The crisp, damning receipt felt like it was burning a hole in Emma's pocket all night. She lay beside Neo, her body rigid, pretending to sleep while her mind raced. *J.* The initial was a key, and she was going to use it to unlock every one of Neo's lies.
The next morning, she put on her best performance. She kissed him goodbye, smiled at his joke about the coffee, and waited until his car disappeared down the street. Then, she moved.
She drove straight to The Lexington Hotel, her heart thumping a nervous rhythm against her ribs. The hotel was even more imposing up close, all gleaming marble and hushed, expensive air. She approached the front desk, her palms slightly sweaty.
A concierge with a perfectly polite smile looked up. "How may I help you, ma'am?"
Emma summoned her best look of flustered distress. "Hi, yes, I'm hoping you can help me. My... my husband was here for lunch yesterday. I think he may have lost his wallet. It's a big, black leather one. It has everything in it. Is there any chance it was turned in?"
The concierge's smile became apologetic. "I'm very sorry, ma'am. Nothing matching that description has been turned into Lost and Found."
Emma bit her lip, layering on the anxiety. "Is there... any way I could maybe just take a quick look? At your security footage from the lobby yesterday? Maybe I could see him and pinpoint where he was sitting? It's just... it's so important. There are irreplaceable family photos in there." She let her voice crack just a little.
The concierge looked uncomfortable. "I'm terribly sorry, but that's against hotel policy. We cannot show security footage to guests."
"Please," Emma pleaded, her eyes wide and earnest. "Just for a minute. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't so important. I just need to see if he had it when he left."
She must have looked truly desperate. The concierge glanced around, then leaned in slightly. "Wait here a moment, ma'am."
He disappeared into a back office. Emma could hear a low, murmured conversation. A moment later, a stern-looking man in a sharper suit—the hotel manager—emerged. He listened to her story again, his expression unreadable.
Finally, he gave a curt nod. "Very well. We can allow a *brief* look to help a guest in distress. Follow me."
Relief, sharp and sweet, flooded her. She followed him through a discreet door behind the front desk, down a narrow corridor, and into a small, dark room lined with monitors. A security guard sat in a chair, and the manager gestured for him to help.
"What time was your husband here?" the manager asked.
"Around one-thirty," Emma said, her voice tight.
The guard pulled up the footage from the main lobby entrance and the reception area for that time. The black-and-white video was crisp and clear. Emma leaned forward, her eyes glued to the screen.
For a few minutes, there was nothing. Then, he appeared.
Neo walked through the rotating doors, looking confident and relaxed. He didn't look like a man at a boring business lunch. He walked straight to the reception desk. Emma couldn't hear the audio, but she saw him speak to the clerk. He wasn't asking for a table. He was given a small, keycard-like object. A room key. Her blood ran cold.
A few minutes later, the main doors swirled again. A woman entered. She was wearing a stunning, fitted red dress and high heels, her face angled away from the camera. She walked with a familiar, confident grace straight towards the elevators, not stopping at the desk. She knew where she was going.
The security guard, trying to be helpful, switched to a camera focused on the elevator bank. They watched the woman in red press the button. As she waited, she turned slightly, pulling a lipstick from her small clutch bag. For a split second, she faced the camera.
Emma's breath caught. She didn't see her.
But then, as the woman applied her lipstick, she used the reflective black panel of the elevator door to check her appearance. With a perfectly manicured finger, she signed a quick, flourishing letter on the glass.
A 'J'.
It was the same flourish. The same signature. *J.*
That was it. The proof. Neo wasn't here for a business lunch. He was here for a clandestine meeting in a hotel room with a mysterious woman named J.
Emma suddenly felt sick. She had seen enough. More than enough.
She straightened up, forcing a look of embarrassed relief onto her face.
"Oh my goodness," she said, putting a hand to her forehead. "I am so, so sorry. I'm such a fool. I just checked my bag again and... his wallet is right here. I must have had it all along. I've wasted your time. I'm so embarrassed. Thank you so much for your help."
The manager looked slightly annoyed but also relieved to be done with her. "It's quite all right, ma'am. These things happen. Have a good day."
Emma practically fled the security room and the luxurious lobby, the image of the woman's flourish burning behind her eyes. She didn't go home. She went to a nearby department store, her mind working fast.
She bought a simple, cheap black dress and a white apron—a passable imitation of a hotel housekeeping uniform. She changed in a restroom, her hands trembling with adrenaline. She wasn't going to wait. She couldn't. She needed to know what was in that room.
She walked back into The Lexington, this time with more purpose, her head down. She carried a small shopping bag like it was her supplies. She moved past the front desk, trying to look like she belonged, and went straight to the elevator bank.
Her heart was a drum in her chest. She pressed the button for the second floor. The ride up was silent and tense.
The hallway of the second floor was plush and quiet. She walked slowly, reading the room numbers. 208... 210... 212.
She stopped in front of room 212. Her hand reached into the shopping bag, not for a key, but for the small, hard object she'd taken from Neo's apartment weeks ago, 'just in case'—a multi-tool with a thin, strong blade. It was now or never.
She took a deep breath, knocked lightly on the door, and called out in what she hoped was a professional voice, "Housekeeping!"
She waited. There was no sound from inside.
This was her chance. With a quick, practiced motion she'd seen in a movie, she slid the thin blade between the door and the frame, right where the lock was. She jiggled it, praying it would work.
There was a soft, but definite, *click*.
Emma pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it quickly and quietly behind her. She was in. She was in Neo's secret world. The room was dark, the curtains drawn. But it was what she saw in the dim light that made her blood freeze solid.
It wasn't a romantic suite. There were no discarded clothes, no signs of a intimate meeting.
The room was a workshop.
Spread out on a large table covered in a plastic sheet were tools. Sharp, precise, terrifying tools. And photographs. Dozens of them, pinned to a corkboard. They were pictures of women. Women walking alone, women getting into cars, women laughing at cafes.
And in the center of the board, larger than all the others, was a picture of herself.
Emma standing on her balcony, unaware she was being watched.
This wasn't an affair.
It was something much, much worse.