Chapter 3: The Woman Who Knew

For the first time in seven years, I didn't know what Darian was going to say.

He looked at me.

Then on the phone.

Then back at me.

“Arielle, you need to let me explain.”

“I've heard that already.”

His jaw tightened.

“This isn't what you think.”

I almost laughed.

“Then tell me what it is.”

He didn't answer.

That silence told me more than his words had.

I picked up the phone again.

The message from Vesper was still on the screen.

You told me she knew everything. Don't make me come upstairs and tell her myself.

I read it twice.

Then I looked at Darian.

“What did you tell her I knew?”

He rubbed his forehead.

“I told her you knew about us.”

The words landed quietly.

I stared at him.

“About us?”

“We weren't supposed to get to this point.”

“What point?”

“Our relationship.”

I felt something twist inside me.

“You just said you don't love her.”

“I don't.”

“But you called it a relationship.”

He looked frustrated.

“That's not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He stepped toward me.

I held up my hand.

“Stay there.”

He stopped.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I asked the question that had been sitting in my head since I saw the photograph.

“Does Vesper think you're leaving me?”

Darian looked away.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I made her believe that.”

My mouth went dry.

Not because he had admitted to cheating.

I already knew that.

It was the fact that he had built a story around it.

A story where I knew.

A story where he was eventually leaving me.

A story where another woman had been waiting for a future with my fiancé.

I lowered the phone.

“How long?”

“Arielle—”

“How long has she believed you were going to leave me?”

He hesitated.

“Almost a year.”

I closed my eyes.

Almost a year.

Not one mistake.

Not one bad night.

A year of decisions.

A year of conversations.

A year of looking me in the face and coming home to me while someone else waited for him to become her husband.

I opened my eyes.

“Does she have a key?”

His expression changed.

“What?”

“To your apartment.”

“No.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes.”

I watched his face.

Then I remembered something.

Three months earlier, Darian had told me he needed to change the locks at his apartment because one of his employees had misplaced a key.

I had believed him.

I always believed him.

Until now.

“Give me your apartment address.”

He stared at me.

“You know my address.”

“The new one.”

His silence returned.

“You moved?”

“No.”

“You said you changed apartments last year.”

“I was considering it.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You told me you had moved.”

“I didn't.”

I stared at him.

“How many things have you lied about?”

His expression softened.

“Too many.”

At least he didn't deny it.

I walked to the table and picked up my handbag.

“Arielle, where are you going?”

“To find out who you are.”

He frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I'm done asking you questions you can answer with another lie.”

I took out my phone.

He watched me unlock it.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking something.”

“What?”

I didn't answer.

For the past seven years, Darian and I had shared almost everything.

At least, that's what I thought.

Bills.

Plans.

Family expenses.

Travel.

Our future.

There was one thing we had never shared completely.

His finances.

Not because I didn't trust him.

Because he always handled the investments.

He was better with numbers than I was, and I had never cared enough to question every transfer.

That suddenly felt stupid.

I opened our joint account.

My eyes moved down the recent transactions.

Rent.

Electricity.

Wedding expenses.

Catering.

Venue.

Then I saw it.

A monthly transfer.

The same amount.

Every month.

For almost eleven months.

£8,500

I stared at it.

“What is this?”

Darian stepped closer.

I turned the screen toward him.

He went still.

“It's nothing.”

I looked at him.

“Eight thousand, five hundred pounds every month is nothing?”

“It's a business expense.”

“What business?”

He didn't answer.

I scrolled.

The payments had gone to the same account every month.

Different dates.

Same amount.

Same name.

LORNE CONSULTING.

My eyes stayed on the screen.

Vesper.

I looked up slowly.

“You've been paying her.”

“It's not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

“She needed help with a business.”

“What business?”

“Arielle, this isn't the time.”

I gave a small, disbelieving smile.

“That's exactly what you've been saying every time something becomes inconvenient.”

He looked at the screen.

“I was going to tell you.”

“When?”

“After the wedding.”

I stared at him.

“Why?”

He didn't answer.

And suddenly I understood something.

The problem wasn't only that Darian had another woman.

He had another life.

A life that required money.

Planning.

Promises.

Time.

And somehow, part of that life had been paid for with money from an account carrying my name.

My phone buzzed.

I looked down.

It wasn't Vesper.

It was an email notification.

I opened it.

A receipt.

I frowned.

The sender was a property management company.

The subject read:

Confirmation of Final Payment — Lorne Residence

I opened it.

My eyes moved across the screen.

Property address.

Payment confirmation.

Tenant name.

Vesper Lorne.

I looked at Darian.

“What is this?”

He said nothing.

I read the address again.

I knew it.

I had been there.

My stomach tightened.

It was the apartment Darian had shown me six months earlier.

The one he said belonged to a friend.

The one he had told me he was helping furnish because the friend was going through a divorce.

I looked at the receipt again.

Final payment.

Paid by Darian.

I slowly raised my eyes.

“You bought her a home.”

“No.”

“The payment says—”

“I didn't buy it.”

“Then what did you do?”

He swallowed.

“I helped her secure it.”

I stared at him.

“Why?”

He didn't answer.

“Why would you pay for another woman's home?”

His eyes met mine.

“I was trying to make sure she would be okay.”

The room went quiet.

I looked down at my engagement ring lying on the table.

Seven years.

Seven years of believing our future was something we were building together.

Apparently, Darian had been building other futures too.

I opened the receipt again.

There was another name attached to the property.

Not Vesper.

It was a company.

Aster Holdings.

I frowned.

“What is Aster Holdings?”

Darian's face changed.

Not guilt this time.

Fear.

Real fear.

I looked at him.

“Darian?”

He said nothing.

I searched for the company's name.

The registration information appeared on the screen.

Director.

One name.

Darian Vale.

I stopped breathing for a second.

He had never told me he owned another company.

Then I remembered.

The contract.

The one Darian had asked me to sign six months ago.

He'd said it was for a friend's business.

A favor.

A simple signature that would help someone secure a loan.

I trusted him.

I signed it without reading it.

Now the name on that document came back to me.

Aster Holdings.

And my name was on that contract too.

My signature.

My liability.

I looked up at Darian.

"You had me sign something."

He didn't deny it.

"Why?"

His mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

The question I should have asked myself then, but didn't, was why I was asking him anything.

I had learned, at that moment, that a man who is willing to lie is willing to keep lying.

I looked up.

“You have a company.”

He closed his eyes.

“Arielle…”

“You have a company.”

“It isn't what you think.”

I stared at him.

That sentence again.

The same sentence people used when the truth was already worse than the question.

I put my phone down.

For the first time that morning, I wasn't thinking about the wedding.

I wasn't thinking about Vesper.

I wasn't even thinking about whether Darian loved me.

I was thinking about how much of his life I had never known.

And suddenly, one question became impossible to ignore.

If Vesper was only an affair, why had Darian built an entire life around her?

I looked at my fiancé.

Then at the ring on the table.

I didn't pick it up.

Not yet.

Because I had a feeling that if I put it back on, I would be agreeing to a life I hadn't even begun to understand.

And I wasn't ready to make that mistake twice.