Chapter 6

**The Unveiling of Secrets**

The morning sun streamed through the blinds, painting golden stripes across the bedroom walls. Isabelle sat at the edge of the bed, brushing her hair and trying to shake the heavy guilt that had taken residence in her chest. Andrew’s behavior had been colder than usual, but she had convinced herself it was nothing more than work stress.

She reached for her phone, her thumb hovering over Michael’s contact. She hesitated. Their last meeting had left her with a mix of exhilaration and guilt, and her conscience screamed at her to stop. But before she could decide, Andrew appeared in the doorway, startling her.

“You’re up early,” she said, forcing a smile.

“I could say the same about you,” Andrew replied, his tone neutral but his eyes distant.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she lied.

Andrew nodded but didn’t press further. He stepped closer, holding up a small gift box. “I got you something.”

Isabelle’s heart skipped a beat as she accepted the box. Inside was a delicate bracelet, studded with tiny diamonds.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

“I thought it might brighten your day,” Andrew replied, watching her intently.

The warmth of the gesture clashed with the icy guilt in her chest. She kissed his cheek and murmured, “Thank you.”

But the way his gaze lingered on her made her uneasy.

Later that day, Isabelle met Michael at their usual spot. The atmosphere was charged with tension. She told herself this would be their last meeting, but when Michael greeted her with his warm smile, her resolve faltered.

“You seem distracted,” he said as they sat at a secluded table.

“I’ve been thinking,” Isabelle began, her voice trembling. “About us. About Andrew.”

Michael leaned forward, his expression serious. “And?”

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” she admitted. “I feel like I’m living two lives.”

Michael reached for her hand. “Isabelle, you deserve to be happy. You deserve to be with someone who truly sees you.”

His words struck a chord, and before she could respond, he kissed her. It was passionate, desperate—a kiss that seemed to plead with her to stay.

Neither of them noticed the shadowy figure outside the window, watching them.

At the hospital, Andrew sat in his office, his hands clenched into fists. He had followed Isabelle to the wine bar, unable to ignore the gnawing suspicion that had plagued him since discovering the emails. What he saw confirmed his worst fears.

His mind swirled with anger, hurt, and confusion. He replayed the moment in his head—the way Isabelle smiled at Michael, the kiss they shared. It felt like a dagger to his heart.

But instead of confronting her outright, Andrew decided to bide his time. He needed to know the full extent of her betrayal before making his move.

That evening, Isabelle returned home to find Andrew in the kitchen, cooking dinner—a rare occurrence.

“You’re cooking?” she asked, surprised.

“I thought it might be nice to have a quiet dinner together,” Andrew replied, his tone calm but unreadable.

The meal was delicious, and for a moment, Isabelle allowed herself to believe things could go back to normal. But then Andrew spoke.

“I’ve been thinking about us,” he began, his eyes locked on hers. “I feel like we’ve been drifting apart.”

Isabelle’s stomach twisted. “I’ve felt that too,” she admitted cautiously.

“I want us to work on things,” Andrew continued. “Maybe we could take a trip—just the two of us. Reconnect.”

His words were like a lifeline, and Isabelle clung to them. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

Andrew smiled, but there was something unsettling about it.

Later that night, as Isabelle lay in bed, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen—Michael’s name lit up.

I miss you. When can I see you again?

She hesitated before typing back: Soon.

But just as she hit send, Andrew entered the room. “Who are you texting?” he asked casually, but there was an edge to his voice.

“Just a friend,” Isabelle replied quickly, slipping the phone under her pillow.

Andrew didn’t press further, but as he climbed into bed, Isabelle felt his eyes on her, piercing through her flimsy facade.

The next day, Andrew invited Isabelle to lunch at a quaint café they used to visit during their early days of marriage. The atmosphere was warm and nostalgic, and for a moment, Isabelle let her guard down.

As they sipped their coffee, Andrew reached across the table and took her hand.

“I want to ask you something,” he said.

“Of course,” Isabelle replied, her heart pounding.

“Do you know a man named Michael Russo?”

The question hit her like a thunderbolt. Isabelle froze, her mind racing for an explanation.

“No,” she lied, forcing a casual tone. “Why do you ask?”

Andrew leaned back in his chair, studying her. “No reason. Just something I came across.”

His response was vague, but the tension was palpable. Isabelle excused herself to the restroom, her mind spinning. Did he know? How much?

When she returned, Andrew had already paid the bill. “Let’s go,” he said, his tone brisk.

That night, Andrew stayed late at the hospital. Isabelle was relieved, thinking she’d avoided a confrontation. She called Michael, arranging to meet him the following day.

But when she arrived at the wine bar, something felt off. Michael was seated at their usual table, but his expression was tense.

“What’s wrong?” Isabelle asked as she slid into the seat opposite him.

Before Michael could answer, Andrew appeared, stepping out from the shadows.

“Hello, Isabelle,” he said, his voice cold and controlled.

Isabelle’s blood ran cold. “Andrew… what are you doing here?”

“I think the better question is, what are you doing here?” Andrew replied, his gaze flicking between her and Michael.

Michael stood, his demeanor defensive. “Andrew, this isn’t what it looks like—”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what it looks like,” Andrew interrupted, his voice rising.

Isabelle tried to speak, but Andrew held up a hand. “Don’t. I’ve seen enough.”

The confrontation was explosive, with Andrew laying out everything he’d discovered—the emails, the meetings, the kiss. Isabelle could barely defend herself as guilt and shame overwhelmed her.

“I trusted you,” Andrew said, his voice breaking. “I loved you, Isabelle. And this… this is how you repay me?”

As Andrew stormed out, Isabelle was left alone with Michael, tears streaming down her face.

“What do I do now?” she whispered.

Michael reached for her hand, his expression filled with determination. “You choose, Isabelle. Him or me. But you can’t have both.”