The wife he regrets loosing

The first time my husband called me a liar, I was standing in our bedroom holding a pregnancy test. The second time, I was on my knees in front of him, begging him to look into my eyes and tell me he truly believed I had betrayed him. The third time, I stopped begging. But that night hadn't happened yet. That night, I still believed that love could save a marriage. I still believed Daniel Whitmore would choose me over everyone else. And I still believed that if I loved my husband enough, he would eventually learn how to love me without making me prove that I deserved it. My husband stood in the entrance to our bedroom, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his tie loosened slightly around his neck. His expression was unreadable, as usual. Daniel was thirty-two, handsome in a way that made people stare, and wealthy enough that his name opened doors before he even reached them. To the world, he was the brilliant heir to the Whitmore business empire. To his employees, he was a man who demanded perfection. To his family, he was the son who could do no wrong. And to me? He was the man I had married two years ago because I believed the heart beneath his cold exterior was worth fighting for. "I'm sorry," I said, placing my handbag on the dressing table. "The meeting with the interior design team took longer than expected." "You could have called." "I did. Twice." He glanced at his phone. "Your mother expects me to be there? Daniel, she's your mother. You could have simply said you wanted me to come." His jaw tightened. "Must you turn everything into an argument, Amara?" I hadn't argued. Not really. But with Daniel, even asking to be treated like a wife sometimes felt like asking for too much. I forced a smile. "Fine. I'll be there." He nodded and walked toward the bathroom. I watched him disappear behind the door, then slowly released the breath I had been holding. Two years of marriage, and I still found myself measuring my words around him. I still tried to guess which version of my husband I would get each day. "I wanted to." "Well, thank you." Her tone made it clear that the conversation was over. I lowered my hands. Daniel entered the dining room a few minutes later, speaking to his younger sister, Sophia. He barely looked at me before taking his seat beside his mother. I sat opposite him. The meal began peacefully enough. Then Margaret placed her fork down. "Daniel tells me you're still involved with that little design business." I looked up. "Yes. We're handling several new projects." "How admirable." I recognized the tone. It was the same one she used whenever she wanted to insult me while pretending to compliment me. To my surprise, he laughed. A real laugh. I stood there holding a wooden spoon, staring at him as though I had just witnessed a miracle. "What?" he asked. "Nothing." "You're staring." "I'm admiring my husband. Is that a crime?" He stepped closer. "Depends on what you intend to do with that admiration." I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop smiling. For a little while, everything felt easy. We ate together. He told me about a difficult negotiation at work, and I told him about a client who had changed her mind about an entire design project three times in one afternoon. Vanessa Cole. I knew that name. Everyone in Daniel's family knew it. Vanessa was his former fiancée—the woman he had been expected to marry before he met me. Margaret still spoke about her as though she had been robbed of a daughter. Daniel had always insisted that their relationship was over. So why was she calling him close to midnight? The call ended. A message appeared. We need to talk about what happened. You promised me you would handle it before Amara found out. My stomach tightened. Before I could stop myself, I picked up the phone. A conversation that stretched back several months. I opened the most recent exchange. Vanessa: She doesn't know, does she? Daniel: No. Vanessa: And you're sure she won't find out? Daniel: I'll take care of it. I read the words again. Then again. My hands began to tremble. What didn't I know? What was Daniel planning to take care of? And why did Vanessa seem so certain that I was the one person who must never discover it? The bathroom door opened. I nearly dropped the phone. Daniel stepped out, a towel around his neck, his hair damp. "Why is she telling you to handle something before I find out?" His jaw tightened. "Give me the phone." "Daniel, what is going on?" He took the device from my trembling fingers and glanced at the screen. When he looked at me again, his expression had become unreadable. "You had no right to read my private messages." I stared at him in disbelief. "That's what you're worried about?" "Answer me." "Your former fiancée is messaging you at midnight, telling you that I mustn't find out something, and you're angry because I read it?" Another message from Vanessa appeared on the screen. Vanessa: Daniel, she must never find out that the accident wasn't what your family claimed. My heart stopped. Daniel snatched the phone up. But it was too late. I had read every word. I looked at my husband—the man whose ring I wore, whose home I shared, whose love I had spent two years trying to protect. "Daniel," I whispered, "what accident?" He stared at me. And for the first time since I had known him, my husband looked genuinely afraid. "No," I lied. Daniel watched me for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Good." He turned to leave. But just before he stepped into the hallway, his phone rang. He answered it. I heard only one sentence before he disappeared around the corner. "She knows nothing. Not yet." And that was when I understood something terrifying. Whatever was happening inside my marriage, Daniel wasn't the only person keeping secrets. Someone else was watching me. And they had just begun.