Chapter 3: The Person Who Knew My Husband’s Secret
The message sat on my screen like a threat.
Or a warning.
I stared at the unknown number, my thumb hovering above the reply button.
My first instinct was to delete it.
My second was to ask who they were.
But the part of me that had survived the last three months—the part that had learned to watch before reacting—told me to wait.
Because there was one thing I had learned about the Walker family.
Nothing happened by accident.
Not the fake concern.
Not the carefully chosen words.
Not the way Derek’s mother had smiled when that bowl fell.
And definitely not a stranger sending me a photo from inside the house.
I zoomed in on the image.
It showed me standing outside the bedroom door.
My bag was visible.
The hallway lights reflected against the polished wooden floor.
The angle was wrong for someone standing outside the house.
Whoever took it had been close.
Very close.
I looked around the bedroom.
The curtains.
The dresser.
The mirror.
Nothing seemed different.
But suddenly, everything felt different.
A house that had looked luxurious that morning now felt like a cage.
“Chloe.””
Derek’s voice came from the other side of the door.
I quickly locked my phone.
“Who are you talking to?””
His question was casual.
Too casual.
I stared at the door.
“How did you know I was talking to someone?””
A pause.
A tiny one.
But I noticed.
“I heard your phone.””
“You heard my phone from the hallway?””
Silence.
Then he laughed.
“You’re being paranoid.””
That was another thing Derek did well.
He made me question my own instincts.
Before, I would have apologized.
Before, I would have softened.
Before, I would have convinced myself I was overreacting.
But the woman standing in that bedroom was not the same woman who walked into the house that morning.
“I’m tired,” I said.
“You’re angry.””
“Yes.””
“Then come downstairs and we’ll talk.””
“No.””
The answer came too quickly.
I heard him inhale.
“You need to calm down.””
There it was.
Not concern.
Instruction.
“You don’t get to tell me how to feel.””
The hallway went quiet.
For a moment, I wondered if I had finally pushed too far.
Then Derek spoke.
“You’re making a mistake.””
I looked at the door.
“What mistake?””
“You’re forgetting who you married.””
My hand tightened around my phone.
“No.””
I whispered the word.
“I’m finally remembering.””
A long silence followed.
Then footsteps moved away.
I waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Only when I was sure he was gone did I open the door.
The hallway was empty.
But something caught my eye.
A small shadow near the end of the corridor.
Someone moved.
I stepped forward.
“Hello?””
No answer.
I walked toward the staircase.
The house below was filled with voices again.
The family had returned to pretending nothing happened.
Laughter.
Plates moving.
Someone pouring coffee.
It was disturbing how quickly they could reset.
How easily they could act like humiliation was just another family tradition.
I reached the bottom step.
Then I saw her.
A woman standing near the kitchen entrance.
She looked around my age.
Maybe a little older.
Dark hair.
Simple clothes.
No jewelry.
She wasn’t dressed like one of the guests.
She looked like someone who had slipped into the room unnoticed.
Our eyes met.
And immediately, I knew.
She was the one.
The woman from the message.
She walked toward me slowly.
“Chloe.””
I froze.
“How do you know my name?””
Her expression changed.
Not fear.
Sadness.
“My name is Natalie.””
I said nothing.
Derek appeared behind me.
“Chloe.””
His voice changed the moment he saw her.
Not angry.
Not annoyed.
Afraid.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
Natalie saw it too.
“You didn’t tell her about me,” Natalie said.
Derek’s face hardened.
“Natalie, this isn’t the time.””
“No,” she replied calmly.
“Actually, this is exactly the time.””
The room started becoming quiet.
People noticed.
Brenda appeared from the dining room.
Her smile disappeared.
“Natalie?””
The way she said the name told me everything.
She knew her.
“Why are you here?”” Brenda asked.
Natalie looked at her.
“I came because I thought maybe after what happened today, Chloe deserved to know.””
Derek stepped forward.
“That’s enough.””
I looked between them.
