Chapter Two
1328 Words
The entire drive felt like a nightmare. Rain slammed against Nyla's windshield so hard she could barely see the road. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Too tightly. Her knuckles had turned white.
She should turn around. The thought had repeated itself a hundred times during the drive.
Turn around.
Go home.
Trust your husband.
Trust the man you've loved for eight years.
But every time she thought about turning back, another thought followed. Then why won't he answer his phone?
Her stomach twisted. The truth was simple. If Clark had answered even one call, she probably wouldn't be doing this.
If he had simply said, "I'm okay. I'll be home soon." She would have believed him. She always believed him. But tonight? There was only silence.
And that silence was slowly killing her. The luxury apartment building came into view. A towering glass skyscraper illuminated against the stormy night.
Expensive.
Private.
Exclusive.
The kind of place only wealthy people could afford.
Nyla parked across the street. For a moment, she couldn't move. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. She stared at the building entrance.
This was insane.
Absolutely insane.
She was really about to investigate her husband. Her husband. The man who once drove three hours just because she said she missed him.
The man who proposed in the middle of a thunderstorm because he couldn't wait another day. The man who cried during their wedding vows. The man who named a jewelry collection after her.
Could that man really be cheating? Nyla squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted the answer to be no.
God, she wanted it to be no.
But if it was no… Why was she sitting outside this building? A loud clap of thunder shook the sky. Nyla opened her eyes. Then she stepped out of the car.
The cold rain soaked her instantly. She barely noticed. The lobby was luxurious.
Marble floors.
Crystal chandeliers.
Private elevators.
A smiling receptionist glanced up from the front desk.
"Good evening, ma'am."
Nyla forced a smile.
"Good evening."
Her voice sounded strange. Small. Weak. The receptionist returned to her computer. Nyla headed toward the elevators. Every step felt heavier than the last. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
The elevator doors slid open. She entered. Pressed 28. The doors closed. And suddenly she was trapped alone with her thoughts.
Twenty-eight floors.
Twenty-eight floors to talk herself out of this. Twenty-eight floors to pray she was wrong.
The elevator climbed steadily. Floor ten. Floor fifteen.
Floor twenty.
Nyla stared at her reflection in the mirrored walls. Her makeup was ruined. Her hair slightly damp. Her eyes red. She looked like a woman heading toward disaster. Maybe she was.
Ding. Floor twenty-eight. The elevator doors opened. The hallway was silent. Too silent.
Nyla stepped out.
Apartment 2801 was at the very end.
Her legs felt heavy. Almost numb.
Yet she kept walking.
One step. Then another. And another.
Until she was standing directly in front of the door.
The numbers stared back at her. This was it.
The moment she had spent the entire drive fearing. Her breathing became shallow. Her hands trembled. She could still leave. Nobody knew she was here. Nobody would blame her.
She could walk away right now and never know. But the problem with doubt was that it never disappeared. If she left tonight, she'd spend the rest of her life wondering.
Wondering if her husband had betrayed her.
Wondering if she had ignored the truth.
Wondering if she had been a fool.
Nyla slowly reached for the keypad. The numbers glowed softly. She stared at them. Then entered:
0.
8.
2.
3.
Their anniversary. The date engraved inside her wedding ring. The date she thought belonged only to her and Clark. The keypad flashed green. Click. The lock opened.
Nyla froze. Her breath caught. The passcode worked. The passcode actually worked. A cold chill spread through her body. Because suddenly this didn't feel like a prank anymore.
The door slowly swung open. And the first thing she saw nearly broke her. A black suit jacket. Lying carelessly on the floor.
She recognized it immediately.
It was the anniversary gift she had bought Clark last month. An expensive custom-made suit. He had worn it when he left for work that morning. Nyla's knees almost gave out. No.
No.
No.
Her eyes filled with tears. There had to be an explanation. There had to be. She stepped inside. The scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air.
Not hers.
A woman's perfume.
Sweet.
Floral.
Foreign. A second item caught her attention.
A pair of black lace panties. Discarded on the living room sofa. Nyla felt her stomach drop. She couldn't breathe. Every instinct screamed at her to leave.
Run.
Escape.
Protect herself.
But another force pushed her forward. A desperate need to know. A desperate need for certainty. Her gaze moved toward the coffee table.
Two wine glasses.
One carried a bright red lipstick stain.
Nyla's vision blurred. Tears finally spilled down her cheeks. The evidence was everywhere.
So obvious.
So cruel.
Like someone wanted her to see it. Like someone had prepared the scene specifically for her.
The thought flashed through her mind. Then disappeared. She was too overwhelmed to focus on it. She moved deeper into the apartment. Her footsteps felt distant.
Like she was walking through someone else's nightmare. The hallway leading toward the bedroom was littered with clothing.
A man's shirt.
A woman's dress.
A silk bra.
A belt.
Pieces of intimacy scattered carelessly across the floor.
Every item felt like another knife. Another wound. Another betrayal. Nyla's chest hurt. Actually hurt. As if someone was physically crushing her heart. At the end of the hallway sat a red lace nightgown.
Torn apart. The sight made her feel sick. For a moment she thought she might throw up. She leaned against the wall.
Fighting for breath.
Fighting for control.
Fighting to remain standing.
Then she heard it. A sound. A woman's laugh. Soft. Breathy. Followed by a man's voice. Nyla froze. Her entire body went rigid. The bedroom door ahead was slightly open. Light spilled through the gap. Her heartbeat exploded.
No.
Please no.
Not Clark.
Not him.
Not like this.
A woman's voice drifted through the room. Playful. Intimate. The kind of voice people only used with lovers. Nyla felt another tear roll down her cheek.
Every part of her wanted to run. But she couldn't. Because now she needed to know. Needed to see. Needed the final truth. Even if it destroyed her.
Slowly.
Painfully.
She moved toward the bedroom door.
Each step felt impossible. Like dragging herself toward execution. The voices became clearer. The woman laughed again. Then came a deep male voice. A familiar voice. A voice Nyla would recognize anywhere.
Her husband.
Clark.
The world stopped.
Everything inside her shattered.
She couldn't make out every word. Her ears were ringing too loudly. Her pulse drowning everything else out. But she knew that voice. She had fallen asleep listening to that voice for years. She had built her entire life around that voice.
And now it was inside another woman's bedroom. Nyla's body began trembling uncontrollably. She reached the half-open door. Her hand touched the frame. For several seconds, she simply stood there.
Unable to move.
Unable to breathe.
Unable to accept what was happening.
Then the woman spoke again. This time clearly. "So..." A soft laugh followed. "Am I better than your wife?" Silence. A few heartbeats passed. Nyla felt her soul hanging by a thread.
Waiting.
Praying.
Begging.
Please defend me. Please tell her she's crazy. Please tell her I'm the only one.
Please.
Then Clark answered.
And the words that followed would destroy everything Nyla believed about her marriage. She heard his voice.
Low.
Intimate.
Dangerously familiar.
And then— Nyla pushed the bedroom door open. Her eyes landed on the people on the bed. And her entire world exploded.
- Writer
