THE MARRIAGE BEHIND THE MASK

CHAPTER 1 “About last night, I regret it,” Paul said. Rose had repeatedly told Paul how uncomfortable she was with intimacy. Paul believed marriage should make it acceptable. This had led to the unresolved disagreements that had been damaging the marriage. His voice, however, sounded far more satisfied than regretful as he adjusted his tie in front of the full-length mirror. Rose knew him too well to believe the apology. There was something almost casual about the way he said it, as though he expected a few words to erase everything that had happened last night between them. Paul's reflection stared back at him—handsome, composed, and polished like the successful tech executive he was. But Rose wasn't impressed. She sat at the edge of their luxurious bed, looking so confused, unable to understand the whole scenario. The man standing before her now felt like a stranger. Rose stood. This time, she wasn't going to avoid the conversation. “Paul.” He reached for his briefcase. “Not now, Rose. I'm already running late.” “You always say that.” He stopped. She stepped closer. “You always leave whenever we get close to talking about something important.” Paul sighed. “Rose, we've discussed this.” “No. You've talked. I listened. That's not the same thing. Today you owe me that explanation." His expression hardened. “What exactly do you want from me?” We are legally married; what explanation do I owe you? “The truth behind your actions. I don't like intimacy, yet you came into me last night like a hungry bear. Why would you do that to me?" Paul stared at her this time with guilt that seemed as if he was truly guilty, but his ego wouldn't allow him to budge. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then his phone rang. The sound cut through the silence. Paul reached into his pocket and pulled it out. He looked at the screen. Everything changed. The confidence disappeared from his face. His jaw tightened. Rose noticed immediately that the caller was unfamiliar with her, judging from the nervous look on Paul's face. “Who is it?” Paul didn't answer; rather, he raised one finger to his lips, silently asking her to remain quiet. That frightened her more than the call itself. Paul answered. “Hello?” A pause. “Yes.” His eyes shifted toward the bedroom door. “Please... okay. I'll be there.” Another pause. His expression became even more serious. “Yes. Thirty minutes.” He ended the call. Rose stared at him. “Who was that?” You're going nowhere until you explain the meaning of that ridiculous call you answered a while ago." She sounded like a lion wanting to devour Paul. Paul slipped the phone back into his pocket. “A business matter.” “That didn't look like a business call.” “It is.” “You're lying.” Are you hiding something, Paul Adams?" Paul picked up his briefcase. “Rose, I'll see you later.” He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “That’s it?” Paul didn't respond. “Paul!” He kept walking. “You are fond of walking out in the middle of a conversation.” The bedroom door closed. Rose stood completely still. She stared at the door for several seconds. Then she whispered, “What are you hiding from me?” "I will definitely find out!" Outside, a sleek black Lexus waited in the driveway. Paul walked toward it, adjusted his tie, and pressed the remote. The car unlocked. He climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. As the electronic gate opened, Paul glanced at the mansion one last time. His phone vibrated. He looked down. A new message had arrived. His face went pale like an infant desperately in search of its mother. He quickly locked the screen and drove away. Inside the mansion, Rose remained upstairs. Something about that call wouldn't leave her mind. It wasn't simply the way Paul had reacted when he saw the caller. It was the fear in his eyes. Rose had never seen that expression on her husband's face before. She walked slowly toward the bedside table. Then she stopped. Paul's phone charger was still plugged in. His phone wasn't there. But something else was. A small envelope. Rose frowned. She picked it up. There was no name on it. No address. Nothing except three words written across the front. SEVEN YEARS AGO. Rose's heart skipped. She stared at the envelope in dismay. Seven years ago? What happened seven years ago? Paul and Rose had been married for six years. Which meant whatever was inside had happened before their marriage. Her fingers tightened around the envelope. For the first time, Rose wondered whether the man she married had a past he had never told her about. She slowly opened it. Then she saw the photograph inside. Her breath caught. It was Paul. But he wasn't alone. Rose stared at the unfamiliar woman standing beside him. Who the hell is she?" She asked angrily, like someone losing her mind. And suddenly, the mysterious phone call made sense. She found herself sitting at the edge of the bed, looking deeply into the picture as an analyst, then she remembered a certain woman in her wedding picture who looked exactly like the woman in the image. " What is going on?" She ransacked her mind, yet