When I opened the door that Friday afternoon, I wasn’t expecting anyone. The doorbell had startled me. I’d been knee-deep in laundry, hair up in a messy bun,

When I opened the door that Friday afternoon, I wasn’t expecting anyone.

The doorbell had startled me. I’d been knee-deep in laundry, hair up in a messy bun, wearing old jeans and one of my husband’s shirts. So when I found a tall, well-dressed woman standing on the porch, I froze for a second, blinking at her in confusion.

She smiled politely, though her eyes flickered with slight impatience. “Hi, you must be the cleaning lady. I’m here to see Lucas.

He’s expecting me.”

For a moment, my mind went blank. The words “cleaning lady” hung in the air, heavy and absurd. Then I realized the assumption was because of how I looked barefoot, no makeup, my hands still slightly damp from scrubbing.

And instead of correcting her right away, something inside me paused. I’d heard the name Lucas, my husband’s name, spoken with that same confidence by people from his office before. But this woman’s tone carried something else.

Familiarity. Ownership, almost. And curiosity sparked in me before logic could stop it.

So I smiled faintly and stepped aside. “Of course. Come in.”

She didn’t hesitate.

Her heels clicked against the tile as she entered, looking around with a practiced eye. “You can just let Mr. Grant know I’m here.

Oh, and can you bring some coffee? Black, no sugar.”

She didn’t even glance at me after that. Just set her designer bag on the kitchen counter like she owned the place.

I took in every detail: her red silk blouse, tailored black pants, the subtle perfume that lingered behind her. Everything about her screamed money and control. I decided to play along.

“Sure,” I said lightly, heading for the coffee machine. “You’ve known him long?”

She gave a short laugh, tossing her hair back. “You could say that.

We’ve been partners for about a year now. Business partners.”

The pause before “business” was almost imperceptible, but I caught it. I turned my back so she couldn’t see my face as I poured the coffee.

“Sounds like you two work closely.”

“Very. We’ve been practically inseparable lately. He’s brilliant, you know.

Charming, too.” She smiled at her reflection in the glass cabinet. “You don’t meet men like that often.”

My chest tightened. I placed the cup on the counter in front of her.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” She took a sip, studying me over the rim. “You’re new, aren’t you? The house looks much cleaner than the last time I was here.”

The words hit me like a slap.

The last time I was here. I forced myself to keep calm. “Oh?

You’ve been here before?”

“Several times. Meetings, dinners—Lucas likes to host privately. I assume he didn’t mention me?” She chuckled, then waved a manicured hand.

“Men. They always forget the details.”

I could almost hear the blood roaring in my ears. My husband had never mentioned hosting anyone at home without me knowing.