No Legacy For The Liar Chapter 2

Dazed, I returned to the apartment. My mother texted me:

[So, how did Brooks react when you told him you were pregnant? He must be thrilled!]

I took a deep breath, swallowed the bitterness in my throat, and replied with a forced calm:

[Not yet. I just got to his apartment. Haven't told him.]

The apartment door opened, and Brooks walked in, having returned after dropping Quinn off.

Our eyes met. His flickered with unnaturalness for a second, then quickly settled into a calm facade.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have picked you up from the airport.”

My expression was flat. “I wanted to surprise you.”

He smiled, walking over to gently ruffle my hair. “I hate how much I missed you.”

“The flight must have been exhausting. All this trouble just to adjust your time zone for a birthday.”

Before Brooks could say anything more, his phone buzzed.

He looked down to reply, his eyes softening with that familiar tenderness and patience.

Then he looked up apologetically. “I’m so sorry, but I have a client meeting tonight. My poor girl will have to be lonely.”

Before I could speak, he went to the closet and pulled out a garment.

I understood immediately.

He came back to retrieve the intimate item the woman had forgotten.

I had used a week of my vacation time, missing a huge client meeting, to arrange and decorate this temporary overseas apartment for him, bit by bit.

But now, the unique vase I’d spent an afternoon hunting for and personally carried over from the States was gone.

Even the photo of us stuck to the refrigerator had vanished.

A sharp, wet chill seeped into my heart through my rain-drenched clothes.

I abruptly stood up, dragging my suitcase toward the door.

Brooks followed. “Are you upset?”

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder from behind. “The apartment hasn’t been cleaned. I’ll book you a five-star hotel nearby.”

“I promise, I’ll spend the whole day with you tomorrow. Deal?”

He tilted his head, intending to kiss me, just as he always did.

A strange, unfamiliar scent of citrus and spice wafted into my nostrils.

It was her perfume.

I turned my face away, but Brooks didn't seem to notice and rushed out the door.

By the elevator, a rough-looking guy whistled at me, his eyes leering.

“How much, beautiful? He doesn’t want you, I’ll take his sloppy seconds.”

He grabbed my arm. “He has a girlfriend. I’ve seen her. They’re neighbors here. He dotes on her, carrying her from the garage all the way up. She always looks so happy. What makes you so desperate?”

He reached out and pinched my waist, trying to lean in for a kiss.

Reflexively, I brought my heel down hard on his foot.

As he yelped in pain, I pulled my suitcase and fled through the fire exit.

I didn't dare stop to check the scrape on my knee after tumbling down the stairs; I just ran straight for the airport.

Sitting aimlessly in the boarding hall, I was consumed by one question.

Why did Brooks cheat again?

In the first two years of our marriage, I was constantly plagued by nightmares.

In the dream, Brooks was naked, wrapped around a strange girl.

I’d wake up in tears.

He would hold me, soothing me over and over.

“It’s all my fault. I hurt my poor baby wife.”

He changed the passwords on all his devices to my birthday, and introduced me at every public event as his wife.

He gave me a detailed rundown of his day—who he saw, what he did.

If he had to travel and stay out of town, he would keep a video call open all night, listening to my breathing until he fell asleep.

We were both painstakingly trying to repair the broken trust.

Where did it all go wrong?

Vaguely recalling the woman's name, Quinn, I opened a social media app to search.

It took me less than a minute to find her among the many accounts with the same name.

The reason was her profile picture: it was taken in Brooks’s office back home.