The Secret in Her Diary

Don't touch me with the hands you've used on other women. Maeve violently swatted my hand away, her glare stripping me down to a pile of sickening garbage.

It was one in the morning. Propped against the headboard in a sheer purple silk robe, she treated me like filth. She had barely snapped her book shut when the phone on the nightstand flared to life.

A text notification popped up.

The sender's name was a single word: Harrison.

Chapter 1

The business dinner dragged on until one in the morning. Reeking of alcohol, I fumbled for my keys and shoved open the front door. The living room was pitch black.

The only light bled through the crack of the master bedroom doora dim, amber glow from the nightstand. I toed off my shoes quietly, but the rustle still tipped her off.

"You're back?" The voice was sharp and brittle, like ice shattering against hardwood.

My wife, Maeve.

I grunted a "yeah," tossing my suit jacket over the back of the sofa. I had already ripped my shirt collar open hours ago; my tie was probably dead on the floor of some VIP booth. I stumbled down the hall and pushed into the bedroom.

Maeve was propped up against the headboard, reading. Or rather, pretending to read. She wore a sheer, pale lavender silk robe that clung to her like a second skin.

The lamplight caught her from behind, outlining the sharp, perfect curves of her silhouette. The neckline dipped dangerously low. With every breath she took, the blindingly pale expanse of her chest rose and fell. Her long, raven hair cascaded over her shoulders, a few stray strands shadowing half her face.

But I didn't need to see her face to know the expression on it.

"Wasted again." She flipped a page, not even bothering to look up.

"Client dinners. You know how it is." I let out a low burp and closed the distance to the bed.

The closer I got, the stronger her scent hit mea clean, intoxicating mix of her body wash and pure skin. It wiped the floor with the cheap perfumes of the women at the club. I dropped onto the edge of the mattress. It dipped heavily under my weight.

She finally scrunched her nose, shifting away as if my stench physically repulsed her. "Go shower." The command was absolute.

"In a minute." A sloppy smirk pulled at my mouth. Riding the liquid courage, I reached out to grab her waist.

Her waist was incredibly narrow. Even through the thin silk, the heat of her skin radiated into my palm. But the second my fingers brushed her, she swatted my hand away.

"Don't touch me with the hands you've used on other women." Maeve glared down at me, her eyes stripping me into a pile of sickening garbage.

"I I haven't touched anyone." My tongue felt heavy, clumsy. "Maeve, it's it's been a while since we"

"I'm exhausted." She cut me off cold. Snapping the book shut, she slammed it onto the nightstand.

The exact moment the book hit the wood, the phone beside it flared to life.

A text notification popped up on the lock screen.

The contact name was a single word: Harrison.

I couldn't catch the message before the screen faded to black.

Maeve's shoulders instantly went rigid. She snatched the phone, flicked her eyes over the screen, and immediately slammed it face-down on the table.

Her sudden stiffness felt like ice water injected straight into my veins. The alcohol in my system evaporated.

"Who is it? At this hour?" I stared dead at her.

"A client." She yanked the blanket up.

"A client? A client named 'Harrison'?" A bitter scoff ripped from my throat.

She didn't answer. Her spine was a stiff, unyielding line under the duvet.

I bored holes into her tense silhouette. Those flawless curves that once drove me crazy now felt like a brutal, mocking slap to the face.

Chapter 2

Three years of marriage. It only took the last twelve months for us to go from unable to keep our hands off each other to living like absolute strangers in the same house.

Sure, I worked insane hours. I practically lived at client dinners and stumbled in past midnight more often than not. But what about her? Over the last year, Maeve had morphed into someone I didn't even recognize.

Coming home late, treating me like white noise, and sex? It had been nearly two months since we last touched each other.

I used to feed myself excusesshe was stressed at work, we were just hitting a slump.

But that name, Harrison, felt like a jagged piece of glass twisting in my gut.

I sat frozen on the edge of the mattress, the liquor fueling a blind, suffocating rage.

"Declan, take your liquor stench to the guest room, and don't make me throw your pillow out the door." She turned her back to me, her voice devoid of a single ounce of warmth, radiating only pure, unadulterated disgust.

I dragged in a harsh breath, swallowing the venom burning in my throat, and stood up. "Fine. I'm out."

I slammed the door behind me, stalking into the guest room and collapsing onto the cheap mattress.

The name Harrison echoed relentlessly inside my skull.

I was so fucking done with this life.

I woke up feeling like a freight train had run through my skull. My eyes snapped open, squinting against the blinding sunlight pouring through the flimsy guest room blinds. I fumbled blindly for my phone.

Ten a.m.

Shit. I was massively late. I bolted upright, bile rising in my throat as the hangover slammed into me, turning my brain to mush.

