The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The tumultuous rumble of Daniel's car engine disrupted the serenity of the clifftop abode, shattering the tranquil stillness and sending white feathered seagulls spiralling into a cacophonous symphony of caws and erratic flight.

My palpitating heart skipped a beat, and I felt a tremulous lump in my throat, for I knew that his untimely arrival was likely a prelude to another contentious argument. Yet, determined to avoid exacerbating our perpetual disagreement, I schooled my features into the artful guise of stoicism, took a deep breath and prepared myself for the inevitable.

To my surprise, Daniel did not seek out conflict the second he walked through the door. His travel suitcase, abandoned in the kitchen, served as an unspoken directive for me to transport it to the utility room while he vanished into the bathroom for a protracted shower, which outpaced any previous instance I had witnessed.

In pursuit of steadfast decorousness, I unpacked his luggage and initiated the laundry process with the practised efficiency of a seasoned homemaker. I understood his predilection for immaculate attire, and thus, I ironed and pressed his shirts, trousers, and suit jackets, priming his accessories for his professional exigencies, ready for his weekly sojourn in the big city.

Emerging from my domestic duties, with a basket of freshly laundered clothes on my hip, I found a note on the granite kitchen island. It bore my husband's handwritten scrawl, inscribed with brevity: No need to wait up for me.

Curiously absent were any elucidations in regard to his destination or intentions. His announcement was devoid of interpretation, forsaking me to perplexity and disconcertment. Had I not been ensnared by the shackles of a hangover, the lingering aftermath of the impromptu escapade aboard the yacht Friday night, I would have been compelled to contact him to vent my feelings. But my head throbbed incessantly, my stomach churned with nausea, and the general malaise that permeated my body rendered me incapable of such action, so I settled for refuge within the sanctuary of my bed, where I stayed until the incarnadine embers of sunrise kissed the cobbled streets of the south-west coast.

The next morning dawned, and Daniel was still nowhere to be seen, but his whereabouts were scarcely a mystery, as I knew that Sundays had long held a consistent routine in his life, wherein he sought respite at The Grand Oasis Resort, indulging in a leisurely game of golf in the esteemed company of Oscar, Keith and Solomon.

As the household chores were efficiently completed and my attire for the impending visit to my in-laws hung neatly by the door, I found myself with an unusual, uninterrupted swath of time. My husband, Daniel, had departed the residence, leaving me a few idle hours to fill before our familial engagement. I contemplated how to best utilise this time, and an intriguing thought began to occupy my mind.

The ground floor office had always existed within the confines of our home, yet I had never felt compelled to enter. I was not prohibited from doing so; rather, the office's masculine décor, replete with antique furnishings and non-fiction bookshelves, had never piqued my interest. However, since Royce's enigmatic comment about ByteGate had incessantly echoed in my thoughts since Friday night, curiosity got the better of me. It was as if a seed of doubt had been planted in my mind, and I knew it would only germinate and flourish if I did not confront it head-on.

As I unlocked the office door and stepped inside, a sense of unease washed over me. It felt inherently wrong to enter this room with the intention of prying into my husband's affairs as if I suddenly distrusted him. I nearly turned on my heel, fully aware of the absurdity of this impulse, but I could not ignore the nagging suspicion that had taken root in my mind.

My palms, moist with apprehension, brushed against the fabric of my lounge trousers as I began my inspection. I commenced with the imposing bookcase, my fingers skimming over the titles etched onto the spines of the books. I then proceeded to the grand desk, my fingers deftly flicking through drawers and perusing documents and folders. Thus far, my search had yielded nothing to cause concern, just mundane client details and investment contracts.