In the end, I couldn't bring myself to kick down that door.

When I stepped out of the house, clutching my documents, my manager, Randy Beckham was already fussing at me.

"Chris, hurry up! The investors will be here any minute. By the way, have you heard from Tommy? I've been trying to reach him, but his phone's been off. Do you know where he is?"

I glanced back toward the house, then down at the contract in my hand. "No idea. I haven't been able to reach him either."

Randy was Rachel's cousin. In fact, he was the one who had brought us together in the first place.

Seeing the contract in my hand, his face lit up with satisfaction.

"I told you, didn't I? I've got a good eye for people. You've got potential, kid. Seal this deal, and the manager's chair in the sales department is yours. Rachel will be thrilled, too."

I smiled faintly and said nothing.

Over the past few years, I had worked myself to the bone trying to prove my worth. Early mornings, late nights—the money I earned was mostly spent by Rachel. I always thought that loving someone meant giving them the best.

When I returned home that evening, I found a table full of dishes waiting for me.

Rachel rarely cooked. She claimed the kitchen fumes would ruin her skin. It was only this year that she'd started cooking occasionally. This was the fourth time I'd ever eaten a meal she'd made.

The moment she saw me step through the door, she rushed over, practically skipping.

"Darling, I made your favorite—beef brisket! Go wash your hands!"

She guided me toward the bathroom, a fork in hand. Picking up a piece of beef brisket, she brought it to my mouth.

"Try it. Tell me if it's good."

I chewed on the meat, washing my hands at the same time. "It's delicious," I said.

Later that evening, while she was showering, I decided to take a chance and opened her phone.

We both knew each other's passwords, but we'd never once looked through each other's devices.

Her chat history was intact. As I scrolled through her WhatsApp messages, I found nothing suspicious at first.

Then I tried searching the phrase "miss you."

A name popped up in her recent chats—someone saved as "Miss A."

It had to be Tommy's private number.

I opened the chat. What I found was a stream of explicit messages:

[Miss you. I can't wait to do it with you.]

[Is your husband home?]

[Let's book a hotel tonight. I just took some supplements—guaranteed to please you.]

[Darling, you're better than my husband.]

[Yours is bigger.]

[Don't you dare do anything with Chris tonight!]

*

That was when I learned the truth. They had slept together at least ten times, with four of those encounters taking place right here in my own home.

Today was the fifth time they made out at my home.

Rachel, with practiced ease, switched her phone to airplane mode and resumed her little sexy time with Tommy.

I had thought, just for a moment, of trying to win her back, to pull her away from this man and reclaim her for myself.

But the truth was bitter—she had no regard for me at all.

She'd even asked Tommy to have me assigned to out-of-town projects, making it more convenient for their affair to continue unimpeded.

Tommy, impatient and unrelenting, tore at her clothes, stripping them off piece by piece and tossing them carelessly onto the living room floor.

Rachel, breathless and flushed, clung to his neck with one hand while deftly undoing his belt with the other.

I watched as Tommy, now cradling Rachel in his arms, carried her hurriedly toward the bedroom.

She clung to him, naked, her lips pressed to his neck in a trail of kisses. Occasionally, she leaned into his ear, whispering something inaudible from my vantage point.

Her last words were clear enough, though: "Did you take the pill today? You'd better not be like last time—barely started, and it was already over."

Tommy nodded fervently. "Don't worry, baby. I've got you covered. You'll be satisfied."

With that, he pulled her slippers off and flung them into the hallway.

Rachel gave a coquettish laugh. "How am I supposed to get out of bed without my slippers?"

Tommy planted a forceful kiss on her neck. "Don't worry, sweetheart—you won't be getting out of bed today!"

From the second floor, I watched the scene unfold, my stomach twisting in revulsion. Covering my mouth, I gagged a few times but managed to keep it down.

When I heard the bedroom door slam shut, I descended the stairs quietly. Grabbing a garbage bag, I began collecting the scattered clothes from the floor and tossed them into the trash.

Once I was sure they were fully... occupied, I locked the bedroom door from the outside with my spare key, enabled the extra security feature, and then disposed of the key.

Finally, I made my way to the living room and called my mother-in-law.

"Jessie! Something's wrong! Rachel locked herself in the bedroom, and she's threatening to take her own life! I've tried everything, but I can't get the door open!"

My mother-in-law, Jessie Fraser, was the backbone of their family. Though there were many brothers and sisters, she had always held the final say in the household.

Jessie's only blemish was the time her husband had been caught cheating, a betrayal she had caught him in the act of, and she'd thrown him out after forcing him to witness the miscarriage of the child from his affair.

Even though the child wasn't her husband's, she'd put up with a lot, but her strength had seen her through.

Over the years, raising Rachel alone had been exhausting, but it was steady work. She also had a boyfriend—one she'd never married.

When she heard that her daughter might be having suicidal thoughts, she quickly devised a hundred ways to punish me. In her mind, if a woman was upset, the man was usually to blame.

Within half an hour of my call, she stormed into my house with a host of aunts, uncles, and a few cousins.

"Chris, where's my daughter?"

I saw Jessie charging in, and hurried to meet her, trying to explain as fast as I could.

"Jessie, it was just a small argument. Rachel and I had a little fight, and she suddenly stopped answering my calls."

Before I could finish, Jessie grabbed a chair and hurled it straight at the door.

With a loud crash, everything went silent.

Jessie banged the bedroom door, calling out, "Rachel, don't do anything rash! If something's wrong, talk to Mom, and I'll help you, I promise."

When there was no answer, she called Rachel's phone, but it went unanswered.

Frustrated, she picked up the chair and smashed it against the door again, but still, nothing.

"What kind of door is this?" she fumed. "I've hit it a dozen times, and it hasn't even budged!"

I grabbed her by the arm, trying to stop her. "Jessie, this is the door you and Rachel picked out together. It's supposed to be burglar-proof. Even with the key, it's impossible to open from the outside. Please, stop! Don't push her any further!"

At my words, she paused.

But then Rachel's cousin, Max, not pleased with my interference, stepped up and punched me.

"Tell me, did you do something to hurt Rachel? I know men—none of them are any good!"

I shoved Max aside. "Not all men are like you, running around sowing chaos!"

"Then why else would Rachel be having suicidal thoughts?" he shot back.

Hearing this, Jessie was fired up again. "I knew it! I walked that path myself, and I won't let my daughter go down the same one. She's had a rough enough life, and now look—her father set a terrible example, and her husband's no better. What kind of life can she have now? Listen to me, Chris—if anything happens to her, I'll make you regret it!"

I grabbed her arm again, pleading, "Mom, I swear I haven't done anything!"

But Max wasn't done. He pushed me aside and started pounding on the bedroom door with both fists. "Rachel, don't be afraid. Whatever it is, I will take care of it. Just open the door, and we'll sort it out together."