Everything She Built

3

Rachel's POV

My knees grew weak, and I took a seat on the bed. I pressed my shaky hands to my chest.

What was going on here? First Lydia said she'd seen him with some woman at a hotel, then the strange number "L" had texted him at night, and now this?

What if L was Lydia? But why would she show me the picture? Was she testing me? Did she want to know if I knew the truth or not?

I began to look through the rest of his luggage. I found nothing there. I searched for his other clothes. I needed to find something, anything, that would prove he was cheating.

I found the clothes he'd worn the day before, and in the pocket was a receipt. A receipt from Colton. Someone had checked in the day before; Lydia claimed to have seen him.

And the name on it was Mrs. Sterling.

Why was there a hotel receipt for the same hotel Lydia had claimed to see Owen at — and it was under my name? What if L was Lingling? What if she was the woman in the photo? What if his own sister was who he was sneaking around with?

“Stop it,” I told myself. “You're jumping to conclusions. She's his sister. They're close. That's all it is.”

My mind was spiraling.

I needed to know the truth. I needed to go to the company and confront Owen myself.

I dressed quickly and drove to Sterling Enterprises. The building was made of glass and steel. It was the same building I'd helped him build from nothing. The same building I hadn't visited in years.

The lobby was full of employees I didn't recognize. A young man stood by the reception desk, and as I approached, I realized he looked familiar. I was too preoccupied to think about why.

"Can I speak to Mr. Sterling?"

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked kindly.

"I currently don't have one, but if you tell him it's an investor named Jackson Twain, he'll let me up."

The receptionist blinked. “Mr. Twain? I apologize, I didn't recognize you. But I can't let you up without an appointment. It's company policy.”

“That's fine.” Jackson turned to the side, pulling out his phone. “I'll see if I can give him a call.”

I stepped forward. “Hi, good day. I'd like to see my husband. Is he in?”

The receptionist looked at me, confused. “Who?”

I blinked, realizing she didn't recognize me. She was a newer staff member.

“I'm looking for Owen Sterling. I'm Rachel Sterling.”

The poor girl looked more confused. "You're his wife? That's impossible. Mr. Sterling left for lunch a while ago with his wife."

The words hit me like a brick. "What? That's nonsense. I'm his wife."

"Are you sure you're okay, ma'am?" She was looking at me like I was insane, like some obsessed stalker claiming to be a CEO's wife. "Mrs. Sterling comes around frequently to have lunch with Mr. Sterling. That's how I know for sure that you're not."

Another woman was coming here and being called her wife. Another woman was having lunch with him in front of his employees.

My hands were shaking. I pulled out my phone and dialed Owen's number. It went straight to voicemail.

Owen always answered my calls.

I walked back from the desk, my legs barely supporting me, and collapsed into a chair in the waiting area. My mind raced. Who was she? Who was this woman who had taken my place?

"Maybe we can look for him together."

I looked up into a pair of stunning green eyes.

It was Jackson Twain. The investor from the gala. Handsome, well-dressed. I felt like he could see right through me.

"I don't know if you remember me—"

"I do. We met a few weeks ago."

"Yes, and since Owen Sterling went to get lunch, he can't be far." He held out his hand to me. "Do you have any idea where he eats?"

I had a few places in mind. I nodded and took his hand.

"Great. I'll drive."

***

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Jackson spoke up after we'd been driving for a while. There was a gentleness in his voice.

"I feel like I am."

"So you're Mrs. Sterling?"

I hesitated. I didn't really know him much, but there was something that felt like I could trust him.

We checked three restaurants and couldn't find Owen's car. On the fourth, we found it.

"There's a private dining area here, several rooms. He'll be in one of them," I told Jackson.

He booked us one of the rooms. The waiter wanted to escort us, but I told him I knew my way around and we could go ourselves. He excused himself to get the menus.

I walked down the hallway of the private dining area. The first door I opened was empty. But not the second.

The moment I opened the door, I froze. I wished I'd never come here.

The room was dim. Two plates of food sat uneaten, candles lit, half glasses of wine. And on the couch was Owen.

He wasn't alone.

His head was thrown back. His eyes were closed, and his hands were gripping the hips of the woman straddling him.

Her back was to me, brown hair cascading down her back. She was wearing a silver dress, bunched up around her waist. She and his hips moved in a rhythm I recognized.

Owen’s face was that familiar scrunch of pleasure. The one I knew so well. He let out a moan, thrusting into her faster.

The woman tilted her head. Just slightly, but it was enough for me to see her better.

The diamond necklace around her throat. The one he said was a birthday gift for his mother. A lie.

My husband was fcking another woman in front of me.