1 At the very bottom of his leather gym bag, buried beneath the dirty towels, I found a strip of pink lace. I held the thin string, which was embellished with cheap pink sequins, and let it dangle right in front of Conrad’s face. “Care to explain what this is?” He didn’t even blink. “It’s a promotional giveaway from the tennis club. I must have grabbed the wrong bag by mistake. Stop being so paranoid.” A second later, his phone rang from an unknown number. I pressed the speaker button before he could reach it. A woman’s voice filtered through the line, dripping with mockery. “Echo, darling, your husband tells me your taste in lingerie is about as exciting as a discount rack at a local flea market. I’m sending you one of my gently worn pairs, just so you can take notes and learn how to please him.” Conrad snatched the phone, stabbing the screen to cut the call, his face turning an angry shade of crimson. The woman on the line was Kate, the head tennis coach at the elite Skyline Club. She was also the trophy wife of the billionaire who owned the entire establishment. Conrad shoved the phone back into his pocket, tugging at the collar of his tight shirt. “Don’t listen to her, she’s just joking around. She’s an important client, Echo. She’s just a bit wild and unfiltered.” I stared at the compression shirt he wore, which was meticulously designed to show off his sculpted chest and shoulders. “A client? A client who somehow knows my exact underwear size? A client who leaves her personal belongings in your gym bag?” “Echo, must you be so incredibly narrow-minded?” Conrad pushed past me with an irritated sigh, heading toward the foyer to put on his shoes. “I spend every single day networking, trying to please these wealthy socialites just to keep my head above water. If I don’t embed myself in their circle, are you going to help me hit my sales quotas next quarter?” I looked down at the limited-edition tennis shoes he had recently purchased. “So your idea of high-society networking is wearing skin-tight gear to play private matches with other men’s wives?” “What do you know about it?” Conrad let out a cold sneer, his voice laced with condescension. “It’s called elite socializing. You spend your entire life cooped up in that dusty architectural design firm, with nothing in your head but blueprints and grocery lists. We don’t even have a single thing in common anymore.” He pulled the front door open, stepping halfway out into the corridor. “I won’t be back this weekend. The club is hosting a private, closed-door training retreat at the Crestview Resort upstate.” I rushed after him, grabbing the heavy strap of his tennis bag. “Conrad, we haven’t been intimate in three months. I can count the number of times you’ve actually slept in our bed on one hand.” He spun around, looking at my hand on his bag with sheer disgust. “Echo, can you please learn to control your basic physical urges? I am absolutely exhausted from playing tennis all day. I simply do not have the energy to satisfy you.” He pointed a finger at the calendar hanging on the refrigerator. Several small circles were scattered sparsely across the grid. “We agreed on the rules: once a month, maximum. You already used up your turn last week. Stop clawing at me like a starved animal.” The heavy security door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the empty apartment. I stood in the silence, the rough texture of the bag strap still burning in the palm of my hand. Five years ago, when we first married, he wasn’t like this. Back then, he had run through a freezing rainstorm across the city just to bring me hot pastries from a bakery I had casually mentioned. I didn’t know exactly when the tennis racket had replaced me, or when those wealthy women in their short skirts had become the vital connections he claimed to despise yet chased so relentlessly. The coldness at home began to bleed into my professional life. By Friday evening, our design team was hosting a celebratory dinner. We had just secured a massive contract with Vanguard Holdings, the industry giant, and everyone was in high spirits. As the drinks flowed, the atmosphere in the private dining room grew rowdy. A few of the younger interns insisted on playing a game of Truth or Dare. The empty wine bottle spun rapidly on the marble tabletop, finally slowing down to point directly at me. “Echo, truth or dare?” Hailey, one of the junior assistants, gave me a mischievous nudge. Even Dominic, the reclusive billionaire owner of our design firm, was present tonight. He sat at the head of the table, silently swirling a glass of deep red wine, his expression unreadable. “Truth,” I replied, rubbing my temples to ward off a headache. “You and Conrad have been married for several years now, right?” Hailey asked, leaning in with a grin. “How many times a week are you guys actually getting it on?” The moment the question was uttered, several married male colleagues began to chuckle and cheer. “Hailey, that’s a silly question. Echo’s husband is practically a gym rat, look at his physique. They must be doing it daily!” “Exactly! No wonder Echo always looks so focused, she must be very well taken care of at home.” Under the table, my fingers gripped the fabric of my dress so tightly my knuckles turned white. How many times a week? I couldn’t even remember the last time I had seen him walk around our bedroom without a shirt on. “He’s been very busy with a major project lately,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral. “We’re both just