The living room was dead silent. I dragged my feet out into the hall. Maeve was already gone. The dining table was wiped spotlessforget breakfast, the woman hadn't even left out a glass of water.

That familiar, gnawing irritation flared up in my chest again.

I padded into the master bedroom to grab some fresh clothes and pushed open the en-suite bathroom door. The vanity was a wreck of her expensive skincare bottles from the night before. I yanked open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror to grab my toothbrush, and my entire body froze.

There, sitting right next to my razor, was an expensive bottle of Tom Ford Oud Wood cologne.

A heavy, masculine scent she despised. And it sure as hell wasn't mine.

Harrison. A high-pitched ringing pierced my eardrums. My stomach plummeted to the floor.

Was Maeve was she actually sleeping around?

My mind flashed back to the dinner last night.

The client, Pierce. A slimy, balding creep with a gut that strained against his designer belt and a perpetually greasy smirk. Three rounds in, Pierce had slung a heavy, clammy arm over my shoulder, his eyes gleaming with blatant sleaze.

"Declan, my boy that ice queen wife of yours. Absolute smokeshow."

I had forced a stiff laugh, playing the corporate game. "You're too kind, Pierce. She's got a temper on her. All ice."

Pierce just let out a filthy chuckle. "That's exactly how I like them. A little frost makes it tighter."

"Hey, if you ever find yourself struggling to handle all that I'd be more than happy to step in and teach her a few things."

At the time, I'd written it off as gross, drunken frat-boy trash talk and laughed it off. But playing it back now, the sick undertone was deafening.

Did Pierce know something I didn't?

I stepped into the shower, letting the scalding water blast the panic down the drain, and threw on a fresh suit. Staring back at me in the mirror was a corpse with dark, hollow bags under its eyes. I snatched my car keys from the counter and bolted out the door.

I had to know. I had to find out if I was actually the pathetic, cuckolded idiot everyone was laughing at behind my back.

It was past eleven by the time I pulled into the office parking lot. I kept my head down, slipping into my cubicle. My ass hadn't even hit the ergonomic mesh chair when the desk phone shrilled.

It was my boss. Vanessa.

"Declan. My office. Now."

Vanessa's voice always carried this undeniable, dangerous magnetisma raspy, commanding drawl that walked a very fine line between strictly professional and wildly provocative. I let out a heavy breath, rigidly straightened my tie, and marched toward the glass doors of her corner office like a man heading to the gallows.

Chapter 3

Vanessa's corner office had its blinds perpetually drawn halfway. I knocked on the glass.

"In."

I pushed the door open, immediately hit by a heavy wall of dark roast coffee mixed with high-end designer perfume. Vanessa sat behind her massive mahogany executive desk, eyes locked on a file.

She wore a burgundy silk blouse today, the top two buttons undone to reveal a flawless expanse of skin. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, stretching taut over her heavy cleavage. Below the desk, she wore a black pencil skirt, her long, impossibly straight legs crossed tightly in sheer black stockings.

Hearing me enter, she slowly looked up, sweeping a mass of voluminous waves to one side. Her features were strikingly predatory, especially those eyessharp, slightly upturned at the corners, always looking at you like they were sinking in a hook.

"Late for an entire morning, Declan. There goes your attendance bonus for the month." Her crimson lips parted, her tone unreadable.

"My bad, Vanessa. I was drinking with Pierce last night went overboard. Slept through my alarm." I kept my eyes leveled at her desk.

"Pierce?" Vanessa arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Ah, the old creep. Where are we at with his contract?"

"Still still grinding it out."

"Declan." Vanessa stood up, rounding the massive desk to stalk toward me.

She was half a head shorter than me, but her stilettos gave her a dominating presence. She stopped right in front of me, invading my personal space until there was zero distance left. The heavy wave of her perfume hit me harder, mixed with the heat of her breath.

"Pierce's contract is the lifeline for our department's quarterly numbers." She tilted her head up, her glossy eyes narrowing dangerously. "Do not screw this up for me."

"I'll I'll get it done." Her intense stare made my skin prickle. I instinctively took a half-step back.

She closed the gap, her stilettos sinking into the carpet. Fingers tipped in blood-red nail polish grabbed my tie, yanking me down to her level. Her perfume invaded my nostrils like a potent neurotoxin, her heavy breasts pressing shamelessly flush against my dress shirt.

The air instantly vanished from my lungs.

"Declan." Her fingertips were ice-cold, tracing a deliberate path over my Adam's apple. "I know things are a mess at home. You and the wife hitting a wall, aren't you?"

