The Day My Contract Ended I Married Another Man novel Chapter 29

Nathan Sterling rarely used social media.

He only posted twice a year–once on my birthday, and once on our anniversary.

He said he didn’t like exposing too much of his personal life online.

Until today.

When I opened his iPad, I found a logged–in account on the screen.

The profile picture was of a couple holding hands.

The man’s fingers were long and clean, a wedding ring gleaming on his left hand.

The woman’s wrist wore a daisy charm bracelet I’d never seen before.

I tapped into the photo gallery.

Over three hundred pictures.

Pictures of the two of them walking hand–in–hand on the beach, the sun casting long shadows

behind them.

Pictures of her cooking in the kitchen, wearing the apron I bought.

He’d captioned it: [My wife’s cooking is the best.]

And one photo—taken on what was supposed to be our marriage bed.

She was holding up her phone, capturing their reflection in the mirror.

Nathan’s arm was wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder, and in his eyes-

something I’d never seen before. Devotion.

So, all this time, when he said he didn’t want to share our private life online–he only meant he

didn’t want me in it.

I slowly put the iPad down.

Suddenly, I remembered the unfamiliar floral scent on him last night–soft, powdery,

unmistakably daisy.

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It was storming that night.

Nathan came home drunk, completely out of it.

He pulled me into his arms in a haze.

“Don’t be scared, Delilah,” he murmured. “I scaled all the windows shut.”

“I hate that I met you so late. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“If only I hadn’t married her… Then I could hold your hand in the daylight. Kiss every inch of your skin in the open.”

No matter how I resisted, he whispered another woman’s name as he clung to me all night.

The next morning, I unlocked his phone while he was still asleep.

There were no messages. Every conversation with her had been wiped clean.

The only thing left behind was a location tagged at an art gallery.

Curiosity led me there.

I wanted to see what kind of woman could make him murmur her name even in his dreams.

The moment I stepped inside, I was struck by the atmosphere–modern, eclectic, pulsing with

creative energy.

And then I saw her.

High ponytail. Bright, expressive eyes.

Animated, radiant, magnetic.

She was laughing as she chatted with a small group, and for a moment, I couldn’t look away.

I edged closer.

Suddenly, a loud crash.

Something heavy fell from the upper floor–too fast for me to dodge.

It slammed into my arm, ripping the skin open.

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Before I could even recover from the shock, a man above leaned over the railing and shouted: “What the hell are you doing? If you wanna die, go somewhere else!”

The pain made my vision blur–I couldn’t even form a reply.

Then she came running.

She crouched beside me, inspecting my wound, her brows furrowed with worry.

Without saying another word, she charged upstairs and laid into him.

“You dropped that from up there. You almost hurt someone and now you’re yelling at her?”

“You better apologize to this lady right now–or I’m calling the police.

>>

The man deflated instantly.

She had that kind of presence–fierce, commanding, impossible to ignore.

Mumbling an apology, he shuffled downstairs, eyes on the floor.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

She helped me to a small office next door.

Pulled out a first aid kit.

Wrapped the bandage around my arm with careful, practiced hands.

Sunlight poured through the window and danced across her features, making her look even more

flawless.

For a moment, I understood why Nathan was so obsessed.

“All done,” she said with a bright smile.

“Try not to get it wet. I’m Delilah Moore, the owner of the gallery. I’m really sorry that happened on my watch.”

She looked barely twenty.

And she already owned a gallery?

It reminded me–Nathan wired a large sum of money to a corporate account every month.

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That account? It bore the exact name of this gallery.

I felt dizzy.

Still, I forced a smile.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes sparkled as she clasped my hands tightly.

“No need to thank me. It’s the least I could do.”

“You know, I feel like we’re totally fated to meet. The moment I saw you, I just felt this…

warmth.”

“Let’s exchange contacts! I really hope we can meet again!”

In a swift, smooth motion, she pulled out her phone and added me.

“There! We’re friends now,” she said with a cheerful wink.

I stared at her in a daze.

She was charming.

If she weren’t involved with my husband, I might’ve even wanted to be her friend too.

Suddenly, a car horn blared from outside.

I turned to look.

Nathan’s car was parked right at the curb.

Panicking, I turned away, not wanting him to see me.

He was the one having the affair, and yet here I was–hiding like a thief.

“That’s my boyfriend,” Delilah said excitedly.

“He’s here to pick me up. Want to grab dinner with us?”

I shook my head, forcing a smile.

“No, I wouldn’t want to interrupt you two.”

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Nathan stepped out of the car and opened the passenger door for her–so gentle, so familiar.

I could almost hear his voice from long ago: “Baby, the passenger seat is yours. No one else gets to sit there.”

What a joke.

As I watched the car pull away, my heart ached as if clenched by an invisible fist.

1 wandered aimlessly through the streets for hours before finally returning home at chink.

The moment I stepped through the front door of the Steeling Estate, the soft, melodic sound of a pieno drifted down from upstairs.

Martha, our housekeeper, zusted over, bee face creased with worry.

“Mr. Sterling’s home already?” I asked

Nataars had been working late at the firms for a month straight. It was unusual for him to be home

this early.

Masti esitated, he wonde besitant and evasive

You’re back, Mas. Sterling Are you hungry? I can make you something light–maybe soup?”

I shook my head

When your bussband’s hayali sits lifter head in your gut, there’s no appetite left for anything

As I made my way up the spinal stancase, anthosity pushing me forward, Martha suddenly stepped

in front of me, as QUEST

*Mrs. Smering, you can’t go apstants?” she sand, visibly flustered. “Mr. Sterling… he said he’s busy watilia scommettiring important. No amauringond visions allowed upstairs.”

wiss

I sedan heen- al het servous, Maggetated expression.

Chad Bhary began to churn beneath my tbs,

“Unautantsed? You mean me?

She opened her mouth but couldn’t gue me an answerct

I pushed pass her

Bun as I machend the landing and caught sight of what lay beyond the glass doors, 1 free

The floor–to–ceiling windows wen’t covered.

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Bathed in golden light, Nathan had his arms around her.

Delilah Moore.

She sat at my Steinway grand piano–the one I had spent months saving and searching for while he leaned into her, their fingers dancing in a messy duet across the keys.

And then, in a moment of twisted euphoria, he scooped her up.

Lifted her onto the glossy black surface of the piano, the one that once echoed with my laughter.

His hands roamed freely over her skin.

Exposed skin marked by fresh traces of his kisses–evidence of intimacy that still burned raw.

She looked nothing like the radiant, innocent girl from the gallery today.

Now, she was all curves and seduction, her expression dripping with desire.

Maybe that’s what drew him in.

That shifting, adaptable charm.

Sweet girl in public, sexy in private.

Before I could fully register the scene, Nathan’s assistant–Paul–hurried up the stairs, holding an unmistakably large black box.

When he spotted me at the top of the landing, he flinched, instinctively hiding the box behind

him.

“M–Mrs. Sterling-”

But I’d already seen enough.

The box was filled with condoms, lubrication, and electronic toys I never allowed in our bedroom.

My nails dug deep into my palm as a sharp pain jolted me back to reality, the sting stronger than

the numbness in my chest.

Nathan’s impatient voice echoed from the bedroom.

“Paul! What the hell is taking so long? You want me to transfer your ass to our Africa office?