and he ended up here, at this café.”

Michael laid down the next photo. Cole, entering a small café.

Selene blinked. “This café?” her voice was thin with surprise.

Michael nodded.

A laugh escaped her lips, but it wasn’t one of amusement. It was a pitiful laugh at herself and the truth in front of her.

“That’s... a very far café,” she murmured, eyes locked on the image. “I know it very well. The Toad’s Place.”

Michael listened, quiet as she spoke.

“Scarlett and I used to go there,” Selene continued, voice wobbling. “I don’t even remember how we found it. Maybe just one of those spontaneous drives, but they had the best iced mocha. One time, a fan recognized Scarlett there. She was mortified. I couldn’t stop laughing. God, that day…”

Her voice trailed off, her eyes glossy with memory. A bittersweet smile touched her lips, then faded.

Michael gave her a beat before placing the next photo down.

“Well then... I guess this must be Scarlett,” he said gently.

The woman in the photo was beautiful. Brown-skinned, Fulani braids cascading down her shoulders. She wore sleek black boots, fitted black pants, a crisp white shirt under a cobalt-blue jacket. She looked very much dressed like a popstar trying to keep it simple.

A black Chanel handbag swung at her side. Her phone was at her ear, but her face—partially turned—was unmistakable.

Selene stared at the image for a long time. She didn’t need a second look.

It was Scarlett.

She gave a silent nod, her chest tightening around the truth she already knew.

“Yes, that's her. I got her that handbag back in our final year in college. It was a customized-made one, only for her,” Selene said, her voice low, laced with the sting of betrayal.

Her gaze lingered on the photo as her mind drifted back to that day. It was Scarlett's birthday. She had handed her the bag with so much love. She remembered how her face had lit up when she unwrapped that bag, how special that moment was. How it had felt like the kind of memory that would last a lifetime.

One of a kind. For someone she had once thought irreplaceable.

She blinked quickly and let out a deep, shaky breath, forcing the memory away.

Michael waited a few seconds before speaking again, giving her the space she needed; whether out of pity or respect, she didn’t know.

“She entered the café twenty minutes after him. They were there for about forty minutes,” he said, placing three photos gently on the table.

One showed Scarlett and Cole hugging. Another showed them kissing. And in the third one, they sat side by side at a small table, mid-conversation, with drinks and pastries in front of them.

Selene's lips trembled. She brought her palm up to cover her mouth, her elbow resting heavily on the table. Her eyes locked on the photo of Scarlett sipping a familiar drink.

“Wow,” she whispered, a note of stunned disbelief in her voice. “She even ordered an iced mocha. My favorite.”

Then a small, bitter and broken laugh escaped her lips, soft and self-mocking as realization settled in. She had been so stupid. So blind.

She bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes still fixed on the photo.

Michael sighed and cleared his throat quietly before continuing.

“At eleven forty-five, they left the café… in hands.” He laid down another picture. Cole and Scarlett walking out of the café, holding hands and smiling.

“They aren’t even wearing a cap or a mask, they’re just… out in the open,” Eileen said, her voice laced with anger.

“You’re right, Eileen,” Selene muttered, eyes still on the photo.

“For the next three hours, they went shopping at three different places,” Michael added, placing more photos in front of them. Cole and Scarlett walking out of boutiques, hands full with shopping bags.

“Then they went into a Mexican restaurant for lunch,” Michael explained, laying down another photograph to back it up.

“Quesadilla Thursday,” Selene muttered with a bitter laugh. “Cole, Scarlett, and I used to do this once in a while… whenever we had time. No matter what Mexican food we ordered, we always got quesadillas to top it all.”

Her voice cracked. Her eyes brimmed, and this time, the tears came. She was tired of holding them back.

She sniffed and exhaled sharply, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Ah… I’m fine. Just… continue.”

Michael and Eileen exchanged a glance, uncertain and heavy with pity, then looked back at her.

Michael cleared his throat gently. “A-Alright… uhm, after they left the Mexican restaurant with takeouts. I followed them for a while, until they arrived at this house.”

He slid the next photo onto the desk.

Selene’s eyes widened instantly, so wide it looked like they might pop from their sockets. She gasped, once. Then again. Then a third time, softer, more broken.

“How could he? How dare they?” she muttered, barely above a whisper.

She shot up from her seat, fingers tangled in her hair, pacing back and forth behind the desk like she couldn’t stand still for a second longer.

“This is our second house,” she said, pointing a shaky hand at the photo. “Cole and I bought it while we were dating. We had our wedding night there.”

Her voice quivered as the words left her.

“We don’t even go there that often because… because it’s sacred. It’s where we go when we want to be with each other. Alone.”

Another gasp slipped from her mouth as the weight of realization sank in. She turned to them, wide-eyed.

“He brought her to our house?” she asked, her voice low but sharp, staring between Michael and Eileen like she couldn’t believe it even with the proof in front of her.

She lifted her hand to run a hand through her hair, and that’s when she saw her mother.

Standing just a few feet behind Michael, dressed as fashionably as ever, was the unmistakable figure. Her mother had that same knowing smile—the “I told you so” kind—and casually waved a hand at her.

Selene stared hard at her, her chest rising and falling unevenly.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” Eileen asked gently, touching Selene’s arm.

Selene turned her gaze away. “Yes. What happened next, Michael Jobs?” she asked, sinking back into her chair.

“Well… uhm. They were there for over four hours. Then afterward, they left. He drove Miss Scarlett to her house apparently where this man was waiting for her,” Michael said as he dropped a photo on the table.

“That’s Yeshua. Scarlett’s manager!” Eileen said immediately.

“Yeshua knows?” Selene muttered in disbelief.

“Wow, they’re so fucking brazen,” Eileen scoffed.

Selene let out a bitter laugh as she stared at the photo. They were all smiling. She had danced with Yeshua just yesterday at her anniversary dinner… and yet, he knew.

“What happened next?” Selene asked, her voice harder now—like her heart. Her brown eyes burned with quiet rage.

“Afterward, he went home. And he’s been there for a while… until I left to get the printed picture out, and came up to meet you,” Michael said, finishing.