Chapter 3

The next morning, Anderson left for the office early.

In his study, I found a bidding proposal for the Southside project that he had "forgotten" the night before.

It was a major project he had been preparing for six months. He needed it for a 10:00 AM meeting today.

I changed into a well-tailored suit, took the document, and drove to his private penthouse.

That was where he had proposed to me. He had said it was a secret base just for the two of us.

Now, I wanted to see what was hidden in our "secret base."

The elevator went straight to the penthouse.

I stood in front of the smart lock and entered my birthday.

“Access denied,” the mechanical female voice chimed coldly.

I paused, then entered the time the girl had sent the text last night: 0927.

Click. The door unlocked.

Immediately, I was hit by the sweet, sickening peach perfume from last night.

By the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room lay a pair of white canvas shoes.

And on the girl's feet were the custom Italian leather slippers I had commissioned an old craftsman to make—slippers that were supposed to belong only to me.

The girl walked out of the kitchen holding a warm glass of milk.

She wore an oversized white button-down shirt. The hem barely covered her thighs, and the collar was loose, revealing her pale, slender neck.

The shirt belonged to Anderson.

When she saw me, she gasped, almost spilling the milk.

"Mrs... Mrs. Sinclair?"

She recognized me.

But there was no panic of a mistress caught in the act. Instead, she had a timid, innocent look, like a startled fawn.

"Why are you here?" she asked nervously, pulling down the oversized hem to cover herself.

I looked at her pure, clean face.

It was exactly the same face I had seen in Anderson’s heart last night.

Vivian.

"I came to deliver a document to Anderson." I tossed the bidding proposal onto the console table, my voice completely flat.

"Anderson is... he's in the shower," Vivian whispered, biting her lower lip.

"The storm was too bad last night, and the dorms were locked. He was worried about me, so he let me crash here for the night."

She said it so naturally, so intimately.

"Mrs. Sinclair, please don't misunderstand. Nothing happened. Anderson just felt bad for me trying to make it alone in New York..."

The more she explained, the guiltier it felt.

Just then, the bathroom door opened.

Anderson walked out, drying his dripping hair with a towel. He only had a towel wrapped around his waist, exposing his toned upper body.

Seeing me standing in the entryway, he froze, his pupils contracting instantly.

"Elise? What are you doing here?"

He strode over. His very first instinct was to step in front of Vivian, shielding her entirely behind his back.

He was protecting her. Protecting his sweetheart from me.