“When?” I asked coldly. “Before or after your mother rewrote the will?”
He didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
I turned toward him slowly.
“Did you stay because you loved me… or because you realized leaving might cost you millions?”
“Claire—”
“Tell me the truth for once!”
He slammed the brakes at a red light.
“I made mistakes!”
“Mistakes?” My voice cracked. “For two years you lied to my face!”
People in nearby cars glanced toward us.
I didn’t care.
“I was unhappy,” he muttered weakly.
I stared at him in disbelief.
Unhappy.
That was his justification.
Not guilt.
Not remorse.
Just unhappiness.
“You should’ve left then,” I whispered.
His face tightened.
“I didn’t think you’d survive it.”
The words hit harder than the affair itself.
Because suddenly I realized something horrifying.
He didn’t just betray me.
He pitied me.
As though I were too fragile to handle the truth.
As though my entire existence depended on him.
He had no idea who I really was.
THE DISCOVERY THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING AGAIN
When we got home, I walked straight upstairs.
Daniel followed behind me nervously.
“Claire, please don’t do anything dramatic.”
I turned sharply.
“You mean like secretly cheating on your wife while stealing money?”
His silence answered for him.
I opened the closet and pulled down an old suitcase.
His face changed instantly.
“You’re leaving?”
“You already left,” I replied calmly. “You just forgot to tell me.”
Then something strange happened.
As I packed, I noticed Daniel becoming increasingly anxious.
Not emotional.
Not heartbroken.
Nervous.
He kept glancing toward the office downstairs.
Toward his desk.
A cold feeling settled in my stomach.
“What else are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
