I snapped back to reality, forcing myself to look normal. "It's nothing. Just a stomach cramp."

She looked at me, her face a mask of worry and concern. "A cramp? We should go to the hospital."

I shook my head. "No need."

"I'll make you some broth when we get home," she offered sweetly. "You always loved my broth."

I felt a cold wave of detachment. Madeline had tried to learn to cook for me once, but I couldn't stand to see her doing chores, so I stopped her. All she ever learned to make was broth. And I hadn’t had it in over a year.

"There's a gala tomorrow night," she said. "A little fun might do you good. Will Mr. Windemere do me the honor?"

A dark thought crossed my mind. I smiled. "Sure. Can we have it at the Westin? I like their food."

A flicker of panic crossed Madeline's eyes, but she hid it quickly. "Of course. I'll have someone book it right away."

I knew what she was thinking. With both of us at the same hotel, the risk of being exposed was too high. But she couldn't refuse a small request from her "sick" husband, could she?

Back home, Madeline was the perfect, doting wife. She made me the broth, insisted I rest in bed, and checked on me every hour.

But on her backup phone, I saw the message she sent to Ryan:

"Change of plans. Meet me in the private wine cellar downstairs tomorrow. 8:30 PM. It's more secluded. More thrilling. Imagine it… making love among all those expensive bottles…"

Ryan: "Sounds incredible. I'll wear those tight leather pants you like."

The shower turned off in the bathroom. I quickly put the phone away.

Madeline walked out wrapped only in a towel, water droplets tracing a path down her collarbone. Five years ago, the sight would have made my heart race. Now, it just filled me with disgust.

"Feeling any better?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed to feel my forehead.

I nodded, then pretended to remember something. "Right, I almost forgot." I took the blue box from the nightstand. "This is your anniversary gift. I put a lot of thought into it."

She started to open it, but I stopped her.

"I want you to wait a week to open it," I said, stroking her cheek. "Think of it as a surprise. Okay?"

She looked at me, confused. "Why a week?"

I gave her a mysterious smile. "Because by then, you'll understand what it really means."

Madeline shrugged, placing the box in her nightstand drawer. "Alright. If that's what you want."

The next morning, Madeline was up early, putting on makeup in front of her vanity.

She saw me wake up and gave me a seductive smile. "It's been a while since we had a date night. How do I look?"

I smiled and nodded. But I knew the date she was getting ready for wasn't with me.

The doorbell rang. One of Madeline's men, Marco, stood outside, holding a plain brown paper bag.

"Boss, the thing you asked for," he said, handing her the bag and avoiding my eyes. But I'd already seen it—a small velvet box. Something for their tryst.

After Marco left, Madeline went back to her makeup.

I stirred my coffee, my voice casual. "Madeline, can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"How important do you think loyalty is in a marriage?" I asked, looking up at her.

Her hand paused for a second. "It's everything, of course. It's the foundation."

"Is it?" I stared straight at her. "So you'd never betray me?"

Madeline immediately reached for the silver cross around her neck. It was a gift from her father, sacred to the Windemere family.

"I swear on my father's name," she said, looking me dead in the eye, her voice solemn and sincere. "I will only ever be loyal to you, William. You are my husband, my king, the only man in my life."

Her performance was flawless. If I didn't know the truth, I might have been moved to tears.

"So," I said, raising my coffee cup, my eyes turning cold as ice, "what happens if you do betray me?"

Madeline answered without a second thought, a small, confident smile on her face. "Then let me lose everything. Let me be thrown out like trash."

I took a slow sip of my coffee, tasting the bitterness.

"Okay, my love. I'll remember that."

"I'll sit in the back."

On the way to the restaurant, Madeline gave me a puzzled look. "Why? You always sit up front."

Because I couldn't stand to sit in the passenger seat where her little lover had been countless times. The thought of them in this car, together, made me want to tear everything apart.

But all I said was, "Just want to watch the city lights."

Madeline thought nothing of it.

When she took my arm as we walked into the hotel, all eyes were on us, a mixture of envy and fear. In their world, a man like me marrying Madeline Windemere, getting the family's protection without having to earn his keep, was the ultimate prize. They had no idea what it cost.

Several of the family's Capos came over to greet us. Madeline clung to my arm, whispering in my ear and kissing my cheek every so often. The Capos showered us with compliments about our love. Madeline beamed, and I played my part, smiling right alongside her.

Dinner went smoothly, at least on the surface. Madeline talked about family business, occasionally asking for my opinion. I played the role of the perfect husband: intelligent, involved, but never overstepping.

At 8:20, Madeline checked her watch. "Darling, I need to step out for a bit. A partner is downstairs, have to discuss some business. I'll be back in half an hour."

"Of course," I smiled. "I'll be here."

A few minutes later, I excused myself to the restroom, stepped out of the hall, and called her. She answered on the third ring.

"Hey, baby. What's up?" Madeline's voice sounded a little rushed.

"I think I've had too much to drink," I slurred, faking it. "When are you coming back?"

"Soon, just give me… fifteen more minutes," her voice was muffled, like she was trying to hold something back.

Then I heard it.

