When I reach the underground parking lot, I find out that my husband, Victor Blake, has parked his car in a slanted manner.

Great, his car has taken over my parking slot again.

I call him and tell him to get his ass downstairs so that he can move the car out of my parking slot. While waiting for him, I come across a post on the Internet.

"I'm screwing the brains out of my mistress right now. What should I do to avoid getting discovered by my wife, who might be home anytime soon?"

The comment section goes nuts. Apparently, the original poster has left a like on one of the comments.

"Park your car in a way that it eats into your wife's parking slot. That way, she'll have to call you every time she gets home. Not only do you have time to clean up the scene and protect your mistress, but you also get to tell your wife in a righteous manner that you're reserving a parking slot for her."

I frown immediately. As soon as I tap on the WhatsApp chat, I hear someone knocking on my window.

Victor can be seen jiggling his car keys outside the car.

"What's with the rush? I did this just so I can reserve a parking slot for you, you know."

I froze when I heard what my husband said. The top comment I'd just read flashed through my mind, sending a sudden chill down my spine.

My husband, Victor Blake, got into the car. With practiced ease, he spun the wheel, backed up, and straightened it out.

Then, he parked my car just as effortlessly.

I stood to the side and watched him closely.

He looked completely relaxed, his expression open and calm. There wasn't a single thing out of the ordinary.

We had dated for four years and been married for four. He had always been wonderful to me—so wonderful I couldn't find a single flaw.

My mom died early, my dad remarried, and my stepmother saw me as a thorn in her side.

I had to scrape together my college tuition by working odd jobs.

Victor was my upperclassman in college. When he found out about my family, he spoiled me rotten.

After graduation, he worked himself to the bone to make money. He clawed his way up the corporate ladder, going from a low-level employee to running his own company.

The day he handed me the deed to our house, he held me tight and said, "Jane, you've suffered enough. From now on, you have me, and you have a home."

Could a man like that really be unfaithful?

"What are you thinking about? Let's go."

Victor locked the car and naturally threw an arm over my shoulder, guiding me toward the elevator.

I looked up at him and tested the waters. "Why do you always park crooked anyway? Is it really just to save a spot for me?"

"Of course." He nodded without a second thought.

His gaze was completely honest as he continued, "I'm never letting what happened back then happen again."

My heart stirred.

That year, during my sophomore year, a guy had cut in front of me in the cafeteria line. He shoved me right over, spraining my ankle.

Victor had just walked in and saw it. He lost his mind, rushing over and punching the guy right in the face. He almost got suspended for it.

With tear-filled eyes, I had applied ointment to his bruised lip. But he acted like it was nothing. In fact, he grabbed my hand and smiled like an idiot.

"Jane, I swear I'll protect you for the rest of my life. I won't let anyone take advantage of you, and I won't let anyone hurt you again."

The memory of that bruised, naive young man blurred into the sharp, suit-wearing man standing before me.

I took a deep breath, pushing down my anxiety.

Maybe I really was just overthinking it. I couldn't just doubt the husband I'd spent eight years with because of some random internet post.

Back home, I changed my shoes and walked into the bathroom. As I reached for a towel to dry my hands, I froze. There was a long strand of hair on the white tiled floor.

I bent down, picked it up, and looked at it in my palm. It was long and dyed a faint blonde.

In the mirror, my own hair reflected back—a natural, shoulder-length black.

This wasn't mine.

I looked around the bathroom. My eyes landed on the bottle of rose-scented body wash by the sink.

I had just opened that large bottle last month. I picked it up and gave it a shake. It was already nearly a third empty.

Tucking the strand of hair away, I went to find Victor.

The living room was empty, but his phone was sitting right there on the coffee table.

I bit my lip, hesitated for a second, and reached out for it.

I woke the screen and habitually swiped up. A passcode screen popped up.

My mind went completely blank, and my fingertips went cold.

He never used to lock his phone. He always said married couples shouldn't have secrets.

When exactly did he start keeping them?

"What are you doing with my phone?"

Victor's voice cut through the silence from right behind me.

I jumped and spun around in fright.

He stood there holding a peeled apple, his eyes fixed on the phone in my hand.

I forced myself to look calm, though my throat felt tight and dry. "When did you… start putting a passcode on your phone?"

"Oh, around Christmas," he replied smoothly as he handed me the apple.

His tone was perfectly casual. "Remember when we visited Zaire? His kid got hold of my phone and sent a bunch of random emojis to my clients and friends. I got tired of it and just set a passcode."

"I see…" I gripped my glass tightly, pressing further. "Have you been using my body wash lately?"

He blinked, then let out a chuckle. "Oh, that? Yeah, I knocked it over the other day. A bunch of it spilled out when the cap popped open. Come on, Mrs. Blake, you're not going to get mad at me over a little soap, are you?"

As he spoke, he reached up and scratched his ear.

My pupils dilated at the gesture.

"Of course not."

I forced a tight smile and handed the phone back to him.

It had been eight years. I knew his quirks inside and out.

Whenever Victor was hiding something from me, he would subconsciously scratch his ear. It was a nervous tic he didn't even know he had.

Five years ago, his parents disapproved of my family background and refused to let us marry. They locked him in the house and even beat him, but he never gave in.

When he finally snuck out to see me, he had scratched his ear, smiling as he casually said, "Jane, I'm fine. My parents actually love you. They've already given us their blessing."

