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."