What the Key Revealed

The housekeeper, who was always punctual, was late today.

"Madam, I'm so sorry… dinner isn't ready yet. Please don't be upset with me…"

"But this time, there was no helping it. I waited downstairs for over half an hour, and no one swiped in. I even called Mr. Gregory, but he didn't answer. That's why I'm late."

My hand froze mid-motion as I was changing shoes, and a frown creased my brow.

"Lydia," I said, "didn't I have Richard give you the access card?"

Lydia Pendel froze, her face blank.

"Access card? Mr. Gregory never gave me one."

"Never?" I repeated.

"Yes," she said, wiping the sweat from her forehead, her voice careful. "All this past month, I've been sneaking in whenever another resident opened the door, or calling Mr. Gregory so he could let me in.

"Today, Mr. Gregory didn't answer at all, so I was stuck downstairs, feeling helpless…"

That was strange. Because over the past month, the electronic lock on the front gate had clearly recorded swipes from that backup card.

I had bought this apartment—a spacious, single-level unit—entirely with my own money before Richard Gregory and I got married.

My work kept me busy, and I traveled often, so I had specifically hired Lydia to handle dinner and the cleaning.

At the time, there happened to be an extra access card for the front gate. I handed it to Richard, reminding him, "Lydia starts her trial tomorrow. Give her this card so she can come and go easily."

He took it with a gentle, reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, honey. I've got this covered."

But today, that card still wasn't with Lydia.

I logged into the electronic lock app. It showed that, over the past month, the card had been used seventeen times.

But both Richard and I used fingerprint unlocking—so who had been using it?

I was lost in thought when the door opened.

Richard had come home.

"Honey, Lydia was late today. She said she couldn't get in without the access card. Didn't I ask you to give it to her a month ago?" I asked casually, as if on a whim.

Richard, adjusting his tie, froze for a moment, then let out an awkward laugh.

"Ah… that. I was so busy back then, I must've forgotten. Don't even know where I put it. I'll look for it and give it to her as soon as I find it."

"Don't worry about it," I said calmly, putting down my magazine. "I'll report it lost to the property management tomorrow and have a new one issued. Otherwise, it's too inconvenient for her to get in and out."

"No!"

Richard spun around sharply, his voice rising several tones.

Seeing my confused expression, he quickly softened, walking over to drape an arm around my shoulders.

"What I mean is… it costs almost a hundred bucks for a replacement card. No need to waste money. It's definitely somewhere in the house. I'll search properly over the next couple of days—I'll find it.

"You work so hard, and finally get home after a long day. Don't let something this small bother you. See? You've been anxious these past few days again. Your face doesn't even look right."

"Doesn't it?" I asked.

"Does. You used to have chubby, rosy cheeks…"

With his playful teasing, I let the matter of the access card drop. But unease lingered in my chest.

That night, while he was in the shower, I picked up his phone.

The passcode hadn't changed—it was still my birthday.

His chat log was clean: no suspicious chats, and even his social media stories were set to three-day visibility.

I opened his shopping apps and scrolled through his order history; all ordinary household items.

Until I clicked on the "Archive Orders."

Among the hidden orders, I saw a necklace purchased a week ago.

The delivery address was his company, and the recipient's name read: Claudia Mankin.