Chapter 7

Clara's POV 

The confidence Julian had given me lasted exactly until Mark walked through the front door that evening.

He threw his briefcase on the couch, loosening his tie. I stood in the kitchen, the crumpled hotel receipt burning a hole in the pocket of my sweatpants. I couldn't hold it in anymore. The suspicion was eating me alive.

"Mark," I said, my voice shaking. "We need to talk."

He stopped, rolling his eyes as he walked toward the fridge to grab a beer. "What now, Clara? Make it quick, I had a brutal day."

I pulled the receipt from my pocket and slammed it onto the granite counter. "What is this?"

He looked at the paper, then back at me. Not a single muscle in his face twitched. He didn't look guilty. He looked annoyed.

"It's a receipt from the Grand Pearl," he said, popping the cap off his beer. "I had a lunch meeting with potential clients. We ordered room service in one of the executive suites. It's quieter than the restaurant."

"It says two guests," I pushed, my voice rising. "And the jacket smelled like cheap vanilla perfume, Mark! Don't lie to me."

Mark laughed. It was a dry, cruel sound. He set his beer down and walked slowly toward me, backing me up against the counter.

"Are you accusing me of cheating?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my stomach, my thick thighs in the sweatpants. His lip curled in absolute disgust. "Look in the mirror, Clara. Look at what I come home to every day. You're a lazy, swollen mess who doesn't even bother to put on makeup for her husband."

Tears burned the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not yet.

"If I wanted to cheat on you," he whispered maliciously, leaning into my face, "do you really think I'd be hiding it? You have no money, no job, and no where to go. You'd stay even if I brought a woman into our bed."

He turned away, grabbing his beer. "Throw that garbage away and make dinner. I'm starving."

He walked out of the kitchen.

I sank down to the floor, my back sliding against the cold cabinets until I hit the tiles. I pulled my knees to my chest, burying my face in my arms as the first, heavy sobs tore through my throat. He had stripped me bare. He had taken the one tiny shred of bravery I had and used it to remind me how completely worthless I was.

I cried until I couldn't breathe. I cried until the kitchen was dark.

Then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I wiped my face, pulling it out with trembling, numb fingers. The screen lit up the dark kitchen. It was a text message from an unknown number.

He isn't who you think he is. Go to the Grand Pearl tomorrow at noon. Room 412

. See for yourself.