Traces Of Another Woman

I’d just returned to New York early from a business trip in Europe, and a surprise was waiting for me. My husband, Liam Miller, pulled me into his arms, poured two glasses of champagne, and told me he wanted us to unwind in the hot tub on our penthouse terrace.

Just as our lips met, my gaze drifted to the living room bar. A half-empty bottle of cheap rosé sat there—a wine he knew I detested.

Ice flooded my veins. The apartment was pristine, not a single thing out of place. But where Liam was careless, I was meticulous, especially with scents. A faint, unfamiliar trace of an expensive niche perfume clung to the air in the bathroom.

In that instant, I knew. Liam had cheated on me.

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1

"Has someone been here?" I asked, pulling away from his kiss. My gaze was fixed on that bottle of rosé. Though a cold dread spread through my chest, my voice remained steady.

Liam followed my gaze, and the color drained from his face. He stammered, "Oh, uh, Dylan came over to crash. You were away, and I was bored out of my mind, so I invited him over for a few drinks."

The lie struck me like a physical blow, sapping all my strength. Dylan Shaw was his best friend. Only yesterday, I'd seen Dylan's posts from his vacation in California. Liam was lying through his teeth.

"Go run the bath," I said, gently pushing him back. "I'll start on dinner."

He bit his lip, panic flickering in his eyes. "Darling, you're not mad, are you?"

The nerve. He was the one with the guilty conscience, yet he was acting like I had the problem.

Seeing my expression, he added quickly, forcing a smile. "It's nothing. I know you're tired from your trip. I'll go run the water."

He leaned over and gave me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. But as he leaned in, I caught a glimpse of a telltale bite mark on his collarbone, peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

It was all the confirmation I needed. I turned away, my hand trembling as I wiped his kiss from my face.

We had been married for five years. Everyone considered me the luckiest woman alive for marrying a man as handsome and talented as Liam. No one knew I’d deliberately put the brakes on my own career's global expansion just to soothe his ego.

He claimed the distance made him insecure, and I’d believed him. I even offered to bring him to Europe to expand the business with me. He'd refused, insisting his career in New York was just taking off and that he didn't want to feel like a kept man.

Only now did I see the truth. It wasn't his career he was afraid of leaving; it was his lover.

The sound of running water drifted from the bathroom. His phone, left on the bar, lit up. A message preview from "V.R. ️" flashed across the screen.

I was about to reach for it when the bathroom door was yanked open. Liam shot out, snatched the phone, and clumsily shoved it into his pocket, hiding it from my view.

I just stared at him, clad in nothing but a loosely tied bath towel. A bitter laugh rose in my throat. He avoided my eyes.

"It's just work," he said, his voice trembling with guilt. "Some project consultant who's always bugging me. I'm getting back in the shower. Hurry up with dinner, I'm starving."

He turned and retreated into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

I calmly picked up his laptop and used facial recognition to unlock it. The screen flared to life, and I quickly found a private cloud drive. It was filled with photos of him and the woman labeled "V.R. ️"—intimate snapshots from his so-called "business trips" that made my stomach churn.

The messages, laid bare, were a gut punch.

That was close. My wife almost found out. Liam had written.

Victoria’s reply was brazen. What’s the big deal? You said it would be more thrilling in our bed anyway.

You little devil, he’d responded. You’re turning me on again.

My blood boiled. I pressed the copy button, my fingers turning white from the force of it. But as more emails and photos downloaded, I stopped.

This wasn't enough. This alone wouldn't destroy them.

Their exchanges grew more and more graphic. I silently pulled out my own phone and began recording the screen, capturing everything. Then I opened the woman's social media profile.

It was someone I knew. Victoria Reed. She was Liam's superior, a star architect, and a frequent business partner of my own company.

I scrolled through their emails, pinpointing the day their affair began. Three months. They had been doing this for three months.

The bathroom door creaked open. I snapped the laptop shut and set it back on the bar.

Liam walked out, his face flushed, his eyes flickering with a mixture of nerves and guilt. He looked like he wanted to say something, but seemed to think better of it.

"Go get dressed," I said coolly. "Dinner will be ready soon."

He nodded and scurried toward the bedroom. As we passed each other, I allowed myself a small, cold smile.

Enjoy your last supper, Liam.