When I'm washing Julian White's pants, I pull out a management fee invoice from one of the pockets. Surprisingly enough, the address is the unit on the floor above my apartment.

The thing is, Julian's name is put down as the apartment owner.

As I clutch the invoice, I feel my blood turning into ice.

Suddenly, I recall the way Julian kept telling me he had overtime shifts to pull over the past six months. Because of that, he often came home past midnight.

There were a few times when I realized that his car was still parked in its designated parking slot of the apartment block despite the fact that he had already "gone out".

When I asked Julian for the reason, he answered, "The gas prices are very high right now. Taking the subway is more convenient, not to mention I get to save more money for our family's expenses."

I used to feel happy about the fact that Julian cared so much about our family.

But now, I finally realize that his so-called overtime shifts are just excuses for him to spend time in the unit upstairs.

At that moment, I hear the sounds of a key being inserted into the front door's lock. Julian is home.

When he notices the invoice in my hand, he takes it from me casually.

"Maybe the staff placed it in the wrong mailbox."

I nod with a smile. "It's nothing. I'm going to take out the trash first."

After leaving the apartment, I head upstairs right away.

Once I knock on the door, the woman who came to open the door for me is heavily pregnant. It seems that she's about to give birth.

I stared at the woman's rounded belly, and my whole body went rigid.

In the past, my husband, Julian White, told me we should wait a few years before having a child because his career wasn't stable yet. So, it wasn't that he didn't want one. He just didn't want one with me.

"Hi, can I help you?"

A face peeked out from inside. She wore a loose cotton maternity dress, her hair casually pinned up. When she saw me, there was a flicker of skepticism in her eyes.

"Hi. I live downstairs," I answered, trying to steady my voice and even forcing a friendly neighbor's smile. "I'm really sorry to bother you. I have a cat at home, and it's very mischievous. I must've lost track of it just now."

I tilted my head, as if peeking into the apartment. "It might've climbed up along the balcony railing. Do you think I could come in and take a look?"

It was a clumsy excuse. Julian and I didn't even have a cat.

Luckily, she didn't seem to doubt me. Maybe pregnancy made people a little less guarded.

She smiled and stepped aside to let me in. "Oh, so you're my neighbor. Please, come in! Cats are clever little creatures. You have to be careful not to let it run off."

"Thanks."

I stepped inside. A soft wool rug cushioned my feet, the same brand as the one in my home, only in a lighter shade. The layout of the apartment was exactly like mine, open with a clear view of everything.

Cozy sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The air carried a faint scent of a milk-and-lemon diffuser. It was a home carefully arranged, quietly waiting for a new life to arrive.

My gaze swept across the space, scanning every inch. On the living room wall hung an oil painting. My breath caught in my throat.

It was a piece called "Echoes of the Ocean" by a relatively unknown artist. Six months ago, Julian and I saw it at a gallery. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

He had wrapped an arm around my shoulders, his face full of regret as he said, "It's a shame, Mo. Someone mysterious has already reserved it. The gallery said they offered a very high price."

To comfort me, he even asked around for a long time. In the end, he told me the artist had retired and that this painting had become one of a kind, impossible to recreate.

Yet at that moment, that one-of-a-kind piece was hanging there like the masterpiece it was.

"Are you looking at that painting?" the woman asked, walking over with a glass of water as she followed my gaze. The same quiet happiness lit up her face.

"My husband gave it to me. He said it's called 'Echoes of the Ocean', like the way our baby echoes inside my belly," she said slowly, like she was reciting a love poem.

I took the glass from her. The chill from my fingertips seeped into the water. My voice came out a little dry. "Your husband is very thoughtful."

"Can't disagree. He thinks of everything for me." She smiled shyly and lowered herself onto the couch, one hand supporting her back, then asked, "Oh, I didn't even ask your name. I'm Hazel Lowe."

"Monica Sawyer."

I gave my name, but my gaze drifted, drawn toward the nursery by the balcony. The door was halfway open. Inside, everything was already set up.

"Do you think your cat ran into the nursery?" Hazel asked, ready to get up. "I'll go check."

"Oh, it's okay. I'll do it. You should stay seated," I urged her, moving ahead before she could stand.

In the nursery, an exquisite ivory crib stood right in the center. It was a brand I had flipped through countless times in home magazines and saved in my shopping cart, ready to buy the moment we had a child.

I remembered how excited I had been when I showed it to Julian.

He frowned and said, "30 thousand dollars for a crib? Mo, that's too extravagant. It looks nice, but it's not practical. Once the baby grows a little, it won't even be useful anymore. We can just get a solid wood one from a local brand."

Julian and I even argued a little over the crib, though in the end, I gave in.

Now, that very crib, the one he had called extravagant and impractical, was sitting here in the home he had prepared for another woman and her child.

On the low cabinet by the crib sat a digital photo frame, the pictures looping one after another. One photo caught my eye. It was taken at a ski resort.

Julian was dressed in a bright yellow ski suit, holding Hazel from behind. She was wearing matching gear. Their heads leaned close together, their smiles wide and intimate, with snow-covered mountains stretching out behind them.

That was just a month ago.

