Page 52 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

She’s still as beautiful as she used to be.

Maybe even more.

But beauty is deceptive.

I search her face for any trace of deceit. Something I missed before. A sign I should’ve seen.

But I see nothing.

Nothing except Valeria.

My Valeria.

Except she isn’t mine anymore.

She takes a step back. Her breathing quickens.

“This... this isn’t what you think.”

Pathetic.

And yet part of me — the stupid, stubborn part that refuses to let go — wants to believe her.

“What exactly do you think I believe?”

She lowers her eyes, unable to hold my gaze any longer.

“I just want to protect my research from the wrong hands.”

“Really?”

I push away from the sink and walk slowly toward her in the other room.

Every step takes a superhuman effort.

She must feel my rage, because she retreats with every step I take. Her back hits the glass. She stops and lifts a terrified face toward me.

Her phone starts ringing on the desk.

She shoots it a desperate glance.

“That your boyfriend downstairs? Don’t you want to answer it?”

She goes pale.

I see the exact moment she realizes she’s been completely exposed.

Her pupils dilate. Her breathing catches.

And from the look on her face, I also see the moment she decides to change tactics.

Exactly the way she used to during meetings whenever a project stalled.

I used to love that about her.

That sharp intelligence. That ability to adapt.

Now it makes me sick.