The lie happening right before my eyes felt like a knife driving straight into my heart.

I couldn't bring myself to believe it.

We had built everything from scratch over the years. We supported each other, stayed fiercely loyal, and gritted our teeth through every single hardship.

Victor had always been so incredibly good to me.

I hated pain. Whenever I had to get a shot, he would cover my eyes, but his own body would tense up more than mine.

I didn't want children. He took all the heat from his parents and told them we were staying child-free.

Behind closed doors, he would pull me onto his lap and tease, "You're my baby. Having you is enough. If we have another, I'll just have to compete with them for your attention."

Even at business dinners, he always maintained strict boundaries with other women.

Our friends constantly teased me about it, saying Victor's favorite line at the table was, "My wife keeps me on a short leash. If I make her mad, she'll kick me out of the house."

He loved me so much. He treated me as if I were as vital to him as life itself.

And now, he was lying to me.

Once suspicion took hold, it would feed on itself until it consumed everything.

…

A few days later, I wrapped up a project early, packed up my things, and left work ahead of schedule.

As I drove toward our usual parking spot, I immediately spotted Victor's black Maybach. The car was angled sharply across the white line, aggressively taking up two spaces.

Without any expression, I parked my car somewhere else.

The moment I got out, I headed straight for the building's management office.

In the office, Javier Dawson was glued to his computer screen, drowning in paperwork.

When he saw me, he greeted me with a warm smile. "Jane, what brings you here?"

I made up a quick excuse about needing to check the security footage.

Javier nodded quickly, asking me to give him just a second. Once he finished his immediate task, he'd look it up for me.

I glanced around the monitoring room and asked, "Are you working the shift alone today?"

"No," he replied without looking up, clicking his mouse rapidly. "Abigail and I are on duty. She got an upset stomach from some boba tea and went to the restroom."

I nodded.

I waited for about five minutes. Just as Javier was about to pull up the logs for me, my phone suddenly blared.

It was a client. There was an emergency that needed my immediate attention.

I had no choice but to drop what I was doing and rush back to the office.

By the time I finished troubleshooting, three hours had flown by. When I returned to the parking garage, Victor's poorly parked car had mysteriously been straightened out.

I stared at his car for a long moment before heading upstairs.

At dinner, Victor went all out, preparing three dishes and a soup. He eagerly scooped a bowl of soup for me.

"Home so late? You're working yourself ragged every day. It breaks my heart."

Staring at my bowl of soup, I hesitated before finally speaking up. "My phone is charging. Can I borrow yours to make a quick call?"

"Sure," he said, putting down his spoon and handing it over without a second thought. "The passcode is your birthday."

I took the phone, unlocked it, and went out to the balcony to make the call.

Right before bed, I walked out of the bathroom, drying my hair with a towel.

Victor was leaning against the headboard, looking at his phone. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

As I looked closer, I could tell his eyes were full of tenderness. It was exactly the way he used to look at me when we were dating.

I feigned curiosity. "What are you watching? You look so happy."

His fingers swiped rapidly across the screen, turning the phone off.

"Nothing. Just a few funny videos. Pretty hilarious."

In the middle of the night, as I listened to the steady breathing beside me, I slowly opened my eyes.

Carefully shifting out of bed, I grabbed his phone from the nightstand and slipped into the bathroom.

I entered the passcode. The screen gave a slight shudder, displaying "Incorrect Passcode".

My breath caught.

Refusing to believe it, I entered it again, making absolutely sure I hadn't made a typo. It was still incorrect.

I stared blankly at the screen, my heart sinking like a stone.

Victor had secretly changed it.

Unwilling to give up, I tried several of his go-to passcodes. Every single one failed.

The phone locked down for one minute. That brief 60-second countdown felt longer than a year.

The moment the timer ended, I tried another combination. It was still incorrect.

The lockout penalty jumped from one minute to a full hour.

I just sat there. Memories of our past flashed through my mind like a movie reel, contrasting sharply with our fracturing relationship.

When it finally let me try again, a specific string of numbers flashed through my mind out of nowhere.

My fingertips trembled as I punched them in. The screen lit up, and the phone was unlocked.

At that moment, I felt like I had been plunged into an ice bath.

I lay back in bed, having no idea how I survived the rest of the night.

I didn't manage to drift off until dawn. By the time I woke up, the sun was high in the sky.

Victor had already made breakfast.

After a quick wash, I sat down at the dining table.

He brought over a cup of soy milk. Seeing my face, he frowned with deep concern. "Look at those dark circles. Didn't sleep well last night?"

My head was splitting, so I just gave him a vague murmur.

Victor sighed and pushed a plate with a sandwich toward me.

"Work must be getting too stressful. Why don't you just quit and stay home? It's not like I can't afford to support you."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me, leaving a lump in my throat.

"It's just… a friend is going through a rough patch," I said, picking up the sandwich and taking a bite while keeping my eyes locked on him.

"She caught her husband red-handed. He was keeping a young mistress on the side. Victor, do you think all men do that kind of stuff once they make some money?"

He let out a soft chuckle and took a sip of his soy milk. "Stop worrying about other people's drama. You're just exhausted, Jane. Don't listen to that toxic gossip. It'll only ruin your mood. You'd be better off spending that energy eating the sandwich I bought you."

The club sandwich was my absolute favorite. But for some reason, it tasted completely off today.