“Michael, she says she needs to ‘answer to some descendants’? What descendants?”
“To me, it’s just a little jade ring. How important could it really be? Unless…”
Her brows furrowed.
“Unless it was given to her by some old lover?”
Her words dripped with implication, and when her eyes met mine, they glittered with provocation.
Michael’s face darkened instantly, his glare piercing me.
“Sophia, you’d better explain. Who gave you that ring?”
“And just what have you been doing behind my back?”
I actually laughed.
When he was still just a lowly salesman, I had married him without hesitation.
In three years of marriage, I may not have been perfect—
But I was at least blameless.
Aside from meeting my cousins each Memorial Day, I barely even interacted with other men.
And he had the gall to cheat, yet accuse me?
“I, Sophia Lane, have lived righteously. I’ve never betrayed you. If you don’t believe me, investigate all you want.”
“And let me say this again—the jade ring was brought out of a tomb at the cost of lives. It’s an heirloom that every year—”
“Investigate? Of course I’ll investigate.”
Michael cut me off coldly before I could finish.
He sneered, glancing at Olivia.
I was confused—
Until Olivia, catching on, pulled several photos from her designer handbag.
I took them.
They showed me, over several Memorial Days, dressed plainly, wearing large sunglasses.
Some shots were at the airport, some at a highway entrance, some near the cemetery.
And in each one, I was seen quietly speaking to—or getting into cars with—different men, also in sunglasses, with distinct builds and temperaments.
The photos were shot at tricky angles, making everything seem secretive, even shady.
“What’s the matter? Speechless? Feeling guilty?”
“Every year on that day, you sneak off to meet these men, hiding yourself like that. What shady business are you doing?”
“Tell me! Who are they? Where are they from?”
I had promised my cousins.
Their identities were far too sensitive to be exposed.
Even our yearly gatherings were absolute secrets.
“You can’t ask. I won’t tell you who they are.”
“Michael, just believe me—it’s not what you think. And besides…”
“Knowing who they are won’t do you any good. You can’t afford to offend them.”
I wasn’t trying to boast.
We were husband and wife—I only hoped he’d back off.
But the words “can’t afford” pierced Michael’s fragile pride like nails.
He slammed the table, roaring: