“What?”
“She told me she was in Boston tonight,” he continued. “I’ve been tracking this for six weeks. I hired a private investigator after I found hotel receipts on our joint card.” His gaze shifted toward my husband. “Your husband’s name is Andrew Bennett, right?”
I stared at him. “How do you know that?”
“Because I know more than I ever wanted to.” He pulled out his phone and showed me a photo—Andrew and the woman getting into his car outside a condo building. A timestamp from three weeks ago glowed at the bottom. Then another photo. And another.
My stomach twisted so tightly I thought I might be sick.
“I was planning to confront them outside,” Daniel said. “But tonight changed things.”
“Changed how?”
He glanced past me toward the restaurant entrance.
A woman in a charcoal suit had just walked in, flanked by two men. One carried a leather portfolio. The other had a badge clipped to his belt.
Daniel let out a slow, grim breath.
“That,” he said, “is Andrew’s company’s internal investigator.”
I looked back at my husband. He was still smiling at Vanessa, completely unaware.
Then the woman in the suit walked straight to their table.
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