When I married Nathan Wittrock, he was just a kid with empty pockets. Five years into our marriage, his startup took off, making him the new darling of the tech world. I thought our struggles were finally over, that we had finally made it. But then one night, I saw him walking into a hotel, his arm wrapped around his young female assistant. "Let's get a divorce." The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. Nathan just stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. "Chloe, are you out of your mind? A divorce? You worked so hard to plant this tree, and now you want to let some other woman enjoy the shade?" 1 I’d been away on a business trip for three months, and when I came home, Nathan’s welcome was nothing short of fiery. My arms were looped around his neck, his slick sweat dappling my skin as we moved together. We were lost in the moment when his phone, sitting on the nightstand, began to vibrate, a harsh buzz cutting through the quiet intimacy of the room. My eyes fluttered open, laced with annoyance. "Who in the world is calling this late?" Nathan's expression didn't flicker. With a practiced smoothness, he reached over and silenced the screen. "Just a spam call, probably." But the caller was relentless. The phone buzzed again, and again. Without even a glance, Nathan kept rejecting the calls, his thumb jabbing at the screen until, with a final, exasperated sigh, he switched the phone off completely. He let out a sharp "tsk," the sound cutting through the air, and planted a restless kiss on my cheek. "Sorry, babe," he murmured, his voice a low hum. "That kind of killed the mood." He propped himself up, his eyes locking with mine. "You've been traveling for weeks, you must be exhausted. Why don't you get some rest? I'll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise." He held me tight, his embrace as warm and familiar as ever, whispering sweet nothings just like he always did. And even though our moment was cut short, a warmth spread through my chest. We had been married for five years, and all our friends called us the perfect couple. While I was away, he had been the model husband, calling three times a day, without fail, just to report his whereabouts. Sometimes, when work was overwhelming, I’d tell him he was being clingy. He would whine playfully, accusing me of forgetting all about my poor husband the second I left town, calling me a heartless woman. It was childish and ridiculous, so unlike the composed, commanding CEO he was at work. But I always fell for it. His antics always knew how to soothe me. After cuddling for a while longer, I slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a shower. When I came back, wrapped in a towel, I found Nathan dressed to go out, adjusting his hair in the mirror. "You're not going out, are you? It's the middle of the night," I asked, surprise coloring my tone. "Emergency at the office," he said, turning to give me a quick peck on the cheek. "I have to go handle it. You go to sleep, Chlo. Be good." But I couldn't sleep. My rest was fitful, and in the dead of night, I finally heard the front door click open. Nathan was back. He was drunk, stumbling, leaning heavily on a young woman. She was tall and slender, with sharp features softened by a sweet, gentle smile. "You must be Chloe," she said, her voice smooth. "I'm Faye, Mr. Wittrock's assistant. He had a bit too much to drink, so I brought him home." She started to guide him toward the living room. "He likes to lie on the couch for a bit when he feels sick. Could you... move aside, please? I'll help him over." I froze. The last I knew, Nathan’s assistant was a man in his thirties—a capable professional who handled everything from driving to deflecting unwanted drinks at business dinners. He'd never let Nathan come home in this state. When had he hired a young girl? Shoving my doubts down, I helped Faye settle Nathan onto the couch. "I'm so sorry about this," Faye said, her face a perfect picture of sincerity and guilt. "It's my fault. I'm not a good drinker, and Mr. Wittrock was covering for me. If it weren't for me, he wouldn't have gotten this drunk…" I looked at her, then at Nathan, passed out on the sofa. A chill crept into my heart. Nathan was a demanding boss, known for his iron-fisted, ruthless management style. And he'd taken drinks for a junior assistant? How… considerate. I nodded curtly at Faye. "It's late. You should get home and rest. Thank you for tonight." She hesitated. "Chloe… I mean, Mrs. Wittrock… he must be feeling awful. His stomach will be in knots. Should I… maybe make him some honey water?" Honey water? I'm allergic to honey. There isn't a single drop of it in this house. Before I could even speak, Faye was already heading toward the kitchen, moving with an unnerving familiarity. Interesting. I crossed my arms and waited. I was curious to see what other surprises Faye had in store for me. Sure enough, she returned holding a small jar of honey. With swift, practiced movements, she mixed the drink, walked over to the couch, and knelt down beside Nathan, her posture strikingly natural, ready to spoon-feed the honey water to him. I almost had to laugh. The girl had guts. She moved around another woman's home as if she owned the place, more the lady of the house than I was. The spoon was just touching Nathan's lips when Faye seemed to remember I was there. She shot up, a blush spreading across her cheeks as she looked at me with wide, apologetic eyes. "Oh my God, Chloe, I'm so sorry! I completely forgot you were here. It's just... I'm so used to taking care of him when he's had too much to drink. It's second nature. Please don't get the wrong idea." I wasn't about to lose my temper over a girl like her. I just smiled. "So, Nathan's been drinking a lot on business dinners these past few months while I've been away?" Faye looked deeply ashamed. "I'm so sorry, it's all my fault. I have a sensitive stomach and can't handle alcohol, so Mr. Wittrock always steps in for me…" Right, right. I get it. Your boss is so good to you. He hired a useless assistant who can't do her job and, in fact, needs him to cover for her. You must be his precious little darling. The whole charade was exhausting. After I finally managed to get Faye out the door, I stood there, just looking at Nathan slumped on the couch. There was no denying he was handsome. Sharp, chiseled features. The lean frame of his youth had filled out, giving him the solid, commanding presence of a successful man. The kind of man who would naturally attract attention. The broke kid nobody believed in had transformed into a dashing tech mogul. Money has always been a powerful lure, and he had the looks to go with it. It