Chapter 2

Cynthia's fingers trembled slightly as she forced herself to stay calm. Then, she tapped the message open. The contact had no name, and the chat history was empty—except for that one message. However, the profile picture… It felt hauntingly similar. Quickly, she grabbed her own phone and compared the image. It was her—Melissa Johnson, her sister. Cynthia froze in shock, her face turning ghostly pale. Melissa had been adopted by the Johnson family. Her mother, Lily Jones, had once worked for them as a household staff member. She had died saving Cynthia from drowning in the lake. After the accident, Luke discovered that Lily had left behind a daughter. Out of guilt and gratitude, he brought her into the family and raised her as his own. The girl had been renamed Melissa Johnson. "Why, Melissa? Why would you betray me? Oliver's your brother-in-law." Cynthia sent the message. The reply came instantly. "You finally found out, my dear sister. I've been waiting for this day. If you want to know the truth, meet me tomorrow at noon. High Street Cafe, next to the company. I'll see you there." After deleting the conversation, Cynthia carefully placed the phone back on Oliver's pillow. Oliver stirred, woken by the slight movement. Half-asleep, he instinctively grabbed the phone and asked, "Sweetheart, why are you still awake?" His guarded look pricked at her heart. Feigning calmness, she pointed at the phone and answered casually, "Your phone buzzed. Woke me up." That snapped him into full awareness. "Probably just spam mail. I'm going to the bathroom. Go back to sleep, okay?" Cynthia closed her eyes, listening. From the bathroom came the faint sound of his voice, low and hurried. Then came the quiet rustle of clothes. The door opened… and closed. He was gone. She didn't need to guess where he went. Her heart shattered under the weight of betrayal. Tears spilled silently from the corners of her eyes, soaking into the pillow one drop at a time. Then, her phone buzzed. It was from Melissa. "Cynthia, geez, Oliver's stamina is insane. Are you not satisfying him at home or what? He went three rounds with me and still wasn't done. Want to know what he says about you? He says you're like a dead fish in bed—can't even roll over without his help. "I, on the other hand, know how to let myself go. I give him the kind of pleasure you never could. I was nearly worn out. If it weren't for the baby I'm carrying, he probably would've kept going. Oops, forgot to mention—yeah, I'm pregnant. Three months now. With your dear husband's child." Each message hit Cynthia like a hammer to her chest, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her face turned deathly pale. Another message came in. This time, it was a photo. She stared at it in a daze. Oliver, kneeling, kissing Melissa's slightly rounded belly with tenderness. The image was so warm and so natural that it looked like a scene from a fairytale. She always thought Oliver didn't want kids. He'd promised her they would be child-free for life, but now she understood. It wasn't that he didn't want children. He just didn't want them with her. Cynthia felt like her blood had gone cold, causing her to remain rooted on the spot. … Oliver didn't come home that night. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at their wedding photo, unable to sleep. Only in the early hours of the morning did she finally lie down and close her eyes for a short rest. "Sleepyhead, breakfast is ready." Oliver's gentle voice woke her. He was wearing an apron with little bears on it, his expression soft, eyes filled with affection. For a split second, Cynthia wondered whether last night had just been a terrible dream. Maybe he was still the loving husband she thought she had. Then, another message from Melissa brought her crashing to reality. "Don't forget. High Street Café. Be there or be square." "Who are you meeting for coffee?" Oliver asked, curiosity sparking in his eyes as he leaned in. "Just a friend," Cynthia replied quickly, dodging further questions by changing the subject. "What did you make? I'm starving." "Your favorite—sunny-side-up eggs." … After breakfast, Oliver walked her out to the car, reluctant to see her leave. "Are you sure you don't want me to take you?" "You've got that important meeting today, right? The driver can take me. I'll be fine." "Alright. Call me if you need anything." "I will." As the car pulled away from the villa, Cynthia sat in silence, her eyes unfocused. Did Oliver ever really love her at all?