Chapter 1
My wife screamed, "MY HUSBAND'S HOME!" while I was lying right beside her.
And somehow, I was stupid enough to jump out the bedroom window.
I didn't stop to think.
I didn't ask questions.
I just reacted.
One second, I was half asleep beneath our expensive blue comforter.
The next, I was climbing through the open window of our master bedroom, wearing nothing but dark-blue satin pajamas.
My bare feet landed on the damp grass.
I dropped into a crouch beneath the window.
My heart was pounding.
My breathing sounded like I'd just escaped a burning building.
Then a thought struck me.
Wait.
I am her husband.
I slowly lifted my head.
Inside our bedroom, my wife, Nia, was moving frantically across the bed.
She hadn't noticed me looking.
She grabbed something from the nightstand and shoved it beneath her pillow.
I stared at her.
For three years, I'd believed I was happily married.
Apparently, my wife had been living a very different life.
My name is Marcus Bennett.
I was thirty-three years old, worked as a construction project manager, and had spent the last three years building what I believed was a beautiful marriage.
Nia was twenty-nine.
She was intelligent, funny, ambitious, and beautiful enough to make strangers turn their heads.
We met at a friend's birthday party.
She spilled lemonade on my shirt.
I made a joke about charging her for dry cleaning.
She laughed.
Six months later, I proposed.
A year after that, we married in a garden surrounded by everyone we loved.
At least, everyone I thought loved us.
Now I was standing barefoot outside my own bedroom, wondering why my wife had mistaken me for a secret lover.
I looked back through the window.
Nia was sitting against the headboard.
Her long black hair fell across her shoulders.
Her matching blue pajamas were wrinkled.
She looked terrified.
Not confused.
Not sleepy.
Terrified.
I climbed back through the window.
The moment my feet touched the bedroom floor, she gasped.
"Marcus!"
I stared at her.
"Yes, Marcus."
She blinked.
"What are you doing?"
I looked toward the window.
Then back at her.
"That's an excellent question."
She swallowed.
I took one step closer.
"Maybe you can explain why you screamed that your husband was home."
Her eyes widened.
"I was dreaming."
I stared at her.
"Dreaming?"
She nodded quickly.
"I was half asleep."
I glanced at the clock.
11:47 p.m.
We had been watching a movie together less than ten minutes earlier.
Nia had been laughing at a ridiculous scene.
Then she'd checked her phone.
Her smile disappeared.
And suddenly, she'd screamed.
I remembered that now.
She wasn't dreaming.
She had seen something.
"Nia, you were awake."
She shook her head.
"No, I wasn't."
I folded my arms.
"So you're telling me you had a dream about your husband arriving while your actual husband was lying beside you?"
She looked away.
"Marcus, you're overthinking this."
I almost laughed.
Overthinking.
That was her favorite word whenever I noticed something strange.
When she started leaving the house late at night.
When she changed her phone password.
When she began taking calls outside.
When she told me not to visit her workplace without calling first.
Every time I asked a question, I was overthinking.
But this time, I wasn't letting it go.
I pointed toward her pillow.
"What did you hide?"
Her face changed.
"Nothing."
I stepped closer.
"Nia."
She clutched the pillow.
"I said nothing."
My stomach tightened.
"Then move it."
She shook her head.
"No."
For a moment, we stared at each other.
Three years of marriage.
Three years of shared dinners, vacations, arguments, apologies, and plans for children.
And suddenly, we looked like strangers.
I reached toward the pillow.
Nia grabbed my wrist.
"Don't touch that!"
Her voice was sharp.
Too sharp.
I froze.
She had never spoken to me like that before.
I looked down at her fingers wrapped around my arm.
Then at her face.
"Let go."
She hesitated.
"Nia."
Slowly, she released me.
I lifted the pillow.
Beneath it was a second phone.
A small black smartphone I'd never seen before.
My chest tightened.
"What is this?"
Nia reached for it.
I moved it away.
"Marcus, please."
I stared at her.
"You have another phone?"
She swallowed.
"It's for work."
I looked at the screen.
"No company logo. No protective case. No work notifications."
She said nothing.
I pressed the side button.
The screen lit up.
A message appeared.
"Is he asleep yet?"
I felt something cold move through my chest.
Nia's face drained.
I looked at her.
"Who is asking whether I'm asleep?"
She shook her head.
"Marcus, you don't understand."
I stared at the message.
Then another appeared.
"Same window tonight?"
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
The bedroom window.
The same window I'd just climbed through.
The same window Nia insisted remain unlocked because she liked fresh air.
The same window beneath which I'd noticed flattened grass two mornings earlier.
I slowly turned toward her.
"Nia."
My voice barely sounded like mine.
"Who sent this?"
She backed against the headboard.
Tears filled her eyes.
"Marcus, please."
I held up the phone.
"Who has been coming through our bedroom window?"
She covered her mouth.
I felt my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
"How long has this been happening?"
She shook her head.
I took a breath.
"Are you seeing another man?"
Her eyes widened.
"No!"
The answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
I stared at her.
"Then tell me the truth."
She looked toward the window.
That frightened me more than anything she'd said.
I followed her gaze.
Outside, the backyard was dark.
A security light illuminated the grass.
Beyond the fence stood a line of oak trees.
Nothing moved.
Then the second phone vibrated again.
I looked down.
A third message appeared.
"Don't let Marcus see the blue folder."
My stomach dropped.
The blue folder.
I knew exactly what that meant.
Earlier that afternoon, I'd received a package from my attorney.
Inside was a folder containing paperwork related to my late father's estate.
I'd placed it inside my office desk.
The documents included information about a property I'd recently inherited.
A property worth nearly two million dollars.
Very few people knew about it.
Nia was one of them.
I looked at her.
"Why does this person know about my father's inheritance?"
She began crying.
"Marcus, I can explain."
I shook my head.
"Then explain."
She stared at the phone.
Her lips trembled.
But before she could answer, something struck the bedroom window.
A small metallic click.
I turned.
A dark shape moved outside.
Nia gasped.
Then whispered something that made my blood run cold.
"Oh, God."
I looked at her.
"What?"
She grabbed my arm.
"Marcus, don't go near that window."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
She began trembling.
May you like
And then she said the words that changed everything.
"Because the person sending those messages isn't supposed to know you're home."
