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It comes as no surprise that spurs turmoil inside me. In all corners of my body, panic grows in spades.
One night he brings her home. A couple of nights later, they have dinner. He drives her home again. She invites him inside.
She doesn’t live alone, the report says. In fact, she’s married to Adam Sanders, a CEO, who runs a multi-million dollar corporation and travels quite a bit.
Oh, my God.
The same evening, Adam comes home half an hour later.
For two hours, no one leaves the place.
Close to midnight, Jaden jogs down the stairs, climbs into his car, and goes home. A different report includes the PI analysis, shedding light on the couple’s life.
Happily married, the woman is a trust fund baby and owns a business, while her husband, Adam, is a self-made millionaire.
A third snapshot captures Jaden and Adam at an exclusive restaurant downtown.
Seated at a table by the window, the men spend time together, drinking, laughing, and conversing before the woman joins them.
The last pictures show Jaden and the woman in front of the restaurant. He’s getting ready to leave.
She curls her arms around his neck, looking for his lips. She gives him a soft kiss.
My eyes blur with tears.
Pissed, I blink them back.
There are no more pictures of this woman, but two other women visit his apartment several times.
One blonde, one brown-haired. Both are young and beautiful, wearing high heels and skin-tight dresses.
They come and leave at approximately the same time, spending roughly a couple of hours with him. There are no public pictures with them, simply because they don’t cross paths outside his home, but one shows the three of them in the foyer and then outside the building just before the women enter a limousine.
The PI analysis report indicates the women are a couple and business partners running a successful lingerie company.
My lips get dry.
I gulp water from the bottle, staring vacantly at the lawn.
I slant my eyes back to the report. There are no out-of-town trips, no other visitors except for a maid and food deliveries.
He has no debt.
He’s spent most of his days at his business and at home, except when he went out with the brunette and her husband or killed a few hours at their home.
His cell phone number and home address are attached to the report.
I pick up my phone from the table and call him.
He answers at the second ring. His voice carries a soft rasp that makes me shudder.
“Yes?” he asks.
I stay quiet, unable to speak.
“Senna?”
I clear my voice.