A man's low, teasing laugh. And the soft, metallic jingle of something—jingle, jingle—like the little bells on a piece of lingerie or a sex toy.

"Madeline? Where are you?" I kept my voice laced with concern.

"In… in the office," she answered, breathing heavily. "The partner just arrived."

"Mmm… Madeline…" A man's moan echoed in the background.

My hand tightened around the phone, my knuckles turning white. It was Ryan's voice. No doubt about it.

"Baby, you sound strange," I said, deliberately dragging out the call. "You sure everything's okay?"

"Of course… ah…" Madeline was trying to control her voice, but I could hear exactly what she was doing. "This partner is just a little… difficult."

"Oh yes, Madeline… you're so good…" Ryan's voice drifted through, muffled. He clearly had no idea she was on the phone.

Jingle, jingle. The damn bells were getting faster.

I hit the record button, calmly documenting everything. A trained mercenary knows the value of intel.

"Madeline? Madeline?" I called out, faking urgency.

"What? Oh, sorry baby," she came back on the line, breathless. "The signal's bad. I'm coming up right now."

"Okay. I love you," I said in my gentlest voice.

"I love you too."

The lie rolled off her tongue so easily, so practiced.

I hung up, saved the recording, and walked back to the table as if nothing had happened.

Forty minutes later, Madeline returned to the restaurant. Her hair was a bit messy and her dress was wrinkled, but she wore a satisfied smile.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, baby," she said, sitting down beside me. "That partner was a real handful."

I turned to her and gave her a perfect smile. "It's fine. I know how important business is."

She reached out and took my hand. "You're the best husband in the world."

Just then, my phone vibrated.

"Passport and ticket confirmed. Departure in five days. All set."

I quickly locked the screen, but Madeline had caught a glimpse of the words.

"Passport?" she asked, looking at me with suspicion. "William, are you going somewhere?"

I let out a small laugh, as if she'd asked a stupid question. "It's my friend Aaron. He wants to go to Europe, but his passport's expired. He was asking me how to renew it. You know him, he's useless with that kind of stuff."

My tone was light, natural, with no hint of a lie.

Madeline's expression immediately softened. She even looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry, baby. For a second, I thought you were planning on leaving me."

The men at the nearby tables who overheard her shot me looks of pure envy. See how devoted she is?

I hid a cold sneer behind my wine glass. To the outside world, we were still the perfect, enviable couple.

The gala wound down around ten-thirty.

When we were the last two left in the restaurant, Madeline came to my side, her arms wrapping around me. "Tonight was perfect."

As she moved closer, a mixed scent hit me—cigar smoke, expensive whiskey, and… that damn cheap, woody cologne.

Ryan's scent.

She hadn't even bothered to cover it up. Or maybe she hadn't even noticed it was still on her.

A violent wave of disgust churned in my stomach.

I shoved her away, clapping a hand over my mouth as I bolted for the restroom.

"William? Baby?" Madeline's worried voice followed me.

I knelt before the toilet, retching violently. My stomach was empty, but the bitter bile and uncontrollable rage kept coming.

"What is it? Are you allergic to the seafood?" Madeline knelt beside me, trying to help me up. "Or was it the wine?"

Her scent washed over me again, and I heaved.

"Don't… Don't touch me!" I pushed her hand away, my body trembling.

"Is it the smoke on me?" Madeline frowned. "I'm sorry. I must have picked it up from my business partner."

That excuse was the final match on the gasoline.

I looked at her reflection in the mirror. She stood there, her face a perfect mask of innocent concern, as if she truly had no idea what she'd done.

"Business partner?" I sneered. "You and I both know what that was about."

Madeline froze, stunned. She had never seen me lose control like this. "William, what are you talking about?"

I realized I'd shown too much. Forcing myself to pull back, I said, "Nothing. Just an upset stomach."

The next morning, Madeline insisted on taking me to the hospital.

The doctor examined me. "Based on your symptoms, it looks like stress-induced gastritis. It's often caused by pressure or emotional distress. Has anything been stressing you out lately, Mr. Windemere?"

Madeline frowned. "No, not at all. We had a lovely evening yesterday."

"Well, perhaps it's seasonal," the doctor said, starting to write a prescription. "I'll give you something to settle your stomach."

Just then, Madeline's phone rang. She glanced at the screen, and a flicker of anxiety crossed her face. "Excuse me, this is important."

"Go ahead," I said flatly.

She stepped into the hallway, and I could hear her hushed voice. "What? Now? No, I'm at the doctor with my husband… Okay, I get it."

She came back, her face apologetic. "Baby, I am so sorry. One of my men is downstairs with an urgent document. I have to go sign for it. I'll be back in five minutes."

"Go," I said, feigning understanding.

Dr. Ricci continued his diagnosis, but I wasn't listening. I walked to the window, pretending to admire the view, but my eyes were locked on the street below.

A few minutes later, I saw her.

But she wasn't waiting by the entrance for any document.

She was hurrying across the street, heading straight for the building opposite the hospital—a private tattoo parlor.

As I watched her disappear inside, the anger was gone. All I felt was a cold, numb sense of release.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

[So sorry, but she won't be able to stay with you today. One call from me, and she came running.]