Kathleen Hills took in a deep breath as she stood under the heavy downpour, her eyes fixed on the building across the street.
Her fingers trembled around the umbrella handle, struggling to keep it steady as the rain pelted down harder.
Strands of her blonde hair clung wetly to her face, and though her knuckles had turned white from the cold, she refused to leave.
Because leaving would mean she didn't believe in him.
The hotel sign flickered in neon red against the wet pavement, making her heart feel even heavier.
She still didn't know what to think about the message she'd received two days after… after finding something she couldn't explain on her bed.
[Wesley Hills will be in Sinners' Suite on Friday by 3 p.m.]
At first, she'd laughed it off. Her Wesley? Never. He wasn't that kind of man. He was sweet, and busy, and maybe a little distant lately—but he loved her. She knew he did.
But when he said he was spending the weekend at his family house—missing their triplets' birthday party for a "family ritual"—something in her chest had twisted.
Though she wasn't here to catch him. She was here to prove he'd never do this.
Kathleen let out a shaky, awkward laugh. "My husband? Cheating on me? Hahaha!"
Impossible!
"Hahahaha," her laugh came again, louder this time, but it broke halfway through.
"Mommy, who's that woman laughing under the rain?" a little boy asked as he and his mother hurried past.
"Tommy," the woman said quickly, pulling her son close. "Don't stare. Come on."
Kathleen's laughter faded as her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out with wet fingers.
[How did it go? You didn't see anything, right? I told you it was a lie. Talk to me.]
It was from Erin—her best friend and the only person who knew where she was tonight.
Kathleen's thumbs moved clumsily.
[I haven't gone in.]
Erin replied instantly.
[What if you end up seeing something else? What if this is a trap?]
Kathleen sighed. Erin always had a list of what ifs.
[I mean, the jerk who sent that might be laughing in his mom's basement right now.]
That made Kathleen pause.
Her brows furrowed as a thought lit up in her head like a flicker of a light bulb.
She'd received a message claiming her husband was in this hotel—but she never even thought to question how they knew.
If this was some prank, she wanted to know who was behind it.
[Are you sure about what you sent me? Or are you just some loser in your mom's basement?]
She read it twice, biting her bottom lip before hitting send.
.
.
.
Across the city, on the second floor of a private condominium, the sound of running water faded.
The man stepped out of his marble bathroom, a towel slung low around his waist. He paused at the mirror, wiping the fog with his palm. His reflection stared back—dark damp hair and dead golden eyes.
He looked too calm for someone who was obsessed with his perfection.
The phone on the nightstand buzzed twice.
He dressed without hurry—crisp shirt, dark slacks—and picked up the phone, glancing at the screen as he ran a towel through his damp hair.
A single new message blinked on the screen.
He read it once. Then again.
A small scoff left his lips, low and mocking. "A loser in my mom's basement?" he murmured, tilting his head slightly with darkening eyes.
He had given her a helpful tip—and the thanks he got was this...
For days, he'd checked the news expecting to see it: Kathleen Hills files for divorce. But nothing.
What a waste.
Breaking into her home, leaving those photos of Wesley Hills tangled with other men—he thought that would be enough to open her eyes.
Apparently not.
Her silence was what pushed him to send the text. He'd wanted her to catch Wesley in the act this time. But instead of acting, she was accusing him of being some creep in his mother's basement.
How insulting!
Her blind loyalty was irritating. But also... interesting. Making him wonder how far she'd go when reality finally dawned.
He exhaled slowly, thumb hovering over his phone. He'd tried being decent, even tried the normal route for the first time in his life—but this was the last time.
With a sigh, he typed out a message and hit send.
.
.
When Kathleen read the new text, her breath came out in a shaky rush.
She glanced back at the hotel across the street. She had no reason to trust the stranger—none—but let's see...
Tightening her grip on her bag, she crossed the street, the rain easing to a mist. Her heels clicked against the wet pavement as she pushed through the revolving doors of the hotel.
Inside, warm air and perfume hit her all at once. The place busy. It was supposed to be just another luxury hotel—but now, all she could think about was how many people here were unfaithful.
Maybe she really didn't know people as well as she thought.
Minding her own business, she was about to head for the reception desk when a firm grip seized her arm and another hand covered her mouth from behind.
The movement was so sudden, her pulse erupted in panic.
Her mind screamed abduction—courtesy of Erin's words from earlier.
She tried to make a sound, but the man dragged her into a quiet corner and let her go just as quickly.
Kathleen spun around, breathless. The man stood straight and still—black suit, black tie, and black sunglasses indoors. He looked like someone out of a movie.
An assassin!
Her voice trembled. "W-what do you wa—"
Before she could finish, he pulled out his phone and showed her a message.
The name at the top of the screen read: Mr. Red.
Kathleen blinked, lowering her voice. "You… you're with Mr. Red?"
He gave a single, silent nod. Then, without a word, handed her a keycard from a plain envelope and walked away.
She stared after him, still trying to calm her pounding heart down.
According to the text, Mr. Red said she'd be given the key to Wesley's room.
.
.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open, and Kathleen stepped out onto the third floor. Even though she looked calm, her nervousness was evident in her damp palm.
Then she reached Room 69 and stopped.
How ironic, she thought with a humorless smile.
This was it.
Her hand hovered over the knob. She had the key. She could open it. Just turn the handle, walk in, and see if her husband was truly here.
But she couldn't move.
"What am I even doing here?" she whispered.
Part of her wanted to know. The other part wanted to trust him—if she did this, then there was no more trust in their marriage.
With her mind made up, she turned to leave.
But before she could take a step—
Click.
The door opened behind her.