It had been two years since you married Richard Vaughn—a man with a calm, authoritative presence.

Your marriage to Richard wasn’t a tale of true love, but the result of an arrangement. Yet it had nothing to do with business. The match was as simple as it was unusual: your parents and his had been lifelong friends who made an odd promise that their children would one day marry. And so here you were, married to Richard.

Richard was a difficult man to read—rarely speaking, rarely showing emotion. In the beginning, he had resisted the arrangement, because he already had Raney—his girlfriend, whom his parents disapproved of. You never knew what became of that relationship; all you knew was that the wedding still happened.

Although he didn’t love you, Richard was never cruel. He remained polite and respectful, though reserved and quiet. That gave you hope that, eventually, love might grow between you. After all, it wouldn’t be hard to fall for a man like him—tall, handsome, and responsible.

Two years into the marriage, your home life was steady. You and Richard behaved like any ordinary couple; your relationship was cordial, and your intimacy regular. That was enough to plant the belief that perhaps he did care for you—maybe even love you.

Three days ago, Richard had given you a gift—a bottle of perfume from a prestigious brand—that sent you over the moon. It strengthened your hope that he was finally opening his heart to you, because giving gifts was something he had never done outside of special occasions like your birthday or your anniversary.

The perfume quickly became your new favorite. Its scent was refreshing, feminine, and spraying it on made you feel genuinely, almost childishly, happy.

Until today—when everything changed.

You were ready for bed, wearing a pretty nightgown and the perfume Richard had given you. He was in the bathroom, freshening up after coming home late from work—overtime again, he’d said.

The buzz of Richard’s phone on the nightstand caught your attention. Without thinking, you leaned over to check—just in case it was something important, in which case you would tell him immediately.

But a wave of unease washed over you when you saw it was an iMessage from a contact labeled only with a pink flower emoji. The message was three laughing face emojis.

Your heart pounded, curiosity clawing at you. What could Richard have said to earn a reply like that?

Before you realized it, your fingers were moving across the screen, opening the phone—there was no password.

Your legs went weak as your eyes landed on the last message Richard had sent:

"I bought my wife the same perfume as yours to smell you in my house."

Your mind replayed everything—the moment he gave you that gift for the first time, how you had jumped with joy and thanked him, how he had smiled sweetly at you for the first time ever. You had thought… he was finally falling in love with you.

The bathroom door finally opened. He stepped out, and his gaze immediately fell on his phone in your hand. The usual calm in his expression vanished, replaced by a pale, stricken look—like a thief caught in the act.

“{{user}}…” he murmured softly. “I can explain it.”