The Enemy I Called Husband

Isabella's POV

The first thing I noticed when I entered our bedroom was the smell. It was faint, almost unnoticeable, but I knew it didn't belong there. Adrian had always complained about strong fragrances, which was why I'd stopped wearing my favorite perfume three years into our marriage. Yet someone had been generous enough to leave the scent of expensive vanilla and jasmine lingering around my husband's side of the bed.

I stood by the doorway for a moment, trying to remember whether I'd used a different air freshener that morning. I hadn't. In fact, I hadn't been home since eight, when Adrian kissed me goodbye and reminded me not to forget our dinner reservation.

Seven years of marriage had taught me many things about my husband. He hated cold coffee, preferred his shirts arranged according to color, and couldn't sleep unless the curtains were completely closed. He also hated unfamiliar scents in his personal space. That was why the perfume bothered me, although I couldn't quite explain the uncomfortable feeling settling in my stomach.

I dropped my handbag on the dresser and slipped off my heels. My meeting with the event planner had ended earlier than expected, giving me enough time to freshen up before dinner. Adrian wouldn't be home until six, which meant I had nearly three hours to myself.

At least, that was what I thought.

I walked toward the bed and pulled back the duvet. The sheets were slightly rumpled, although I distinctly remembered making the bed before leaving that morning. Adrian had complained that I was wasting time arranging pillows nobody would see, and I'd laughed before kissing him.

Perhaps he'd returned home during the day. It wouldn't have been unusual. His office was only twenty minutes away, and he occasionally came back to collect forgotten documents.

I was reaching for the pillow when something black caught my attention.

At first, I thought it was one of my hair ties. I bent down and pulled it from beneath the bed, only to discover a delicate piece of lace tangled around my fingers.

Women's underwear.

For several seconds, I simply stared at it. The material was expensive, with tiny embroidered flowers along the waistband. There was a small golden butterfly stitched near the edge, an unusual detail that made my chest tighten.

I knew those panties.

Three weeks earlier, Vanessa had dragged me into a lingerie boutique after we finished lunch. She'd spent almost an hour trying on different sets, complaining that everything was either too plain or ridiculously overpriced. Eventually, she found a black lace collection that made her grin like a teenager.

"Now this," she'd announced, waving the underwear in front of me, "is what you wear when you want a man to forget his own name."

I'd laughed so hard that the sales assistant joined us.

Vanessa bought the set despite its outrageous price. When I teased her about spending so much money on underwear, she winked and told me there was someone special she wanted to impress.

Standing in my bedroom now, I remembered that conversation with disturbing clarity.

I turned the underwear over, searching for some difference that would prove I was mistaken. There wasn't one. The same golden butterfly stared back at me, small and unmistakable.

My phone began ringing inside my handbag.

I nearly dropped the lace.

It was Adrian.

"Hello, sweetheart." His voice was warm and familiar, the same voice that had comforted me through my father's funeral and whispered promises against my skin on our wedding night. "Are you still with the planner?"

"No. I'm home."

There was a brief silence.

"Home?" he repeated.

"Yes. The meeting ended early."

Another pause followed, shorter this time. I heard a muffled sound in the background, like a chair scraping against the floor.

"That's good, baby. You should rest before tonight. You've been working too hard lately."

I looked down at the underwear in my hand.

"Adrian, did you come home today?"

"Why?"

It was such a simple question, but something about how quickly he asked made me uneasy.

"The bed looks like someone slept in it."

He laughed. "I stopped by during lunch. Had a headache, so I lay down for a while. Didn't I tell you?"

"No."

"Must have slipped my mind. Anyway, I've got another meeting. I'll see you tonight, okay? Love you."

"I love you too," I answered automatically.

The call ended.

I remained standing beside our bed, wondering why my husband had sounded relieved when I told him I was home alone.

There had to be an explanation. Vanessa visited often, sometimes staying overnight when we watched movies until morning. Maybe she'd changed clothes in the guest room and somehow misplaced the underwear. But the last time she'd slept over was more than a month ago, and I'd changed our bedding several times since then.

I sat on the mattress, suddenly feeling foolish for trying so hard to explain something that should have been impossible.

My phone vibrated again.

This time, it was Vanessa.

Vanessa: Hey, babe! Are you home?

Before I could reply, another message appeared.

Vanessa: Please tell me you're not home yet.

I frowned. Vanessa had never cared what time I returned from meetings. She usually showed up unannounced, helped herself to whatever was in my refrigerator, and complained whenever I didn't have her favorite snacks.

Me: Why?

The typing indicator appeared immediately, disappeared, then appeared again.

Vanessa: Nothing serious. I wanted to surprise you with something.

I stared at her message, then slowly typed my response.

Me: I'm already home.

For nearly a minute, she said nothing.

Then my phone rang.

"Isabella!" Vanessa exclaimed the moment I answered. Her voice was unusually bright. "You're home already?"

"Yes. Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? Of course not. Why would anything be wrong?"

I swallowed. "Vanessa, when was the last time you came to my house?"

She hesitated.

"Last weekend, remember? I brought those cupcakes."

She was right. She had visited briefly, but we'd spent the entire afternoon downstairs. Adrian had supposedly been working in his study.

"Did you go upstairs?"

"What?"

"To my bedroom. Did you go there?"

The silence that followed was long enough for me to hear her breathing.

"Isabella, why are you asking me these strange questions?"

I looked at the black lace lying across my lap.

Before I could answer, I heard a man's voice in the background.

"Vanessa, have you found it?"

My fingers tightened around the phone.

I knew that voice better than my own.

It was Adrian.

And he had just told me he was attending a meeting at his office.