CHAPTER 2
1740 Words
“You’re imagining things.”
Damien didn’t even blink when he said it.
Amara remained frozen in the laundry room, the white dress shirt trembling slightly in her hands. The red lipstick stain burned against the fabric like a wound.
And Damien—
Damien looked almost bored.
Water still shimmered faintly on his neck from the shower. He had only wrapped a towel around his waist before following her downstairs after noticing his suitcase was open. Calm. Relaxed. Beautiful.
Like a man with nothing to fear at all.
Amara took a deep breath. "Whose lipstick is this?”
He looked at the collar nonchalantly. “I have no idea."
"You have no idea?"
"No.” He stepped closer and took the shirt from her fingers with infuriating ease. “Probably from an event."
"A lipstick stain ended up on your collar at a business event?”
"It happens.”
Amara stared at him in disbelief.
"That’s your explanation?”
Damien neatly folded the shirt over his arm. “What am I supposed to say?”
“Tell the truth.”
“I already told you that.”
His tone remained steady, never rising or cracking — which made it feel even more unsettling.
If he had yelled, shown defensiveness, or appeared guilty, she might have trusted her instincts more. But Damien’s calm, patient tone sounded like he was correcting a child who had misunderstood a simple thing.
And suddenly, Amara hated herself for feeling uncertain.
“You think I’m stupid?” she whispered.
A flicker crossed his eyes then. Annoyance.
“Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely between them. “Create drama where there isn’t any.”
Drama.
The word hit her harder than it should have.
Not pain. Not betrayal.
Drama.
As if her hurt was merely inconvenient.
Amara crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “You disappear for days, come home smelling like another woman, and now there’s lipstick on your shirt.”
Damien sighed softly, like an exhausted man dealing with unnecessary stress.
“You’ve been spending too much time alone.”
Her stomach dropped.
The cruelty in the statement was almost elegant.
Not direct enough to accuse her of insanity, just enough to make her question herself.
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice gently. “Baby, you know how people are around me. Events, meetings, parties… women hug me all the time.”
“On the neck?”
“It’s a shirt collar, Amara.”
The way he said her name—slow and controlled—made her feel irrational already.
She hated that.
Hated how easily he could twist reality until she no longer trusted her own emotions.
“You really expect me to believe that?”
“I expect my wife to trust me.”
Silence fell heavily between them.
Amara looked away first.
Because part of her still wanted to trust him.
That was the humiliating truth.
Even standing there with evidence in front of her face, some desperate part of her wanted Damien to hold her and tell her everything was fine, that she was overthinking. That they were okay.
Love makes intelligent women fools every day.
Damien reached for her hand. “Look at me.”
She hesitated for half a second before he gently drew her closer.
“I love you,” he said softly. “I come home to you every single time.”
The words wrapped around her heart like chains.
He knew exactly what to say.
Always.
Amara searched his face for cracks again, but his expression remained maddeningly sincere.
“How can you be so calm?” she asked.
“Because I have nothing to hide.”
The answer came too quickly.
Too smoothly.
Like a rehearsed line.
Damien brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. “You need sleep.”
No apology.
No clear explanation.
Just control.
And somehow, by the end of the conversation, Amara was the one feeling guilty.
The next morning, the mansion looked flawless again.
Sunlight streamed through massive windows. Fresh flowers adorned the dining table. Staff moved quietly through the halls as Damien sat at the breakfast counter, scrolling through emails as if the previous night had never occurred.
He wore another spotless suit.
Another perfect smile.
Another mask.
“You’re quiet,” he observed without looking up from his phone.
Amara stirred her coffee slowly. “I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous activity.”
Normally, she would have laughed.
Today, she only watched him.
How many lies had that mouth told her?
How many women had sat across from him, believing they were special?
A wave of nausea overwhelmed her unexpectedly.
Damien finally looked up. “You’re still upset.”
"You dismissed me.”
“No, I reassured you.”
“You manipulated me.”
His jaw tightened slightly at that.
“There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
For the first time since returning home, irritation flickered openly across his face.
Small.
Quick.
But there.
Damien placed his phone down carefully. “What exactly do you want from me, Amara?”
“The truth.”
“You already decided I’m guilty.”
“Because you’re acting guilty.”
He laughed once under his breath.
Not amused.
Disappointed.
“You know what your problem is?” he asked quietly.
Her chest tightened.
"You listen to emotions more than logic.”
The words cut through her.
Because Damien always fought emotionally while pretending to fight rationally. He made her feelings seem weak, embarrassing, and irrational.
And over time, she started apologizing for them.
He stood, adjusting the sleeve of his watch. “I have meetings all day. We’ll talk tonight when you’ve calmed down.”
Calmed down.
Again, he made her sound hysterical.
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed against the marble countertop.
Damien glanced at the screen quickly.
Too quickly.
Then he flipped the phone over.
Amara noticed the movement instantly.
So did he.
The air shifted.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“No one important.”
“Then why hide it?”
“I didn’t hide anything.”
“You literally turned your phone over.”
His patience visibly thinned. “Because I’m tired of being interrogated in my own house.”
Their house.
But somehow Damien always knew how to claim ownership over every room in it.
He grabbed his car keys. “I’ll be late tonight.”
Of course, he would.
Amara watched him walk toward the door.
“Damien.”
He paused without turning.
“Are you cheating on me?”
The question lingered in the air, painfully.
For a moment, she thought he might finally tell the truth.
Instead, he looked over his shoulder calmly and said, “You’re letting insecurity destroy our marriage.”
Then he left.
The front door closed softly behind him.
And Amara shattered.
By evening, loneliness had transformed into anger.
Not explosive anger.
The quiet kind.
The dangerous kind.
Amara sat alone in the vast bedroom she once saw as a dream, staring at Damien’s side of the bed.
Cold.
Untouched.
Empty.
Her thoughts replayed every strange moment from the past year.
The late-night calls.
The sudden passwords.
The business trips.
The emotional distance.
How many times had she ignored the signs because loving him felt easier than facing reality?
Tears burned her eyes, but she forced them back.
No.
She needed facts.
Not emotions.
For the first time in their marriage, Amara walked toward Damien’s office.
He rarely allowed anyone inside when he wasn’t home. The room was always spotless, controlled, almost intimidating—just like him.
She hesitated at the door before pushing it open.
Dark wood shelves lined the walls. The scent of leather and expensive cologne lingered faintly in the air.
Everything about the room screamed power.
Her pulse quickened when she spotted his tablet on the desk.
Locked.
Of course.
But Damien had made one mistake years ago.
He once used her fingerprint to unlock it while cooking because his hands were wet.
He had forgotten.
Amara pressed her thumb gently against the screen.
The tablet unlocked immediately.
Her breath caught.
For a second, guilt flooded her.
Then she remembered the lipstick stain.
Her hands trembled as she opened his messages.
Most conversations looked normal—business partners, investors, assistants.
Then she noticed the deleted folder.
Her stomach twisted.
Slowly, she tapped it open.
And froze.
Dozens of deleted threads appeared on the screen.
Women’s Names
Women she didn’t know.
Some messages were brief.
Miss you already.
Last night was amazing.
When are you returning?
Others were worse.
Much worse.
Photos.
Videos.
Promises.
Her vision blurred.
One message near the top made her stop breathing entirely.
I hate lying to her, too… but leaving Amara would destroy everything right now.
Amara’s hand shot to her mouth.
The room spun violently around her.
And then—
A car door slammed outside.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD