Part 2The Dog Walker Affair

At seven o’clock that evening, Leo came home right on time.

As usual, he changed his shoes in the entryway. When he saw me, he froze, a flash of panic in his eyes. But he recovered quickly, breaking into a wide smile.

“Vivi! You’re back! Why didn’t you tell me? I would have picked you up from the airport.” He opened his arms, moving in for a hug.

I fought back a wave of nausea and sidestepped the embrace, not wanting to start the fight just yet. I calmly explained that my project had wrapped up early.

He feigned concern, stroking my cheek. “You’ve lost weight. It must have been tough out there. But you’re back now, that’s all that matters. I’ll make all your favorites to fatten you up. What are you craving? Steak, shrimp scampi, a nice risotto?”

He was really getting into his role as the perfect, doting husband, already pulling out his phone to order groceries.

I gently pushed him away, my voice deliberately casual. “We can figure that out later. Where’s Caramel? Where’s our boy?”

It had been our agreement. We weren't having children; Caramel was our child.

Leo paused. A flicker of confusion crossed his face. He was right to be confused. Usually, Caramel would be all over him the second he walked in, begging for attention.

“We should call the police,” I said, my voice tight with manufactured panic. “The front door was unlocked when I got here, and Caramel was gone! Someone must have stolen him! Or… or he opened the door himself.”

It was possible. Our dog was exceptionally smart. He knew how to open doors and even press elevator buttons. I was certain that if I hadn't come home today, Caramel would have eventually gotten bored and let himself out to visit his new mommy.

The smile on Leo’s face vanished. “He’s really gone? Have you looked for him?” he asked, his tone urgent.

I shook my head. “Instead of the police, let’s just ask security to check the cameras. The guards all know our dog; they wouldn’t let a stranger take him out of the complex. He’s probably still around here somewhere.”

I watched his face, dissecting every micro-expression.

Leo’s brow furrowed. He pulled out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen as he typed a message.

A few seconds later, he seemed to relax. “You’re right,” he said, looking up at me. “I just contacted security. They said they’ve already found him. You must be exhausted from your flight. Why don’t you go take a shower and rest? I’ll go get our son back.”

He was a phenomenal actor.

That text message, I knew, had gone straight to apartment 2201. To Lila. He must have asked her if Caramel had shown up there. Lila, likely unaware of my existence, probably thought some good Samaritan had found him and brought him to her.

It didn't matter if their stories didn't line up. I was done playing the role of the devoted wife. As soon as he was out the door, I would find the proof I needed, and then he could get the hell out of my life.

I followed his suggestion, letting a note of weary relief enter my voice. “Okay. Please hurry back. I’m so worried about him.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, grabbing his car keys and rushing out.

The moment the elevator doors closed, I walked into his study.

His computer was password-protected, but it also had facial recognition. My face.

It unlocked instantly. I didn't bother with his social media; a meticulous cheater wouldn't leave such obvious evidence.

I opened his cloud drive.

Everything was neatly organized: work files, family photos, and one encrypted folder named “My Treasure.”

My heart began to pound.

What was the password?

I tried my birthday. Incorrect. Our anniversary. Incorrect. Caramel's birthday. Still incorrect.

I stared at the folder, and then a cold realization dawned on me.

I typed in the number from the girl’s door this afternoon: 2201.

The folder opened.