A cold jolt hit my spine. "Vanessa, how did you"

"Don't worry about how I know." She let out a low, breathy laugh and finally stepped back, releasing my tie. "Just a friendly reminder. A man's priority is his empire. Let the domestic garbage pile up, and it's going to rot your career."

She paused, leaning back in slightly, dropping her voice to a husky whisper.

"I know Pierce is a lecherous pig. But this is business. Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made to close the deal."

"Your wife is absolutely stunning. If you don't have the stomach for it, I could give you a few pointers."

Her words slithered into my ear like venom.

What the hell was she implying? Toss Maeve to Pierce to sign the contract? Or was she offering to step in and help me out herself? Using her own body?

I stared at Vanessa's fiercely provocative face. A wave of nausea hit the back of my throat, instantly colliding with a dark, inexplicable rush of heat straight to my groin.

This female boss was burning a hell of a lot hotter than the iceberg waiting for me at home.

Chapter 4

I practically bolted out of Vanessa's office.

Her words pounded relentlessly against my skull. Sacrifices have to be made. What kind of pathetic pimp did she take me for? But the acid burning in my chest quickly morphed into a bitter realization.

Maeve had probably already slapped a pair of horns on my head. Why was I playing the fiercely loyal husband?

The frustration gnawed at my insides. I blew off the rest of the afternoon, hopped in my car, and drove aimlessly through the gridlocked streets.

I had to know what Maeve was really up to.

I hit her speed dial. It rang until it almost went to voicemail before she finally picked up.

"Hello?" The same absolute zero freeze in her tone.

"Where are you?" I forced my jaw to unclench, keeping my voice level.

"Work. Why?"

"Nothing. Just seeing if you're coming home for dinner."

A beat of dead air hung on the line. "No. Client dinner."

"Another one?" I gripped the phone tighter. "Since when do graphic designers have non-stop client dinners?"

"Declan, are you psychotic? Are you interrogating me?" The frost in her voice thickened into solid ice. "If that's all, I'm hanging up."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

She cut the line. I slammed my fist hard into the steering wheel.

Fine. A client dinner, huh? Let's see exactly what kind of client you're servicing.

I parked a block down from her agency, grabbed a black coffee from a corner shop, and locked my eyes on the glass revolving doors of her building.

Her agency let out at five-thirty. At five-forty, she walked out.

She had ditched her tailored pantsuit for an off-white slip dress layered under a light trench coat. The fabric hugged her impossibly narrow waist, every step a calculated, fluid sway. Instead of heading for her red Mustang, she slipped into the back of a black Uber.

I immediately threw my car into drive and tailed her from a safe distance.

The black car headed west, eventually turning into an ultra-exclusive gated community I had only ever seen in real estate magazines. The property values here were astronomical; you didn't breathe this air unless you had eight figures in the bank.

What the hell was she doing here?

The Uber pulled up to a massive, modern estate. Maeve stepped out, punched in the security gate code without a second's hesitation, and walked right in as the heavy iron door swung open.

I killed my headlights and parked in the shadows. My pulse hammered wildly against my ribs. Was this Harrison's place? Was this their little love nest?

I couldn't risk getting any closer. All I could do was sit in the dark and wait.

The sun sank below the horizon. I hadn't eaten anything, and a raw, acidic burn chewed at my stomach lining.

Two agonizing hours later, the heavy front door finally opened.

Maeve walked out. And right beside her was a man.

He was tall, dressed in a bespoke casual suit, with gold-rimmed glasses resting on his face. He looked polished, radiating upper-class wealth. They stood on the porch, exchanging words.

The man in the tailored suit reached out with infuriating familiarity, wanting to brush aside a strand of hair the wind had blown across Maeve's face. Maeve simply tilted her head slightly to avoid the touch, yet her face held none of the freezing disgust she always reserved for me.

Then, it happened. My vision literally went red.

Maeve seemed to lose her footing, swaying slightly on her heels. The man's hand shot out with lightning reflexes, locking firmly onto her waist.

Even though it only lasted a few seconds before Maeve straightened up and put distance between them, that single motionthat sickeningly intimate holdstruck a match to the gasoline in my veins.

I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned bone-white, the leather groaning under the immense pressure.

That man. That had to be Harrison.

Maeve, you absolute fucking hypocrite.

Chapter 5

I had no idea how I drove home. The image of that man's hand on Maeve's waist played on a continuous, suffocating loop in my head.

I stormed into the house. Maeve wasn't back yet. I sat in the pitch-black living room, rigid as a statue. I chain-smoked cigarette after cigarette until the ashtray overflowed with crushed butts.

Almost eleven. The deadbolt clicked. Maeve was home.

She flicked on the lights and physically jumped when she saw me sitting on the couch.