she was unable to put her thoughts together. In the midst of all that confusion, Rose affirmed that she had seen this lady not once, not twice, but she didn't read between the lines. Someone from Paul's past had come back. The only question was— Why now? CHAPTER 2 Rose rushed to the window and watched as Paul’s car disappeared through the gate. She remained there for several seconds, staring at the empty driveway and the picture in her hand. Could she be the caller? And why had he rushed out without giving her even the slightest explanation? Something was wrong. She could feel it. Slowly, she turned away from the window and walked back into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed. Again, she found her fingers twisting nervously in her lap, almost squeezing the picture in her hand like one trying to terminate the existence of the person in it. Then her phone rang. She picked it up almost at once. “Hello?” “Is this Miss Rose Scott?” a voice asked from the other end. Rose immediately sat upright on high alert. “Mrs. Rose Paul,” she corrected. The words came out calmly, but something inside her snapped. Scott. Her real name. A name she had deliberately left behind years ago. Born and raised in Texas, Rose was a woman in her mid-thirties who had worked hard to build the life she had today. Intelligent, elegant, and highly observant, she had graduated with a first-class degree in Mass Communication and Literary Studies from Texas A&M University–Texarkana. She was also a successful crisis communications specialist, known for helping clients manage scandals, protect sensitive information, and navigate situations capable of destroying carefully built reputations. She knew how to read people. She knew how to detect lies. For She knew how to keep secrets. Ironically, none of those skills seemed useful now. She had sacrificed too much for the life she was living. Her marriage. Her reputation. Her career. The carefully constructed image of a woman who had everything under control. Nobody knew how much effort it had taken to keep that image intact. So why was someone calling her by a name she had deliberately buried? Rose's body went still. Her maiden name. A name very few people knew. “Who is this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Silence answered her. The longer it lasted, the more uncomfortable she became. Could this be her past coming back to haunt her? Her marriage? Her career? Or was anxiety simply playing tricks on her? “No. This is Mrs. Rose Paul,” she said firmly. Another brief silence followed. “It might just be a coincidence. Thanks for your time.” The line went dead. Rose stared at her phone. “A coincidence?” she whispered. She almost laughed. Almost. “Somebody is about to play games with me,” she muttered. Her mind immediately began searching through the faces from her past. Who could have a reason to come after her? Surprisingly, no one came to mind. Yet the uneasy feeling crawling beneath her skin refused to disappear. It had better not be what I'm thinking. She tightened her grip on the phone. Memories began flashing through her mind—the marriage, the struggles, the hustle, the things she had endured, the secrets she had swallowed, and the carefully maintained image she had protected for years. Above all was the reputation she had built and the trust she had earned from her husband. Paul might not have been a perfect husband, but he had always been a gentleman, especially in the way he treated her. And that was precisely why the thought frightened her. What if Paul knew something about her past? Rose's stomach tightened. That could destroy everything. The trust Paul had placed in her could disappear in a heartbeat. And once trust was gone, what would remain of their seemingly perfect marriage? Before she could finish the thought, her phone rang again. This time, she didn't bother checking the screen. She picked it up carelessly. “Hello?” “Ask your husband who I am.” The female voice was cold and deliberate. Then the call ended. Rose froze. Something about the woman's voice sent a chill down her spine. Slowly, she lowered the phone and looked at the screen. Her eyes widened. Paul's number. She blinked. Checked again. Paul's number. She stood motionless, staring at the screen as though the phone had suddenly become dangerous. The first caller knew her maiden name. The second caller had used Paul's phone. And now two questions screamed inside her head. Who was the woman calling from Paul's phone? And what exactly did she know about Rose Scott? Her fingers tightened around the phone. Then another thought struck her. What if Paul hadn't left because of a business emergency? Her heart skipped. What if he had gone to meet her? For the first time in six years, Rose wondered if the secrets inside her marriage were not the only secrets being kept. She looked toward the door Paul had walked through minutes earlier. The room suddenly felt too quiet. Too large. Too empty. Then her phone vibrated again. A message. Rose looked down. Her face went pale. There were only six words on the screen. Your husband is not who you think.