was only natural that women would want him, would fantasize about him. I sighed and began to peel off his clothes. "Chlo, my head hurts… I feel sick…" he mumbled, wrapping his arms around my waist and nuzzling into me like a child. I gently pushed him off and pulled at his last remaining sock. My hands stopped cold. The sock was inside out. Nathan had a mild form of OCD. Everything in his life, from the way he dressed to the files on his desk, was meticulously organized, flawlessly neat. I used to tease him about being so rigid. He would just smile and say, "Rules create efficiency. They save time, save energy." And now, this man of rules and order had put a sock on inside out. 2 The next morning, the sun rose as it always did. Except for a wine-stained suit in the laundry hamper, it was as if last night had never happened. During breakfast, Nathan was glued to his phone, a constant tap-tap-tap of his thumbs as he replied to messages. My husband, I thought with a strange sense of detachment, was in love. The smile on his face was so genuinely sweet. It was a deep, uncontainable joy—the kind I remembered from when we first fell for each other. It used to be that if I so much as glanced at my phone at the table, he would snatch it away, complaining that we were both too busy and should cherish our mornings together. Three months. That's all it took for him to forget his own rules. I said nothing, just sat down and started eating. Breakfast was important. Someone else’s love affair wasn’t going to stop me from enjoying my meal. Perhaps sensing the charged silence, Nathan finally looked up from his screen, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "Hey, you're quiet today. Who got on your bad side?" I hadn't decided how to handle this yet, but his question pushed me over the edge. I decided to just lay it all out. "Who was the girl who brought you home last night?" He didn't even look up, just locked his phone and flipped it facedown on the table. "Oh, you mean Faye?" he said, his voice breezy. "She's the new assistant." "How come you never mentioned her?" He sounded almost pouty. "You're always so busy. I can never get a word in when we talk on the phone." A small, humorless smile touched my lips. "So you hired an assistant who can't drink? One you have to cover for at business dinners?" "She's just a kid," Nathan said, a defensive edge to his voice. "Fresh out of college. What does she know about drinking?" "Exactly," I pressed. "That's what I'm curious about. Why hire a young girl for that role?" Nathan’s brows knitted together for a second before he broke into a laugh. "Honey, you're not getting jealous, are you? Faye told me what happened last night. She brought me home once before when I got drunk, and that's when she bought the honey. Don't overthink it." Everything he said sounded logical, reasonable. If I pushed any further, I’d be the one who was being petty and insecure. I lowered my head and focused on my oatmeal, dropping the subject. Nathan slid his chair closer, leaning in to kiss my cheek. "Sweetheart, I have to go to Chicago the day after tomorrow. Could you help me pack?" "The day after tomorrow? That's so sudden," I said, frowning. Thinking I was upset, he wrapped his arms around me, swaying gently. "It's a huge client, really important. I have to be there." "Don't be mad, Chloe," he cooed. "I know it's sudden, but with a client this big, you can't say no. When I get back, we'll take a proper vacation, just the two of us." I let him think he had won me over. Truthfully, I was relieved. A little space from him was exactly what I needed. Whether something was really going on with him and Faye was still uncertain. Sometimes, tearing down the veil only makes things messier. I needed time. I needed to know for sure. Later, while Nathan was showering, I found myself half-heartedly packing his suitcase. My hand brushed against a small, round bottle. I let out a hiss of pain as a sharp edge pricked my finger. Picking it up, I saw it was a bottle of stomach medication. But Nathan had always been as strong as an ox, his digestive system ironclad. Had all that drinking recently taken a toll on him? Nathan emerged from the bathroom, toweling his damp hair while casually asking me to pack a few extra pairs of underwear. "Nathan," I said, holding up the bottle, my voice tight with manufactured concern. "What's wrong with your stomach?" He blinked, then a grin spread across his face. "What are you thinking, you silly girl? My stomach's fine. It's just a precaution. Big clients mean big dinners." I looked down, hiding the storm of emotion brewing in my eyes. Just last night, Faye had told me she had a sensitive stomach. "This is for Faye, isn't it?" I asked, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. He met my gaze without flinching. "Yeah. The kid can be a bit careless. I was worried she'd forget her meds and end up in trouble." Oh, how thoughtful. Taking drinks for his assistant, packing medicine for her. What was next? Tucking her into bed? The image of the inside-out sock flashed in my mind, a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. For all I knew, he was already tucking her into bed. "Faye's a fresh graduate," I said, my voice dangerously low. "No experience, no real skills to speak of. Why are you taking her to meet a major client? Wouldn't your secretary or the director of marketing be a better choice?" My question hung in the air. "She needs to see the world, get a feel for the market. It'll be good experience," Nathan said, his patience wearing thin. "Everyone has to start somewhere. Chloe, why are you so hostile towards her? I already told you, we're just colleagues." Colleagues? I wanted to laugh. I really, really wanted to laugh. Nathan had countless brilliant, capable people working under him, and I'd never seen him be this "considerate" to any of them. He really thought I was a fool. Two years of dating, five years of marriage. Was this it? Was our seven-year itch finally here? In all our years together, I had never once checked up on Nathan. He was an open book, always telling me where he was going. I never had a reason to doubt him. I thought our bond was unbreakable. For the first time ever, late at night, while my husband was away on business, I dialed his number. I was half-expecting him not to answer. But the voice that came through the line wasn't his. "Hello, Mrs. Wittrock." It was Faye. Her voice was syrupy sweet, but it lacked the timidity she’d shown at my house. Now, it dripped with a newfound confidence. "Where's Nathan? Put him on the phone," I said, my voice shaking with a fury I could barely contain.
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