exhausted.” Camille, the deputy director who had always viewed me as a threat, let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Busy? Busy working late, or busy serving someone else?” “Echo, you really need to keep a tighter leash on him,” she continued, her eyes glittering with malice. “Young girls these days love fit, handsome men like your husband. You wouldn’t want him getting fed so well outside that he has nothing left for you at home.” “Watch your mouth, Camille,” I said, my voice dropping to a cold whisper. “Oh, come on, it was just a joke! Why are you getting so defensive? Unless, of course, I hit a nerve?” She covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter. At the head of the table, Dominic set his glass down. The heavy crystal clacked against the marble, the sharp sound instantly silencing the room. “That is enough,” Dominic said, his voice quiet but carrying an immense weight. “Echo’s architectural drafts for the Vanguard project were flawless. If you have so much free time to analyze her marriage, perhaps you should spend the weekend re-evaluating next week’s budget sheets.” The dining room went completely still. Camille’s face flushed red, and she quickly looked down, not daring to utter another syllable. I picked up the shot glass of neat tequila in front of me and swallowed it in one gulp, letting the burning liquid scorch its way down to my stomach. By the time the dinner ended, the alcohol had settled heavily in my limbs. The cool night air hit me, making the world spin. I leaned against a cold lamppost, retching until there was nothing left but bile. A hand appeared in my line of sight, holding a cool, wet wipe. “Thank you,” I muttered, wiping my mouth before looking up. Dominic stood beside me, his dark coat draped over his shoulders as he opened the door of his sleek black sedan. “Get in. I’m driving you home.” His tone was quiet, leaving no room for argument. I sat stiffly in the passenger seat, the cabin filled with the faint, soothing scent of rich agarwood, a welcome relief from the stale cigarette smoke of the restaurant. “Mr. Dominic, I’m sorry for the trouble,” I whispered, shrinking back into the leather seat. Dominic started the engine, the luxury watch on his wrist catching the dim glow of the dashboard. “Does your husband play tennis at the Skyline Club?” he asked suddenly. I blinked, staring at his sharp profile. “How did you know?” “Because I own it,” Dominic replied, a faint, cynical smile touching his lips. “And Kate is my wife.” The revelation felt like a physical blow to my chest, instantly burning away the lingering fog of the alcohol. “Mr. Dominic, I…” “What are you going to say? That they are just a dedicated coach and an enthusiastic member?” Dominic pulled the car over to the curb, turning his head to look at me. “Your husband spent two hours in my wife’s private locker room last week. When the housekeeping staff went in to deliver fresh towels, they found the door unlocked.” I gripped my seatbelt, my knuckles turning white. “Since you knew, why didn’t you stop them?” “Because I need bulletproof evidence,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper. “Evidence that will allow my lawyers to strip her of every single penny of my fortune in the divorce.” He leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against my ear. “So, Echo, do you want to play the part of the humiliated, silent wife, or do you want to partner with me and leave them both with absolutely nothing?” I looked into his dark eyes. There was no anger there, only the cold, calculated precision of a businessman. “What do you need me to do?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Dominic smiled, his finger gently brushing against my cheek before lingering on my lower lip. “A great many things. To start, you will accompany me to the resort retreat this weekend.” When I finally entered my apartment, the lights were off. I stepped out of my shoes, preparing to wash up, when I heard low, muffled voices coming from the balcony of the master bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, the only illumination coming from the blue glow of a phone screen reflecting off Conrad’s face. He was wearing nothing but gym shorts, leaning back in his chair with an excited, breathless grin. “She found the lace thong you left,” Conrad whispered into the phone, letting out a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry about it, I made up a quick excuse and she bought it. That stupid woman doesn’t know any better.” “Is the private pool villa booked for the weekend? Perfect. Make sure to bring those short tennis skirts, babe. I love the way they look on you.” “Alright, I have to go, she’ll be back soon. Love you, bye.” He hung up, humming a cheerful tune as he stood up to head toward the bathroom. I stood in the shadows, staring at his broad, muscular back. The anger that had simmered in my chest for months suddenly went cold, replaced by a deep, hollow indifference. I stepped into the room, flipping the light switch. Conrad jumped, startled, clutching his chest as he stared at me from the bathroom doorway. “Do you have to sneak around like a ghost? You nearly gave me a heart attack!” “Who were you talking to?” I asked, my voice entirely flat. “A client, they were asking about project deadlines. I told you I’m incredibly busy.” He avoided my gaze, turning to walk into the bathroom. “Does your client usually call you ‘babe’?” I followed him, blocking the doorway. Conrad’s face darkened instantly. “Echo, are you