Chapter 5

I let out a soft laugh, like he'd asked something silly.

"My friend Katherine wants to go to Europe. Her passport expired, so she asked me about the renewal process. You know how clueless she is about that stuff."

The tone was light, natural. Not a trace of a lie. Four years of marriage had taught me at least one thing—how to keep smiling in front of the sharks.

Nico's expression relaxed immediately, even looked a little sheepish. "Sorry, baby. For a second there I thought you were planning to leave me."

The wives at the next table cast envious glances.

Look how devoted Nico is to her. So touching.

I hid my cold smile behind my wine glass.

To the outside world, we were still the perfect couple. The most powerful pair in Chicago. What bullshit.

Ten-thirty. The gala ended.

When the dining room was nearly empty, Nico leaned close, reaching to hold me. "Tonight was perfect."

A wave of mixed scents hit me.

Cigars. Expensive whiskey. And—

That damn cheap vanilla body spray.

Tiffany's scent.

That sickeningly sweet smell was wafting from his collar, his cuffs.

He hadn't even bothered to clean up. Maybe he didn't even know he reeked of her. Like a dog that rolled in garbage and thought it smelled like roses.

My stomach heaved again. Harder than before.

I shoved him away, covered my mouth, and ran toward the bathroom.

"Olivia? Baby?" He followed, voice full of concern.

I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet, retching violently. My stomach was empty, but bitter bile and uncontrollable rage kept surging up.

"What's wrong? Seafood allergy?" He knelt beside me, trying to help. "Or too much wine?"

His smell. Her smell. It washed over me again.

Another wave of nausea.

"Don't... don't touch me!" I pushed him away, my whole body trembling.

"Is it the smoke smell on me?" He frowned. "Sorry, I smoked a few cigars during the meeting."

Hearing that lie, the fire inside me finally exploded.

I slowly stood up, splashed cold water on my face, and met his eyes in the mirror. He stood there, looking innocently concerned, like he really didn't know what he'd done wrong.

"Cigars?" My voice came out low, almost feral. "You know damn well what this is!"

Nico froze.

He'd never seen me lose control like this.

"Olivia, what are you talking about?"

I realized I'd gone too far, forced myself to calm down. "Nothing. Just a stomachache."

The next morning, Nico insisted on taking me to the hospital.

After the examination, the doctor said, "The symptoms suggest stress-related gastritis. Usually caused by emotional distress or pressure. Has Mrs. Moretti been under any particular stress lately?"

Nico frowned. "No. We had a lovely day yesterday."

"Hmm. Possibly seasonal. I'll prescribe some stomach medication."

Nico's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen. His expression tightened. "Sorry. Important call."

"Go ahead," I said flatly.

He stepped into the hallway to answer. I heard his lowered voice: "What? Now? No, I'm with my wife at the hospital... Fine. I understand."

He came back, apologetic. "Baby, I'm really, truly sorry. My men need to deliver some important documents. I have to go downstairs and pick them up. Five minutes, I promise."

"Go ahead." I nodded.

After he left, I walked to the window.

Pretended to be looking at the view. My eyes locked on the street below.

A few minutes later, I spotted Nico.

But he wasn't waiting for any documents at the entrance.

He crossed the street quickly and walked straight into the building across the way—

A private obstetrics and gynecology clinic.

I watched him disappear through the door.

The rage was replaced by a cold, numb relief. So that's how it is. A child on the way. How efficient.

My phone vibrated.

A text from the unknown number.

"Sorry, Mrs. Moretti. Looks like he can't be with you today. All I have to do is make one phone call, and he comes running like a dog."

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