I was frozen in place, an incredibly eerie feeling bubbling inside me. Who was Iris talking to? Was she buying a brand new refrigerator for someone else?

I stared long and hard at the secondhand fridge, a wave of baseless loathing surging within me.

…

July in the South was sweltering, with temperatures almost hitting 140°F. The old apartment we rented had terrible insulation, and our three-year-old son, Flynn, broke out in a heat rash from the heat. My heart ached for him.

Since my birthday was just around the corner, I told Iris that I wanted a new air conditioner. So, she returned with one at 3:00 pm.

A glimmer of joy welled up inside me. I hadn't expected someone as frugal as her to agree so readily this time. When I got closer, my brows immediately knitted.

This air conditioner was a new model—a high-end unit from a major brand—and even the vent blades looked fairly new. However, the outer casing was revoltingly filthy.

Not only were there large patches of unidentified black stains, but several pieces of chewed gum were stuck to it. It even emitted a sour, putrid stench, as if someone had intentionally dumped trash all over it.

"Why is this air conditioner so filthy?" Pinching my nose, I took a step back.

Iris set the air conditioner down on the floor and kicked off her high heels. "It's secondhand. You can't expect every seller to be a clean freak. Don't let the dirty exterior fool you; the internal mechanics are brand new. Can't you just grab a rag and wipe it down yourself?"

Having said her piece, she sprawled out on the couch and started playing with her phone.

So, it was another secondhand appliance. Even my birthday present didn't deserve to be new.

Unfortunately, I was poorly educated and could only earn money through physical labor. Iris not only earned a higher salary than me, but she had also given me a son. So, I should be more considerate of her.

With that thought in mind, I endured the sharp pain in my lower back and crouched on the floor, scrubbing away those stubborn stains and bits of chewing gum.

My back injury was a chronic issue left over from my younger days working on construction sites. Usually, if I stayed bent over for more than ten minutes, it would start to sting like I was being stabbed with needles.

That day, I spent a full two hours scrubbing the air conditioner. My back was killing me, and I could barely stand upright, but I finally brought the exterior back to its original white.

"Alright. Let's get it installed," I panted heavily, leaning against the wall for support.

Iris called someone over to mount the air conditioner on the wall. With a beep, the unit started up. However, the moment the blades opened, a cloud of white powder with a pungent, chemical odor sprayed out.

I coughed so violently that tears streamed down my cheeks, and I instinctively covered my mouth and nose. In the blink of an eye, the strange powder scattered into every corner of the room. Even Flynn, who was lying in his crib, was covered in a thin layer of it.

Flynn choked on the powder and burst into heart-wrenching sobs. I hurried over and picked him up, only to hear Iris' furious bellow.

"Dylan Holt, are you blind? I told you to clean the air conditioner, and you didn't even wipe the dust inside the vent? Are you happy now that the whole house is covered in dust, you useless piece of shit?"

I was so enraged that I thought my lungs were going to burst. "This isn't dust. It's some kind of chemical powder! Who hides this much powder inside an air conditioner? Clearly, someone dumped this in there on purpose!"

"Cut the crap!" Her eyes flickered. "So what if a secondhand air conditioner has a little dust? You're just bitter that I didn't buy you a new one, so you're intentionally picking a fight. You made this mess, so clean it up on your own!"

Right after saying that, she slammed the door and went into the bedroom.

As I held our wailing son, the agonizing pain in my back mingled with the fury in my chest. My knuckles cracked as I clenched my fists.

However, the very next moment, I realized something was wrong with Flynn. Large patches of red rashes had broken out across his body. His face was severely swollen, and his breathing had grown rapid and shallow.

"Iris, hurry up and open the door! Flynn is having an allergic reaction; he can't breathe! We need to rush him to the hospital right now!" I pounded on the bedroom door like a madman.

Iris opened the door reluctantly. Then, she took one look at Flynn and frowned. "Why's he so sensitive? It's just a rash. Can't you just apply some lotion on it?"

"He's going into shock! Hurry up and get the car keys," I bellowed, my eyes bloodshot.

Noticing that the situation was indeed dire, Iris finally grabbed the car keys and prepared to head out, grumbling and cursing under her breath all the while.