losing your mind? That was Mr. Harrison, the director of the club. He’s fifty years old and calls everyone ‘babe’ as a joke. Are you really going to interrogate me over this?” “And the perfume on your shirt? Chanel Chance. Does Mr. Harrison wear that too?” I pointed to the dirty shirt sitting in the hamper. Conrad snatched the shirt, tossing it violently into the washing machine. “That’s Coach Kate’s perfume. We play close matches, a little scent rub-off is completely normal. You are acting like a paranoid lunatic. I can’t stand being in this house for another second!” He slammed the bathroom door shut, the sound rattling the frame. I looked at the closed door, a dry laugh escaping my throat. How had I ever convinced myself that this man was reliable and ambitious? He was nothing more than a cheap opportunist, willing to discard every ounce of his dignity to climb into a world where he didn’t belong. On Saturday morning, Conrad woke up early. He stood before the mirror, meticulously styling his hair and dousing himself in a heavy musk cologne. “Where exactly is this closed-door retreat being held?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe. “Crestview Resort. The club booked the entire estate,” he replied, not even bothering to look at me as he adjusted his collar. “I’ll go with you. It’s been a while since I had a weekend getaway.” Conrad’s hands froze on his collar. He turned around, his brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “What would you even do there? This is an exclusive event for members of high social standing. You don’t even know how to hold a tennis racket, Echo. You’d only embarrass me.” I walked over, reaching up to smooth his lapel. “Really? Because I heard spouses and partners were invited to this one.” “Who told you that? Spouses are absolutely not allowed. Stop listening to idle gossip.” He pushed my hands away impatiently, grabbing his heavy gym bag. “I’m leaving. I’ll go straight to the office on Monday, so don’t bother calling me.” I watched the front door swing shut, then pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Dominic. “He’s on his way.” Two minutes later, the reply came. “My car is downstairs. Come down.” When I stepped out of the building, a sleek black Maybach was idling at the curb. Dominic sat in the spacious backseat, reviewing a printed spreadsheet. “Have you made up your mind?” he asked, closing the folder and looking at me. “Yes, Mr. Dominic. Tell me what you need me to do.” I slid into the leather seat, buckling my seatbelt. “Once we arrive at the resort, you only need to play your part,” Dominic said, looking out the tinted window with a cold, predatory gaze. “Leave the rest to me.” The drive to Crestview Resort took a little over two hours. By the time we arrived, the club’s activities were already in full swing. From a distance, I could easily spot two familiar figures on the pristine grass court. Conrad, dressed in crisp white tennis whites, was moving dynamically across the court, his gaze locked on Kate. Kate was wearing a short, pleated pink skirt. With every leap and strike, her skirt fluttered high, revealing the matching tight shorts beneath. A small crowd of wealthy spectators gathered around the court, cheering after every volley. “Your husband certainly has remarkable stamina,” Dominic remarked, standing beside me with an unreadable expression. “My wife is usually exceptionally selective, but it seems she found someone who can keep up with her pace.” I watched Conrad on the court, his face adorned with a fawning, attentive smile as he carefully unscrewed a bottle of water and handed it to Kate. “Mr. Dominic, when do we begin?” I asked. “Why the rush? A good show requires the audience to be fully seated first.” Dominic turned, walking toward the resort’s private VIP lounge. “Come with me. Let’s go meet the spectators of our little play.” Inside the luxurious VIP suite, several middle-aged men were lounging on leather sofas. These were the major shareholders of Vanguard Holdings, close personal associates of Dominic, and regular guests at the country club. “Dominic! What brings you out here today?” a stout, wealthy executive called out, his gaze lingering on me for a moment. “Just bringing a friend out to enjoy the fresh air,” Dominic replied smoothly, gesturing toward me. “This is Echo, the lead architect in charge of the new Vanguard development project.” The men exchanged polite greetings, but the conversation quickly drifted back to the tennis club. “Dominic, your lovely young wife has been making quite a splash at the club lately. I hear she’s been spending an awful lot of time with one of the newer members?” one shareholder remarked, his tone half-joking but laced with meaning. Dominic’s expression remained perfectly calm as he took a sip of his tea. “Young people enjoy the sport. Kate is simply doing her job as a coach.” “Is that so? I heard the fellow even has the keys to your private townhouse.” The shareholders exchanged knowing, amused glances. I sat quietly on the sofa, my palms slick with cold sweat. I had assumed Dominic merely wanted to catch them in the act privately, but he had invited the most powerful board members of his conglomerate to watch. He didn’t just want to divorce Kate, he wanted to completely obliterate her, and crush Conrad under his heel in the process. Kate glanced over her shoulder, catching Conrad’s eye, and the two of them walked toward the private villa suites, one after the other.
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