"Why why are you sitting in the dark? You scared the hell out of me." She patted her chest, slipping off her heels.

She seemed to be in a good mood; a faint, lingering smirk played on her lips. That smirk felt like a branding iron to my eyes.

"Where were you?" My voice scraped out, rough as sandpaper.

Maeve froze. The smirk instantly vanished from her face. "I told you. A client dinner."

"A client dinner?" I stood up, closing the distance between us step by step. "At a multimillion-dollar estate? With a guy in gold-rimmed glasses?"

All the color drained from Maeve's face.

"You followed me?" Her voice spiked.

"If I didn't, I never would have known my wife had such impressive extracurriculars." A harsh scoff ripped from my throat. "Who is he? Harrison?"

Her frame started to shake. Not from fear, but a cold, hard fury.

"Declan, you are out of your damn mind!"

"I'm out of my mind?" I snatched her wrist, my grip so tight she hissed in pain. "You're fucking another man, and I'm the one out of my mind?"

"Whose expensive cologne is sitting in my bathroom? Whose estate is that? What the hell is going on between you two!"

I lost it. The roar tore out of my lungs.

"Let me go!" She thrashed wildly against my grip, her eyes bloodshot. "Declan, you're a bastard!"

"I'm a bastard? What does that make you?" I dug my fingers harder into her wrist. "Were you planning to divorce me this whole time so you could go play house with him?"

"Yes!" She suddenly stopped fighting. She tilted her chin up, her gaze sharp enough to draw blood.

"I want a divorce! I am so sick of you! Declan, we're getting a divorce!"

The words hit me like a physical blow. I thought she would deny it, panic, beg me to listen.

She didn't. There was nothing but pure, uncompromising venom.

My hand twitched. I was a fraction of a second away from backhanding her across the face. But I forced my jaw shut. I violently shoved her hand away.

She stumbled back, crashing hard into the shoe cabinet.

"Divorce" My chest heaved. "Fine. Fine."

"You want a divorce, Maeve? You've got it. But you're walking out of here with nothing!"

"You think I'll leave with nothing? In your dreams!" She let out a cold scoff, her gaze sharp as a scalpel.

"Half this house is in my name. I'll burn it to the ground before I leave it to you!"

"Because you're a cheating piece of trash!" I snatched my water glass from the table and hurled it at the wall.

It shattered, raining shards of glass across the hardwood.

"Maeve, I have absolute proof of you sneaking around that estate! If you don't want to be socially executed in this entire industry, pack your shit and get out right now!"

It was a bluff. I didn't have a damn shred of proof.

But her reaction blindsided me. She didn't fight back. She just bit down hard on her lower lip, her entire body trembling uncontrollably now.

It was a silent confession.

My stomach plummeted through the floor.

The night imploded right there. I slammed the guest room door behind me and spent the entire night staring dead at the ceiling.

Chapter 6

The next morning, I dragged myself into the office with heavy, dark bags under my eyes.

Vanessa spotted me and arched a perfect eyebrow. "Rough night? Round two with the wife?"

I wasn't in the mood to entertain her. I just grunted and kept walking.

"Declan." Her stilettos clicked sharply as she followed me straight into my cubicle. "Dinner tonight. You're coming with me."

"Who's the client?"

"Pierce." The playful edge vanished from Vanessa's face. "He might know something. He called me last night, fishing for information."

"Dropped a few hints that your wife might be exploring other options."

My stomach dropped. "What else did he say?"

"Nothing explicit. But he's definitely looking for leverage. The old creep." Vanessa rolled her eyes.

"Stay sharp tonight. Don't give him any ammunition."

A massive headache pulsed behind my temples. The absolute dumpster fire at home was already suffocating me, and now the office was piling on. I spent the entire day staring blankly at my monitor.

That evening, I followed Vanessa to the client dinner. Same VIP room, same crowd.

The second Pierce saw me, his greasy smirk stretched across his face.

"Ah, Declan! Looking a little rough around the edges today. What's wrong? Trouble in paradise?"

A wave of sleazy laughter erupted around the table.

Vanessa chimed in with a smooth smile. "Pierce, are you secretly living under Declan's bed? You seem to know everything. Come on, drink up."

Three rounds of scotch later, Pierce was back at it. He slid his glass across the table and leaned in uncomfortably close.

"Declan, I'm just looking out for you. An ice queen like your wife? You need to keep her on a tighter leash."

"Word on the street is she's been getting awfully cozy with a doctor lately."

My grip tightened around my glass until my knuckles turned bone-white. "Pierce, what the hell are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything." He let out a wet, filthy chuckle. "Just giving you a heads-up. I hear this doctor is an OB/GYN."

A bomb went off in my skull