Chapter 8: You Kept Me Awake All Night

I spent the night tossing and turning, unable to fathom how there could be absolutely no trace. Clearly, the mysterious 'Mrs. Smith' was neither a company insider nor an employee of the building, or the receptionist would not have referred to her as such. Who then was this 'Mrs. Smith'? Could there be other means of communication?

The next morning, with dark circles under my eyes, I forced myself out of bed. George, noticing my haggard appearance, asked with concern, "Grace, are you feeling alright? You look terribly pale."

"You kept me awake all night; do you not remember?" I replied irritably, dismissing the concern in his voice.

He paused for a moment, then with a roguish smile, wrapped his arms around me. "Let's skip the alcohol next time; exercise is better for sleep!"

For some reason, his words instantly made my stomach churn, and I rushed to the bathroom, succumbing to a violent bout of vomiting that left me tearful and disoriented. George patted my back anxiously, "What's wrong with you? Maybe we should go to the hospital!"

I pushed him away, downplaying my condition, "It's nothing, just a lack of rest. Take Angel to kindergarten, please. I'll sleep a bit more and I'll be fine."

He lifted me gently back into bed and tucked me in. "Rest as much as you need. I'll drop off our daughter. Call me if you feel worse, alright?"

I nodded.

After listening to the cheerful chatter between father and daughter fade away as they left and closed the door behind them, I immediately got up and ran to the window. Watching George drive away with Angel, bouncing happily in her seat, my eyes misted over with involuntary tears. How wonderful it would be if everything could return to how it once was.

I turned away, quickly got dressed in a departure from my usual style—donning jeans, a T-shirt, and a high ponytail, capped with a hat. I headed straight to the café across from Apex Tower, choosing a spot with an optimal view of the building's entrance.

I knew it was a simplistic approach, but I thought it might also be the most effective. Yet, for three consecutive days, my efforts were fruitless; I hadn't even caught a glimpse of George, having overlooked the fact that he mostly used the underground parking garage with direct

access to the building's lobby.

On the fourth day, just as I was feeling utterly helpless, I spotted George hastily exiting the building while on the phone, heading towards Unity Plaza. My heart tightened, and I quickly left the café, trailing him at a discreet distance, my nerves frayed.

It wasn't yet lunchtime, and since he hadn't driven, he couldn't be going far. At the next intersection, he crossed the street and entered a café. It was an upscale establishment with a quaint décor and a tranquil atmosphere—a popular spot for the surrounding business district's elite to rest and conduct meetings.

It seemed he was here to meet someone. I glanced through the spotless floor-to-ceiling windows, debating whether to follow him inside. But in just that brief moment, I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure seated at the back of the second floor. She was dressed in a striking rose-colored suit, looking sharp and poised—it was the busy bee, Monica, looking exceptionally beautiful today.

I couldn't help but smirk, surprised by the coincidence of finding Monica here. It would save me the effort; she could simply observe who George was meeting with. Without a second thought, I dialed her number.

As soon as the call connected, I saw Monica glance at her phone. Unexpectedly, at that very moment, George appeared at the window...

Monica pointed towards the opposite side and made a 'shushing' gesture to George, then I heard her voice in my ear, "Are you idle again?" The words struck a nerve. In the past, I would have taken such a comment as sisterly banter and would have retorted without hesitation. But now, I detected full mockery in her tone. It felt like a slap across my face, burning with betrayal.

I forced a laugh and asked, "Where are you?"

"I'm at the office! In a meeting. I'll call you back later," she responded, her gaze fixed on George's handsome face.

This reply left me speechless; I was prepared for all kinds of betrayal, except from my closest friend.

I laughed bitterly and replied with a simple "Okay," then hung up the phone.

At that moment, Monica seemed to me a schemer, who had earnestly advised me to assert my own value to my face, yet now she mocked me as 'idle' in front of my husband—a truly inscrutable human heart.

No wonder she had been probing me about George; it now appeared to be guilt. And that evening, George had also mentioned not having seen Monica for a long time.

The feeling of being deceived was excruciating. In this unfamiliar city, the two people I had wholeheartedly trusted and treated with all my sincerity were deceiving me so blatantly. I didn't know whom to trust anymore.

I stared at the window, resolute, and dialed George's number.

As expected, his response was perfectly aligned with Monica's.

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