HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 46: Paranoia

As I make my way to my desk, the entire office is buzzing with the latest rumor: Sandro Marcos has agreed to do an interview, but with our biggest competitor. The news has sent everyone into an uproar. Most people are excitedly sharing their opinions; some are stressed or annoyed. But Ash looks devastated.

She must see this as a personal rejection. I can tell she's been relentless in trying to secure that interview. For Sandro to agree to talk to someone else instead of her must feel like a slap in the face. Her slumped shoulders and downcast expression say it all—she's given up.

But I haven't. My research is getting me closer to something that could work. If I can approach Sandro with a strong proposal before he actually sits down with our rival, I might still have a chance. Of course, there's a good chance he'll reject me, too, but I can't afford to let that fear paralyze me. I'll keep my head up and push forward. It's not over until it's over.

By midmorning, the gossip dies down, and Ash slinks into my cubicle.

"I assume you've heard the news," she says.

"I have."

She narrows her eyes at me. "You should just give up."

"No," I reply simply.

Ash lingers, watching me like she can't believe I'm serious. Eventually, she shakes her head and walks away.

In addition to my ongoing research about Ash, Lila hands me several other topics to explore, seeing if they have enough substance to become full-fledged articles. If they do, she assigns them to someone else, which stings a little. But at least I'm doing more than just fetching coffee and delivering messages. It feels good to contribute, even in small ways.

Despite the bad news, I manage to have a decent, productive day. But then I get a text from Samuel:

*Kaylee agrees. You can move into the guest room whenever.*

Perfect.

With renewed energy, I rush back to Cloudine to collect my things. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me pack.

"This is a terrible idea. It's going to end badly for everyone," she warns me—again. I've lost count of how many times she's said this.

"I don't care. I'll do whatever it takes for my kids," I tell her, repeating the same response I always do.

"Mark my words, Rafha. Samuel's going to mess with you."

"I know. That's why I bought a lock for the door. I'll set it up as soon as I get there, and everything will be fine."

"Check the bed first," Cloudine says. "If he's already made it up, don't trust it."

I stop packing and look at her. "You're paranoid," I say. Sure, Samuel is a jerk, but I doubt he'd stoop to something as petty as tampering with the bed.

"They probably put something gross under the sheets," Cloudine insists. "My ex used to do stuff like that. They hide things where you won't notice right away, just to mess with your head."

Cloudine has told me plenty of horror stories about her ex-husband, but this is new. "We're going to have to talk more about this later," I tell her.

"Just be careful," she says, softening as she steps into the room to help me pack. "Samuel's sleazy. You never really know what he's capable of."

"I'll be careful, I promise." Finally, she seems satisfied.

When I arrive at the house with my suitcases, I'm surprised to learn that the girls are spending the night at a friend's place—on a Monday. "Really?" I ask, giving Samuel a suspicious look as he kisses Kaylee cheek.

"They asked," Kaylee answers with a sweet smile. "Who are we to say no?"

It's clear she's already stepping into the stepmother role. I wonder how the girls feel about that and make a mental note to ask them next time we're alone.

As I head into the guest room, Cloudine warnings echo in my mind. The room seems normal at first glance, but as she predicted, the bed is already made. In this house, we usually keep the guest bed ready, but the sheets are different from what I remember last time I was here.

It could mean nothing, but I can't shake the nagging feeling Cloudine planted. Cautiously, I approach the bed and start peeling back the layers. First the comforter—nothing. Then the blanket—still nothing. By the time I get to the sheet, I feel foolish for even being suspicious.

But when I yank the sheet back, I freeze in horror.

Right in the middle of the bed is a used condom.

Bile rises in my throat. There's no doubt in my mind who left it there—or whose fluids are inside it. I'm going to be sick.

I storm out into the living room, where Samuel and Kaylee are still cuddling on the couch.

"What the hell is in my bed?" I demand.

Samuel turns, a sly grin playing on his lips. "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. The used condom, Samuel !"

Kaylee bursts out laughing, and Samuel quickly joins in.

"We have sex in so many places, it's hard to keep track," Kaylee says with a smug singsong tone.

I refuse to believe they'd leave something like that around for their daughters to find. This was done specifically for me—a twisted, deliberate message.

"You're disgusting," I snap. "Clean it up."

Samuel's grin widens. "It's your room. You clean it up."

Seething with rage, I retreat to the guest room. The first thing I do is install the lock on the door. Then, with rubber gloves on, I dispose of the vile evidence. Even with the gloves, the act makes me gag. I feel contaminated.

By the time I'm done, it's already late. I desperately want to go to bed, but there's no way I'm sleeping on those sheets. I strip the bed and haul the linens to the washing machine in the garage. As the cycle begins, I slump onto the steps beside the door, exhausted.

I pull out my phone, about to text Cloudine an update, when it suddenly buzzes with a new message. It's from her:

*Sorry.*

Sorry? Sorry for what? Before I can reply, my phone buzzes again with another text, this time from a different number.

Sandro ?

I quickly switch to that conversation.

*Why the hell did you move back in with that asshole?*