The grand penthouse on the 132nd floor of the tallest tower in the world was silent, except for the soft hum of the city below.
Leah stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, arms crossed, eyes distant.
Something didn't feel right. She didn't know what, but something deep in her gut was whispering that the perfection around her was an illusion.
Behind her, Chris laughed on the phone in his study. His voice—usually calm and smooth—had a sharp edge to it tonight. She wasn't listening to the words, just the tone.
He'd told her it was a work call.
He always did.
Later, during dinner, Chris was charming—talking about business, praising her cooking, complimenting her dress.
Leah smiled. But her eyes watched him carefully.
She wanted to believe him. She really did.
The next day, the couple from the 85th floor—Lisa and Christopher—invited them to a wine tasting event in the sky garden. Everything seemed perfect. Leah noticed how Lisa laughed at Chris's jokes more than usual. How Chris's gaze lingered a little too long on Lisa when she looked away.
It was nothing obvious.
Nothing she could prove.
Just… tension. Barely there, but enough for Leah to notice.
Later that night, as Chris showered, a message popped up on his tablet. Leah wasn't planning to look. But curiosity was a cruel thing.
She leaned closer.
The message disappeared before she could read the full sentence.
Just a glimpse of a name: Lisa.
Her heart skipped—but her face didn't change.
She turned off the screen. Stepped back.
No. It could be nothing.
But it could also be everything.
The next morning, Chris surprised her with a gift: a vintage bracelet.
"I saw it and thought of you," he said with a kiss.
Leah smiled sweetly, holding back the storm rising in her chest.
"You always think of me," she said softly.
And for now, she would pretend to believe it.
But behind that sweet expression, Leah made herself a promise:
"If this is what I think it is…
Then I won't be the naive little wife