Chapter 3

It was Claudia.

And in her hand was the missing access card.

Richard leapt from the sofa, his face soft with a kind of affection I hadn't seen in years.

Claudia moved through the apartment like it was her own. She didn't even wear the guest slippers—she slipped into my pink silk house slippers, the birthday gift Richard had given me, the ones I had always treasured and rarely worn.

"Richard," Claudia purred, throwing herself straight into Richard's arms.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"My little devil, you're finally here. I missed you so much."

"Oh, I had to put on makeup," she whined, tracing circles on his chest with her finger.

"That boring old hag won't be back for a week. We've got plenty of time. And this week? I'm going to take good care of you, hahaha…"

With that, Richard scooped her up in his arms, laughing, and carried her into my bedroom.

I stared at the phone screen, my nails digging into my palms until they nearly bled.

He really had cheated.

My first instinct was to call him and demand answers. I found his number, my finger hovering over the dial… and then I froze. Shouting at him would only alert them and give them time to cover their tracks. I couldn't let them off that easily.

The next few days dragged on endlessly. My business trip became a torment. By day, I forced myself through work. By night, I locked myself in the hotel room, obsessively watching the surveillance feed.

Claudia had already claimed the apartment as her own. She wore my pajamas. She used my skincare.

She even… used my bed. And my husband.

The most disgusting thing? She stuck her foot into my hundred-dollar body lotion, scooping the cream to rub on her feet.

And Richard? He didn't stop her. He sat there, smiling, massaging her soles.

I ran to the bathroom and vomited. Several times.

Cold water on my face, I stared at my reflection—pale, rigid, and burning with anger.

If they had no shame, then I wouldn't hold back.

I downloaded all the surveillance footage, backed it up to the cloud, and then called my lawyer, Anthony Clooney.

"Anthony, draft a divorce agreement. I want Richard out, with nothing to his name."

After hanging up, I glanced at the calendar. Tomorrow was my birthday. Richard had promised to celebrate it with me. But now, it was clear he had already forgotten.

Fine. Then I'd throw myself a "grand" birthday party.

I compressed my work into five days and booked an early return flight. Then I sent three group messages.

The first went to my parents and in-laws: [Mom, Dad, this Saturday is my birthday. Richard wants to host a gathering at home. You're invited to come and celebrate!]

The second went to Richard's close friends, colleagues, and Claudia's office rivals: [Saturday, 10 a.m., party at Richard's place. Good food, good wine—come join!]

The last went to the property manager: [Saturday morning, I'll be upgrading the home security system. Please have two security staff stationed at the entrance—they may need to help move things.]

Everyone happily agreed.

The next morning, I landed and headed straight home.

The surveillance feed showed them still entangled in bed, whispering and laughing.

Richard brushed her cheek with his hand.

"Baby, wake up. Hungry? I'll order some delivery."

"Mmm… I don't want to move…" she mumbled. "Richard, I want you to cook me noodles."

"Okay, okay, I'll make them."

Richard kissed her cheek, indulgent and soft, and headed to the kitchen.

At 9:50 a.m., the doorbell rang.