Part 1The Perfect Affair, the Perfect Trap

I scrolled past a post: "How to have an affair and get away with it?"

There was an anonymous, highly upvoted answer.

"Move into an apartment downstairs from her, buy identical furniture, use the same scented candles, even the same brand of shower gel."

"That way, even if you smell of it, your wife will just think it's the smell of home."

Someone below asked: "That's brilliant? Have you actually done it?"

The user replied: "In progress. Just showered at the downstairs place and came back up. My wife's hugging me now, telling me how good I smell."

I leaned down and sniffed my sleeping husband.

He carried the familiar scent of white tea.

And he'd just left, claiming he was taking out the trash, but was gone for an hour and a half.

A strange impulse led me to unlock his phone.

Everything seemed normal.

Except for a purchase record for shower gel.

The delivery address was "Building 8, Apartment 801, this community."

My home was in Building 8, Apartment 601.

I stared intently at the online order page.

"Elizabeth Arden White Tea Shower Gel, 500ml, two-pack."

"Delivery address: Building 8, Apartment 801, Recipient: Mr. Lewis."

And I was sleeping in Building 8, Apartment 601.

"Honey, you smell wonderful, like home."

That was the first thing he said to me when he came back from "taking out the trash" downstairs tonight, holding me tight.

Even though he was gone for an hour and a half.

Even though his hair looked freshly blow-dried and fluffy when he returned.

I'd brushed away my suspicions because of that familiar scent.

Until I, on a whim, unlocked his phone.

I refused to believe it.

Liam Lewis, the model husband in everyone's eyes, would betray me.

I didn't wake him.

Years of professional experience allowed me to quickly regain my composure, even though my fingers were still uncontrollably trembling.

I opened his browsing history.

The first item was a forum Q&A post.

"How to have an affair and get away with it?"

That anonymous, highly upvoted answer was posted by his account.

"Move into an apartment downstairs from her, buy identical furniture, use the same scented candles, even the same brand of shower gel."

"That way, even if you smell of it, your wife will just think it's the smell of home."

The timestamp on the follow-up question was ten minutes ago.

"That's brilliant? Have you actually done it?"

He replied: "In progress. Just showered at the downstairs place and came back up. My wife's hugging me now, telling me how good I smell. What do you call that? Hiding in plain sight. A woman's intuition is a joke in the face of absolute detail."

I suppressed the nausea, took screenshots of these pages one by one, and uploaded them to my cloud drive.

Then, I quietly left the bedroom.

In the living room, moonlight spilled onto the sofa.

It was the one we'd chosen when we got married, after I'd scoured every furniture store in town. He'd said, "Whatever you like, darling, it's fine by me."

According to the post.

Now, directly above me, two floors up in Apartment 801.

There was an identical sofa.

Perhaps just an hour ago, he and another woman were intimately entangled on that very same sofa.

I had to go up and see.

I had to see it with my own eyes.

I stood before the closed security door of 801.

The door bore a sticker identical to ours: a red background with gold letters wishing good fortune.

I held my breath, pressing my ear against the door.

Faintly, piano music drifted out.

It was "Wedding Dream."

It was also my favorite piece to play when I had free time at home on weekends.

Liam used to say he loved hearing me play that song most of all.

Now, the woman inside was not only using my shower gel, sleeping with my husband, but she was even mimicking my life.