Chapter 4: Red Lipstick, Wrong Purse

Andrea’s heels clicked against the concrete of the parking garage, each step echoing louder than the last as if the silence itself was preparing her for something....

She really feel that there's something off. Questions seems to be adding every day, making her doubt him more.

She clutched the paper bag of lunch she prepared for Gabriel—a surprise, something spontaneous. He had forgotten his charger this morning, too. Two birds, one stone.

She spotted his car tucked neatly in the corner of the fourth level, exactly where he always parked. A small smile formed on her lips.

He’s predictable, she thought, amused. Steady. Reliable. Mine.

She pressed the remote and the doors unlocked with a chirp. As she pulled the door open, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around her like a memory—sharp, masculine, comforting. She slid into the passenger seat, placing the bag on the dashboard.

That’s when she saw it.

A small item lodged between the seat and the center console. Bright red. Out of place.

Andrea reached for it slowly, already feeling a knot tighten in her chest.

It was a lipstick.

She held it up to the light, inspecting it like it might burn her. A glossy shade of red—bolder than anything she owned. The label was smudged but readable. “Crimson Kiss.”

Not mine, her thoughts whispered, unblinking. Definitely not mine.

Andrea rarely wore lipstick, and when she did, it was always subtle—peach tones, muted pinks, barely-there nudes. She never liked anything loud. Gabriel used to say she didn’t need makeup to look beautiful anyway.

Then whose was this?

She turned the tube over in her hands, as if looking harder would make it disappear or reveal something less damning.

Maybe... a coworker? Maybe he gave someone a ride. Maybe—

Her pulse quickened. The excuses were there, rushing in like floodwater, but they couldn't drown the unease building in her stomach.

Still seated, she reached for the glove compartment, her hands trembling slightly as she pulled it open. Receipts. Tissues. A pair of Gabriel’s sunglasses.

And a purse.

Andrea froze.

Not hers.

It was small, black, expensive-looking. She pulled it out, heart hammering now. Her mind screamed no, even as her hands worked against her, opening the zipper.

Inside: a small compact mirror, perfume, and a phone charger. Still faint traces of a scent she didn’t recognize—sweet, floral, too young to be hers.

Andrea closed it quickly, as if her fingers had been burned.

This wasn’t right.

Nothing about this was right.

---

She sat there, staring at the lipstick still lying on the center console like a scar. The silence of the car felt deafening now. The bag of lunch sat forgotten on the dashboard.

Don’t jump to conclusions, she told herself. You’ve been tired. Maybe... maybe you’re being paranoid.

But her breath caught in her throat anyway.

What if she wasn’t?

---

When Gabriel came home that night, he smelled of his usual cologne—but mixed with something faintly floral.

Andrea noticed it immediately.

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, and she stood still, body stiff.

“You okay?” he asked, pulling back slightly.

She forced a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He nodded. “Long day. Clients were relentless. I barely had time to breathe.”

Andrea’s smile twitched. “You left your charger in the house this morning. I dropped by your office to bring it.”

Gabriel blinked, just for a second too long. “You did?”

She nodded, eyes watching every flicker in his expression. “I left it in your car with lunch.”

A pause.

Then that smooth, practiced grin returned. “Thanks, love That was sweet of you. Sorry I didn’t notice.”

She tilted her head, keeping her tone casual. “Oh, by the way… whose purse is in your glove compartment?”

Gabriel’s body tensed—just slightly. Barely noticeable, but not to her.

He laughed a second later, shaking his head. “Oh, that? Must be Mia’s. I gave her a ride after work last week. Her car broke down, remember?”

Andrea nodded slowly.

“Yes. Of course. Mia.”

The name tasted bitter in her mouth, like something she didn’t believe but swallowed anyway.

---

That night, Gabriel was fast asleep beside her, arm thrown over her waist.

Andrea lay still, eyes open, staring into the darkness.

She’d tried to dismiss it.

She really did.

But her mind wouldn’t stop replaying the lipstick. The purse. The way he paused. The barely-there change in his voice.

And that perfume—too sweet, too new.

She rolled away from him gently, careful not to wake him. Her heart ached with confusion, her thoughts scattered like broken glass across the floor of her mind.

Maybe I’m overthinking. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m being insecure. Maybe this is just stress. Maybe I’m making up ghosts where there aren’t any.

But the truth?

The truth was—she knew her husband.

And something had shifted.

Something real.

---

Andrea stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, the pale yellow light casting soft shadows on her tired face. Her fingers reached for her makeup bag, instinctive now. A habit.

She opened her lipstick drawer.

Muted pink. Nude peach. Bare beige.

None of them red.

She picked up one and held it next to her lips, then put it down.

That lipstick wasn’t mine. It never was.

The silence in the bathroom was louder than her heartbeat.

She leaned over the sink, gripping the porcelain until her knuckles turned white.

“I’m not crazy,” she whispered to herself. “I know what I saw.”

Her reflection stared back—unsure, fragile, but burning with a growing fire underneath.

She straightened, her voice steadier this time.

“I’m not crazy.”

---

She went back to bed. Gabriel stirred, reaching for her instinctively.

Andrea lay there, letting him hold her.

Eyes wide open.

Mind racing.

And somewhere in the back of her head, she began to count every lie she had let slide, every night he came home late, every excuse that sounded too polished.

The lipstick was the first clue.

But her silence?

That would be her first weapon.

Because now, Andrea wasn’t just the perfect wife.

She was watching.

And next time… she wouldn’t dismiss it.

In the dim light of the morning, Gabriel left early, kissing her cheek with a smile.

As his footsteps disappeared down the hallway, Andrea walked to his car with a blank expression and a single glove on her hand.

She slid the lipstick back where she found it—exactly in the gap between the seat and console.

Then she smiled.

Let’s see if it moves.