He had told me his company sent him to Graceland for a week-long financial summit. He said he was so busy that he didn't even have time for video calls.

Yet I was foolish enough to worry about him, sending messages every day, reminding him to take care of himself and to eat on time.

So, this was his "financial summit"—holding another woman on a mountaintop.

Hazel's voice came from the living room. "Did you find it?"

I snapped back to my senses. My heart felt like it was being crushed in an invisible grip. The pain was so sharp that I could barely breathe. "No… I didn't."

I braced myself against the doorframe, trying to steady my body. "Maybe I was mistaken. It probably made its way back home already. I'm really sorry for disturbing you."

I hurried out of the nursery, almost fleeing, not daring to look back again.

"It's fine. By the way, what does your husband do?" Hazel chatted on, open and unguarded. "Mine works in financial investment too. Maybe they know each other."

I looked at her face, a little fuller from pregnancy. She still looked so simple and innocent. The irony hit me all at once. Slowly, I answered, "Him? Yeah, he's very good at investing too."

In fact, he was far too good at it. He used my money to invest in another home, another wife, and another child who was on the way.

I almost fled that apartment. When I got home, Julian was sitting on the couch watching financial news, completely at ease. He didn't even look up when I came in. "Did you take out the trash?"

"Yeah."

I walked over and sat down beside him. On the TV, the host was analyzing the latest movements in the stock market.

I leaned against his shoulder, just like I had done countless times before. He carried that familiar cedar-scented body wash—the one I knew too well. Now, the smell made my stomach turn.

"Julian?" I called out softly. "I saw that ivory crib again today. It's on discount. Maybe we should just get it. I really like it."

He finally looked away from the TV and turned to me. He reached out and smoothed my hair, his tone as indulgent as ever, yet firm in a way that left no room for argument.

"Don't be stubborn, Mo. We talked about this. We're not buying something impractical like that. Money should be spent where it actually matters."

I pressed, "Then, do you still remember 'Echoes of the Ocean'? The painting?"

A flicker of weariness crossed Julian's eyes, almost too fleeting to catch, but it was there. "Of course, I remember. It's your favorite. Why bring it up all of a sudden?"

"Nothing. Just feels like a shame," I said, holding his gaze. "If only we could've bought it."

"Forget about it."

He smiled and kissed my forehead. "A piece like that, a true one-of-a-kind, would've already been collected by someone with real power. It was never going to be ours.

"Now, stop thinking about those things. A few days from now, a friend of mine is hosting a cocktail party. Come with me. I'll introduce you to some new clients."

Julian still thought I was the same obedient wife whose life revolved entirely around his career.

I closed my eyes and nodded in his arms, my heart sinking inch by inch into an icy ocean. Just how much had he been hiding from me?

In the days that followed, I acted as if nothing had changed. I still made Julian breakfast every morning, ironed his shirts, and hugged him before he left home.

I needed proof—and not just about the apartment upstairs. I also needed to know just how deep the lies went.

I was an independent jewelry designer with my own studio and brand.

In the early days of our relationship, Julian was just a fledgling financial advisor. I was the one who used the prize money from my first major design award to help him start his own business.

That was how JW Capital came to be.

Over the years, my studio had brought in a substantial income. Apart from daily expenses, most of my earnings were handed over to Julian for him to manage, under the name of family investments.

I trusted him completely and never once checked the accounts. In hindsight, it was a foolish, naive move.

So, I used work as an excuse, saying the studio needed to handle annual tax audits, and asked Julian for our joint account's statements. He didn't expect a thing.

The next day, his assistant delivered a thick stack of documents. I locked myself in the study and went through them page by page. Soon, I found the problem.

Starting six months ago, a fixed monthly transfer of 200 thousand dollars had been made to an account under the name of Derek Lowe.

Another Lowe. I was almost certain it was either Hazel's father or brother.

200 thousand a month was a generous sum. Was that her living expenses or hush money?

I kept scrolling, and my hands began to shake.

At the end of last year, there was a transfer of eight million dollars. The remark read, "Purchase of Lakeside Garden Commercial Property".

I remembered that clearly.

Back then, Julian told me he had spotted a commercial unit with huge appreciation potential. He urged me to invest the largest chunk of the studio's working capital.

He even showed me a scanned copy of the property certificate. It had both our names printed on it.

Yet now, the bank statement in front of me showed that the eight million hadn't gone to a property developer at all. It was transferred to an offshore company registered in the Hayman Islands.

I immediately called my childhood friend, Taylor Lambert, a lawyer, and asked her to help me check a property called Lakeside Garden.

I also asked her to look into the shareholding structure of JW Capital and dig up everything she could find on someone named Derek Lowe.

She was efficient. In the afternoon, she called me back.

"Mo, that commercial unit isn't registered under you and Julian at all. It belongs to a company I don't recognize," Taylor said. "And there's something off about JW Capital…"

She continued, "On paper, Julian's the legal representative, but he only holds 10% of the shares. The remaining 90% is controlled by an offshore parent company. The actual controller of that company is his father's secretary. As for Derek Lowe…"

She paused, her tone turning cautious. "He's Hazel's father. I looked into her as well. Apart from the apartment above yours, she also owns two cars—a Porsche Cayenne and a Maserati."