“Know what?””
Nobody answered.
And that was my answer.
Because secrets are loudest when everyone becomes silent.
I turned to Derek.
“What is she talking about?””
He forced a laugh.
“Nothing.””
Natalie shook her head.
“Don’t do that.””
“Do what?””
“Pretend.””
Her voice cracked slightly.
“You’re very good at that.””
Brenda crossed her arms.
“You need to leave.””
Natalie looked at her.
“You said the same thing to me three years ago.””
My heart skipped.
Three years?
Derek looked uncomfortable.
“Natalie.””
She ignored him.
“He told you I was crazy, didn’t he?””
I stared at Derek.
He looked away.
That tiny movement was enough.
Because innocent people look confused.
They ask questions.
They defend themselves.
Guilty people calculate.
“What is she talking about?”” I asked.
Derek stepped closer.
“Chloe, don’t listen to her.””
“Why?””
“Because she’s unstable.””
Natalie laughed quietly.
A painful laugh.
“Of course.””
She reached into her purse.
Derek immediately moved.
“Natalie, don’t.””
That reaction was too fast.
Too protective.
Too afraid.
She pulled out a small envelope.
Then handed it to me.
“I didn’t want to do this today.””
I took it.
“What is it?””
“Proof.””
Derek’s voice sharpened.
“Chloe, give me that.””
I looked at him.
For the first time since I met him, I saw panic.
Real panic.
Not anger.
Not control.
Fear.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
A wedding photograph.
Not mine.
Another wedding.
Derek was standing beside a woman in a white dress.
My fingers went cold.
The date on the back was three years earlier.
I looked at Natalie.
“You married him?””
The entire room seemed to stop breathing.
Natalie nodded.
“Yes.””
Derek immediately spoke.
“It wasn’t a real marriage.””
My eyes moved to him.
“What?””
“It was complicated.””
Natalie’s expression hardened.
“You told her that too?””
Derek rubbed his forehead.
“Chloe, listen to me.””
“No.””
My voice was quiet.
But everyone heard it.
“No, I think I’ve listened enough.””
I looked at the picture again.
A younger Derek.
A different woman.
The same smile.
The same eyes.
The same man.
“How long?””
Derek said nothing.
“How long were you married?””
“Six months.””
Six months.
The words echoed.
I felt strangely numb.
Not because it hurt less.
Because I had already been hurt once today.
This was just another piece of the same puzzle.
“You were still married when we met?””
Derek opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
That was enough.
Brenda stepped forward.
“Chloe, there are explanations.””
I turned toward her.
“Were you there?””
She stopped.
“What?””
“Were you there when he married her?””
Silence.
Her face changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Natalie answered.
“Yes.””
My eyes returned to her.
“Why?””
Natalie looked at Derek.
“Because Brenda helped arrange it.””
The room erupted.
“What?”” someone whispered.
Derek’s expression turned furious.
“Stop talking.””
Natalie continued.
“She wasn’t the first woman.””
My blood ran cold.
The room became painfully still.
“What do you mean?”” I asked.
Natalie looked at me.
And I saw something I never expected.
Pity.
“He doesn’t marry women because he loves them, Chloe.””
Derek stepped forward.
“Natalie.””
“He marries them because of what they have.””
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
“What did I have?””
Nobody spoke.
Then Natalie looked directly at me.
And said the words that changed everything.
“Your grandmother’s trust fund.””
The world seemed to tilt.
Because that information was not public.
Almost nobody knew about it.
Not Derek.
Not Brenda.
Not even most of my friends.
Only one person outside my family had ever known.
I slowly turned toward my husband.
Derek looked at me.
And I knew.
The secret I had been hiding was no longer mine alone.
Someone else had found it.
Someone else had been hunting me.
And suddenly, the question was no longer why Derek had married me.
The question was:
How long had he been planning it?
My phone buzzed again.
Another message from the unknown number.
I looked down.
May you like
One sentence.
*Now ask him what happened to the women before you.*
