I curled up on the company sofa waiting for Ayden Martin when I casually clicked into a video that was only a few seconds long.
A hand with distinct knuckles was hooked by slender fingertips in an utterly intimate way.
The caption read like the girl's soft murmur. "While the grown-ups discussed business, I quietly reached out to his hand. I didn't expect that he, who was rational and composed in work matters, couldn't stay rational with me."
I smiled and liked it. "Ayden, look at how girls these days love writing these CEO romance stories, claiming that presidents like you secretly hold hands during business talks. Is it real or fake?"
Ayden did not even lift his head and only said faintly, "Stop watching these."
I asked with my mouth, but in my heart I knew the Ayden I knew would never do that.
After five years of marriage, every time there was a social event he only pushed me into the lounge, let alone stage these idol drama scenes.
I lowered my head and suddenly noticed the watch on the hand in the video. A luxury watch.
The anniversary gift I gave Ayden was also the same luxury watch.
...
I nervously clicked into the girl's profile.
The pinned post was a blurred side-profile photo stitched together with the girl's selfie.
Even though the picture was blurred, I recognized Ayden at a glance.
I could not believe it.
But the faint scar on the knuckle I would never mistake.
Moreover, I knew better than anyone how strict Ayden's rules were.
In five years of marriage, even I had to knock and wait for his permission before entering the office.
Yet in the video, he let a strange woman hook his hand, breaking the principles he always followed.
I felt a bit short of breath.
"Ayden." I opened my mouth, wanting to ask if the person in the video was him, wanting to ask who the girl in the video was.
Before I could ask, Ayden's phone rang urgently.
He glanced at the caller ID, quickly walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and answered in a low voice.
After hanging up, he hurriedly grabbed his coat and headed out. "I have something to do. Heading out for a bit."
My heart sank sharply.
What kind of person was Ayden?
Leaving his post during work hours was simply unthinkable for him.
Yet now he left in a hurry because of one phone call.
He never acted like this.
I thought of the girl who hooked his hand in the video, whose profile was full of him, and suddenly connected it to this call.
I staggered to my feet, accidentally twisted my ankle, yet felt no pain.
I only wanted to follow Ayden.
I had to know who he was going to meet.
Outside the conference room, an unfamiliar ladies' perfume scent drilled into my nose.
His obsession with cleanliness meant that even if my perfume was a bit strong, he would frown and pull away.
Yet the scene before my eyes nailed my feet in place.
The girl who had just come out of the interview room, with makeup completely smudged, was crying in Ayden's arms.
The girl's slightly upturned eyes were exactly the same as in the video. I would not mistake them.
Her foundation smeared onto Ayden's expensive custom suit.
Yet he showed no disgust at all and instead raised his hand to gently pat her back.
That was the intimate gesture I had craved most since becoming Ayden's wife.
But apart from our monthly intercourse, Ayden never allowed me to get close.
I did not rush up to confront them and returned to the Martin home in a daze the whole way.
Ayden's mom, Sophia Martin, already waited in the living room.
I obediently pulled out the spending records from my bag, yet the scene from the office building kept flashing in my mind.
Sophia frowned and scolded me for which expenses were unnecessary.
I did not dare to retort and had no energy to retort.
In all these years at the Martin home, I had long grown used to this.
My thoughts did not matter, and even my spending had to be questioned one by one.
Yet even so, I still lived day by day.
I waited at home for Ayden to return, hoping he would give me even just one word of comfort.
But now I realized that Ayden treated me the same way.