Chapter 3

The evasiveness continued.

"Just a tough client," Sarah would say, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

"Long hours, you know how it is."

I knew I couldn't investigate this myself. I was too close, too emotional.

I found a private investigator online. His name was Arthur Jenkins, ex-cop, good reviews.

We met in a sterile coffee shop downtown.

I showed him the printout of the forum page, the photo. I didn't tell him it was my wife. Just a "person of interest."

"Find out who she is, what she's doing, who she's meeting," I said, my voice flat.

Jenkins looked at the photo, then at me. His eyes were shrewd.

"This kind of thing... it gets messy," he warned.

"I know," I said. "Just find out. I need to know in a week."

The week was agony.

Every interaction with Sarah was strained. I saw suspicion in every word, every gesture.

She noticed my distraction.

"Michael, are you okay? You seem... distant."

"Just stressed with work," I lied, the words tasting like ash.

Meanwhile, I kept checking The Clean Slate Forum.

"Chad_Admin" was active, arrogant.

He posted about "reeling in fresh talent," how this new girl was "eager."

He mentioned "testing her loyalty soon."

A new, more demanding task.

Blackmail.

The words chilled me to the bone.

Was Sarah a victim? Was she being coerced?

The thought offered a sliver of hope, a way to reconcile the Sarah I knew with the woman in the photo.

But the locket... she wouldn't wear that if she was being forced, would she? Unless it was taken from her.

The PI called on the seventh day. "I have something. Meet me."

My heart pounded.

We met at the same coffee shop. Jenkins slid a manila envelope across the table.

Inside were photographs.

Sarah. Unmistakably Sarah.

She was meeting a younger man. Tall, dark hair, dressed like a college student.

They were outside a cheap motel on the edge of town, the kind with hourly rates.

One photo showed them going into a room together.

The date stamp was three days ago.

The air left my lungs.

This wasn't just an online thing. This was real. Physical.

The PI' s voice was gentle. "The man's name is David Miller. College student, cybersecurity major. No priors. They met twice at this motel. Stayed about an hour each time."

An affair.

The word exploded in my mind, eclipsing the forum, the locket, everything.

It was a simpler, more brutal explanation.

The freelance project, the late nights, the secrecy.

It all clicked into place, a sickeningly perfect picture of betrayal.

The forum... was that part of it? Or something else entirely?

I felt hollowed out.

"Is that all?" I managed to ask.

"For now," Jenkins said. "Do you want me to continue?"

I shook my head, paid him, and left.

The photos felt like lead in my hands.

Sarah. And David.

The motel.

The world tilted.