Chapter 2

The following evening, Julian walked through the front door and set a bakery box on the counter.

"Babe, you must be tired. I brought you some cake."

I stepped aside to dodge his hug and pointed toward the dining table.

"Let's eat first. I made your favorite glazed ribs."

He didn't notice anything off. Or rather, he simply didn't care enough to look.

He sat down, chatting casually about office politics while chewing his food.

I listened quietly, offering a polite nod here and there.

"By the way, babe," he said casually, "Mom's 60th birthday party is next Saturday. Get ready for it, and don't forget to pick out a nice gift."

"Okay," I agreed, then added offhandedly, "Is Chloe coming?"

He froze for a second, his eyes shifting nervously. "Chloe? Why would she come? She's just an outsider."

I met his gaze and didn't call him out.

He had no idea I had already spoken with his mother yesterday.

On the phone, my mother-in-law had gleefully bragged about taking in a sweet "goddaughter."

Sweet-talking and obedient—Chloe Vance from Apt 301.

His mother told me she insisted on having Chloe attend the party so she could officially introduce her to the entire family.

Before hanging up, she even made sure to take a passive-aggressive jab at me:

"Stella, you're a mother of two now. Stop obsessing over your career."

"Learn a thing or two from Chloe on how to keep your husband happy."

Over the next few days, Julian continued working as a project manager at a mid-sized construction supply firm, constantly boasting about late-night networking and his impending promotion to VP.

I had always pretended to believe him, thinking he was busting his back for our family, so I never pried into his job.

He didn't ask about my work, and I didn't ask about his. That was our unspoken arrangement.

I continued cooking three meals a day, cleaning the house, and helping the kids with homework.

I even volunteered to handle all the catering and decorations for his mother's birthday bash.

Julian was thrilled. He even helped dry the dishes for once.

He wrapped his arms around me and purred, "Babe, you're finally turning into the perfect matriarch."

With my back to him, scrubbing the counter, the roaring sound of running water drowned out the cold sneer on my face. He genuinely thought I was an absolute idiot.

He had no idea that during my remote work hours, I was handling multi-million-dollar corporate cases, earning five times his annual salary.

I had already hired a private investigator to capture high-definition footage and photos of every single encounter between him and Chloe over the last three years.

He thought I was bending over backward for his family. In reality, I was finalizing the closing arguments for his execution.

Friday night, as I prepped ingredients in the kitchen for the party, Julian hugged me from behind and rested his chin on my shoulder.

"Thanks for working so hard, babe. After Mom's birthday, I'll take you and the kids on a nice vacation."

His breath brushed against my ear, carrying the scent of fresh body wash. It made my stomach churn with disgust.

I vividly remembered the photo my investigator had sent earlier that afternoon.

Just yesterday, he had held Chloe from behind in that exact same posture while picking out jewelry at Cartier.

"Sounds good." I turned off the faucet, turned around, and looked at him calmly. "Where do you want to go?"

"Wherever your heart desires," he promised with deep affection.

I smiled.

Only hours earlier, I had received a taunting text from an unknown number—sent by Chloe:

"Stella, Julian told me he despises how cold and boring you are."

"He said every single day with you feels like serving a prison sentence."

Julian, tomorrow, I'll show you what a real prison looks like.