Chapter 7 Betrayal Behind the Door

Anna's POV:

"Don't sleep until I get back," Blake said as he got dressed and made his way to the door.

I nodded, not bothering to ask where he was going or why I needed to wait up. The moment the door clicked shut, I slid out of bed and turned the lock. My petty rebellion.

Sleep wouldn't come anyway. My mind was too busy replaying the events of the day—Blake's forced romantic gesture in the plane, the dinner with his parents, Claire's thinly veiled hostility.

I paced the spacious bedroom, eventually wandering to Blake's bookshelf in search of something to help pass the time.

The shelves were lined with business books, aviation manuals, and classics I assumed he'd never read. My fingers trailed across the spines until they caught on something wedged in a gap between the shelf and the wall—a worn, yellowish notebook.

I hesitated before pulling it out. I'd never snooped through Blake's belongings. But hadn't I already discovered enough secrets to justify a little investigation?

I laughed bitterly at myself. The truth was, during my previous visits to the Wright Estate, my eyes had barely left Blake long enough to notice anything else.

I'd been so desperate for his attention, so pathetically in love, that I might as well have been blind to everything but him.

The notebook wasn't a diary as I'd expected, but something closer to a flight log. Each entry was dated, with brief notes and simple drawings—a smiling face or frowning face, followed by icons like a baseball bat or an airplane.

The pages revealed a childhood scheduled down to the minute. Piano lessons, language tutoring, sports practice—all marked with meticulous precision. The baseball entries were consistently paired with sad faces, while anything aviation-related earned enthusiastic smiles.

I found myself imagining young Blake, serious and focused, poring over flight manuals while other kids played video games. The thought made my chest ache with unexpected tenderness.

Then came the shift. About halfway through, the black pen entries suddenly gave way to colorful markers. The neat, controlled handwriting loosened. And there, taking up an entire page, was a childish drawing of a little girl with blonde curls.

This must be the day Claire came into his life.

The realization sent a wave of pain through me. I'd always known they were close, but seeing tangible evidence of how profoundly her arrival had changed him—bringing literal color into his monochromatic world—made everything worse.

I closed the notebook and returned it to its hiding place, my mind spinning with questions. Had Blake ever loved me? Or had I always been the outsider in a relationship where the most important bond was already formed long before I appeared?

That night, I dreamed of them.

Young Blake, solemn and reserved, meeting little Claire for the first time. Her blonde curls bouncing as she stretched out her small hand to him. His hesitation, then the slow spread of a smile I'd rarely seen directed at me.

The dream shifted. Adult Blake stood with his back to me, his arm around Claire's shoulders. When I called his name, he turned, his blue eyes cold.

"You were never what I wanted," dream-Blake said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You were just convenient."

I woke with a gasp, sunlight streaming through the curtains I'd forgotten to close. The other side of the bed was empty and cold—Blake hadn't returned.

I noticed the key in the lock from the inside. He could have entered if he'd wanted to. But he hadn't.

Last night's kiss and passion suddenly felt hollow—just another calculated move to keep the peace.

Caroline was already in the dining room when I came downstairs, supervising the placement of breakfast dishes.

"Anna, good morning!" Her smile was warm as she motioned me to take a seat. "Did you sleep well?"

"Fine, thank you," I lied.

She patted my hand. "I've made sure the chef prepared a particularly nutritious breakfast for you. Good health makes conception easier, you know."

I focused on the plate she set before me, not meeting her eyes. How could I tell this kind woman that her son's marriage was falling apart? That the grandchild she hoped for would never arrive?

"Blake didn't come down with you?" Caroline asked, glancing toward the staircase. "Would you mind waking him? Oh, and Claire. Breakfast is getting cold, and they shouldn't sleep the day away."

"Of course," I nodded as I replied.

The hallway to Claire's room felt longer than usual. With each step, my heart beat a little faster, my breathing a little shallower.

I couldn't help but start pondering the question I'd been avoiding: Where did Blake go last night? Was he in Claire's room? Did they fall asleep in each other's arms?

Part of me wanted to know the truth; another part dreaded having my suspicions confirmed.

Her door was slightly ajar—Pandora's box, waiting to release its demons. I hesitated, my hand trembling as I reached for the handle. My heartbeat sounded like war drums in my ears, urging me forward.

Just one look. Just to know for sure.

I pushed the door open just enough to see inside, careful not to make a sound.

The sight before me punched the air from my lungs. Blake stood with his back to me, shirtless, his sculpted muscles tensing as he leaned over Claire. He was cradling her face in his hands, leaning down toward her.

Claire was perched on the edge of her bed, wearing nothing but a sheer silk negligee that left little to the imagination, the thin fabric clinging to her curves in the morning light.

"Right there," Claire breathed, her voice a breathy moan that sliced through me like a knife. "That's perfect, Blakey..."

I felt dizzy, as if all the blood in my body had frozen. The suspicion that had been gnawing at me for months solidified into certainty. Strangely, along with the expected pain came an odd sense of relief—at least now I knew I wasn't crazy.

"Does that feel better?" Blake's voice was low, intimate.

"God, yes," Claire whispered, another moan escaping her lips.

How ridiculous my guilt toward Caroline seemed now. How absurd my hope that this marriage could be salvaged.

I froze, unable to move or breathe. And in that instant, Claire saw me standing in the doorway. Instead of pulling away in shock or embarrassment, she smiled, tightening her grip on Blake's shirt.

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

"Anna?" Caroline's voice called from downstairs. "Did you find them?"