Just then, Iris' phone rang. After glancing at the caller ID, her hardened expression instantly softened. Instinctively, she turned her back to me and answered the call. "Hello? What's wrong? What? Are you bleeding?"

A man's muffled groans might've come from the other end of the line, and her expression immediately tightened with anxiety. "Alright, alright, stay there. I'm coming over right now!"

After hanging up, she turned around and said, "A major client from the company was involved in a car accident. I have to go deal with it right now. You should hail a cab and take Flynn to the hospital on your own."

"Iris, your son's dying!" I clutched her sleeve. "Who could possibly be more important than your own son's life?"

"What the hell do you know? If we lose this client, our whole family's going to starve!" Iris forcefully shook my hand off and rushed out the door without a single backward glance.

Gritting my teeth, I cradled my semi-conscious son in my arms. Without putting on shoes, I sprinted down six flights of stairs and flagged down a cab on the street.

…

In the emergency room, the doctor put Flynn on a ventilator and administered epinephrine to treat his allergic reaction.

"He inhaled a potent allergenic chemical dust, which triggered acute allergic asthma. If you had brought him in ten minutes later, even the gods couldn't have saved him!" the doctor reprimanded me sternly.

I slumped onto the bench outside the emergency room, my entire body trembling. Recalling the tender tone Iris had used when she answered that phone call, the suspicion in my heart began to grow like weeds.

I took out my old iPad, which I had previously used to secretly sync with Iris's phone location, and booted up the tracking app. The GPS showed that her car was parked in the underground garage of the most luxurious hotel in the city, Echelon Grand Hotel.

My mind instantly went blank. While our son's life was on the line in the emergency room, she had actually run off to a hotel?

I asked a nurse to keep an eye on Flynn, hailed a cab, and raced toward the Echelon Grand Hotel. Following the movement of the tracker, I made my way all the way to the fine dining restaurant on the third floor of the hotel.

Iris' laughter, along with the sound of a man's voice, drifted from inside the private room. I took a deep breath and shoved the door open. "Iris, you bitch—" I stopped short, realizing there was nothing inappropriate going on.

Around a massive round table sat seven or eight middle-aged women dressed in professional business attire. Iris was holding a wine glass, standing beside a sharp, sophisticated female executive with a sycophantic look on her face. There were men present, but they were only a few assistants dressed in formal suits.

The room fell into a deathly silence. Everyone stared at me—a man with disheveled hair and clothes covered in white powder—as if I were a madman.

Iris' face flushed crimson as she lunged forward, dragged me out of the private room, and slammed me hard against the wall in the hallway. "Have you lost your mind, Dylan? What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"Didn't you tell me that your client was involved in a car accident, and you were taking them to the hospital?" I asked quietly, my mind in complete disarray.

"My client's husband was the one who was injured. I called an ambulance. Does it look like I need to personally escort him? The woman inside is the biggest investor in my company. I can't afford to make a single mistake!"

She fumed, pointing at my nose. "How did you even find me here? Did you think I was cheating on you, so you came to catch me in the act? Look at you, look how pathetic and slovenly you are right now!

"Instead of taking care of Flynn, you spend all day being paranoid. Get lost! I don't have time to coddle you!" Having said her piece, she shoved me away, straightened her suit, plastered a smile on her face, and stepped back into the private room.

Leaning against the carpeted wall of the hallway, I couldn't help but feel like something wasn't adding up. Had I truly wronged her? Was she really out here working herself to the bone for our family while I suspected her of having an affair and even nearly ruined her career?

I walked out of the hotel in a daze. By the time I returned to the hospital, Flynn's condition had stabilized, and he was fast asleep.

Looking at my son's red, swollen little face, my heart filled with guilt. I picked up my phone and was about to text Iris an apology.

Right then, a call came in from an unknown number. "Hello, is this Mr. Holt? I'm a deliveryman from Mythra Technologies."

The voice on the other end sounded somewhat anxious. "The central air conditioner Ms. Lockwood ordered—the one worth nine thousand dollars—has arrived, but her line has been busy, and I can't get through.

"I checked the system and found the backup number you provided five years ago when you were shopping for a bed. Could you please contact her to open the door for me?"

"Are you sure you haven't made a mistake? We just had a secondhand air conditioner installed at our place earlier," I explained, confused.

"No, I'm sure I haven't made a mistake. It's written clearly on the order. Ms. Lockwood paid for it in full. The address is Suite 801, the penthouse apartment in Tower A of Quantum Heights," the deliveryman responded.

"It's boiling out here, and this high-end unit is ridiculously heavy. Please just get her to come back and open the door!"

The penthouse apartment in Tower A of Quantum Heights. The moment I heard that address, I stiffened. That was the most expensive luxury residential area in the city. Back when we got married, it was also the place Iris had solemnly promised to give me.

Yet again, I hailed a cab and rushed to Quantum Heights. When I reached the top floor of Tower A, the deliveryman was leaning against a massive air conditioner shipping crate, smoking a cigarette. I hid behind the stairwell door, staring intently at the elevator.

Before long, the passenger elevator chimed as the doors slid open. I held my breath, but the person who stepped out was a fashionably dressed young woman.

After greeting the deliveryman, she walked straight to the door and unlocked it. With a beep, the door swung open.

Looking at the back of the unfamiliar woman, my frayed nerves instantly relaxed. Leaning against the cold wall, I let out a bitter chuckle. "Dylan, oh Dylan, what the hell is wrong with you?" I mused.

A penthouse in Quantum Heights would easily cost three million dollars. Iris was just a department director with an annual salary of 45 thousand dollars. She hadn't even paid off the mortgage on our cramped, dilapidated old apartment. How could she possibly afford a place here?

It had to be someone with the same name, or perhaps a system glitch had simply mixed up the phone numbers.

Recalling the blunder at Echelon Grand Hotel just moments ago, I figured I had probably been under too much stress lately. Not only had I nearly ruined Iris' career, but now I had also run off to this luxury residential area to indulge in paranoia.

In a heartbeat, a wave of intense guilt engulfed me. I turned around and was ready to push open the fire door and leave.

At that exact moment, a familiar voice sounded behind me. "Hey, sorry to keep you waiting." I whipped my head around.

At some point, the elevator doors had opened, and Iris walked out arm in arm with a well-dressed young man. Her other hand was full of luxury brand shopping bags.

The man pecked Iris on the cheek. "Thank you for going shopping with me earlier, Iris, and for buying me all these expensive gifts. I love you!"

Looking at him tenderly, she responded gently, "If you want, I'll buy the entire mall for you! That lunatic showed up at the hotel earlier. Luckily, I was quick on my feet and told him off before he could ruin my shopping trip with my baby."

The deliveryman spotted them and hurried over. "Ms. Lockwood, you're finally back! The air conditioner…"

"Sorry for the trouble. Please help me move it in and install it. I'll pay double the rush fee. I can't let my baby suffer in this heat, after all." Iris generously pulled out several 100-dollar bills and stuffed them into the man's hand.

The young man, whose name was Tristan Greene, laid eyes on the brand new air conditioner, and his eyes lit up. "You're the best, Iris! Oh, by the way, did you take my old unit back with you?"

Iris smiled and nodded. "I did. It's already in use."

"Iris, your deadbeat husband didn't suspect anything, did he? I poured half a bottle of extra-strong itching powder into the air vents. It didn't drive him insane, did it?"

Iris dotingly booped his nose. Her tone dripped with contempt for me when she sneered, "He's an idiot; he hasn't got a clue. He really thought I'd gotten my hands on something almost brand new and was crouching there, cleaning it bit by bit, putting up with the pain in his back."

"Serves him right!" Tristan snorted. "It's his fault for hogging the position of your legal husband and refusing to step aside! I want him to use my hand-me-down trash and suffer from it. Let's see how long he can hold out!"

"Alright, alright. As long as you're happy, babe, you can toy with him however you want."

The couple laughed as they walked into the dream home that should've been mine.

The door slammed shut with a heavy thud. I stood in the dimly lit stairwell, feeling as though I had plummeted into an ice pit.

How dare they? They cheated on me, humiliated me, and plotted against me behind my back! Did they think I couldn't do anything to them?

After several deep breaths, I suppressed the murderous urge rising within me and pulled out my phone.

"Ms. Lovelace, your department director, Iris Lockwood, is currently cuddling with your lover in your fully paid penthouse at Suite 801, Tower A in Quantum Heights. They're enjoying the air conditioning right now. If you don't hurry, your little lapdog might be devoured by someone else."