The Smart Fridge

1
I was using the new smart fridge my husband had just installed, getting ready to make a shopping list for the weekend.
Suddenly, a shared family account he’d forgotten to log out of popped up on the screen. Inside, there was only one unfamiliar user profile.
I tapped on it. A list titled “Rose Care Guide” stared back at me.
Rose is allergic to seafood. No spicy food.
Rose is emotionally volatile. Buy her favorite white chocolate to soothe her.
Rose gets cold easily. The thermostat at home must be kept at a constant 78°F.
I scrolled down, a cold smile on my face. The last item was a bolded calendar reminder:
“Next Wednesday, take Rose to pick out a wedding dress.”
Expressionless, I closed the list and dialed his number.
“Darling, does your rose prefer a traditional gown or something more contemporary? I’d love to help you brainstorm.”
…
On the other end of the line, my husband, Chuck Croft, stopped breathing for a second.
“Selene, my love, what little joke are you playing now?”
His voice, wrapped in the warmth and magnetism I’d known for eight years, was as smooth and steady as ever. “What rose? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He chuckled, his tone dripping with affection. “The only rose in my life is you.”
I clutched the phone, my gaze sweeping over the silent night outside the window as my lips curled into a smirk. “The one from your shared list, of course. The rose who needs to pick out a wedding dress.”
His voice on the other end immediately relaxed, a note of understanding in it. “Oh, that! That’s for Henry. He’s getting ready to marry his girlfriend, and he asked me to help him plan the wedding dress shopping.”
“You know how he is, always a bit of a mess. I’ll have to give him a piece of my mind later. He can’t just be syncing everything to my account and making my Selene jealous.”
The perfect excuse.
Henry was his best friend, the best man at our wedding. He was certain I would never doubt him.
“That’s just him, always dumping his problems on me. I’m so sorry it made you worry, Selene.”
“Is that so?” I asked lightly. “You two must be incredibly close, for him to need someone else’s opinion on a wedding dress.”
Chuck ran with it. “Of course, we grew up together. He spoils his girlfriend rotten; I’m almost jealous myself.”
“Selene, don’t overthink it. You’re the only one for me. Is your gown for the gala tomorrow night ready? I can have the driver pick it up.”
“No need. I have my own arrangements.”
I ended the call, tossed my apron aside, and took a complete screenshot of the list.
The lock turned. In less than fifteen minutes, Chuck was home.
He walked in and wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin gently in the crook of my neck, bringing with him the crisp scent of the night air.
“Selene, I was still worried. I canceled my last meeting and rushed back.”
He cupped my face, his deep eyes filled with sincerity and tenderness. “Have I been too busy lately, neglecting you? Is that why your mind is racing?”
“Your voice sounded off on the phone, and my heart just sank. No business deal is more important than you.”
“It’s all my fault. I haven’t been considering your feelings these past few days.”
He took all the blame, shouldered all the responsibility, painting me as the paranoid wife, chasing shadows and consumed by jealousy.
I stared at the face that had once made me fall so completely, a bitter taste rising in my throat. “No, it’s not you. I think I’ve just been tired lately.”
He let out a visible sigh of relief.
“You silly girl.” He brushed his fingertip against my nose. “Alright, stop worrying. I’ll go run you a bath.”
He slipped off his bespoke suit jacket and tossed it casually onto a chair.
As I watched him walk into the bathroom, I reached for the jacket, planning to hang it in the closet.
A gold-embossed card fell out of the pocket.
I picked it up. It was a collection receipt from a private couture atelier. The name of the custom gown was “Starry Night Rose,” a piece whose materials and craftsmanship came with a staggering price tag.
At the very bottom, handwritten, was the recipient’s information.
It wasn’t me. Nor was it Henry’s girlfriend.
Clutching the thin piece of paper, I called my best friend, Zara.
She was a top-tier attorney specializing in divorce cases, with an almost terrifying network of contacts.
“Zara, I’m sending you a name and an address. Find out everything you can about her and her connection to Chuck Croft.”
For the next few days, Chuck’s attentiveness was almost suffocating. Kisses in the morning, embraces at night, driving me to and from work himself, even starting to research recipes to cook for me.
He was playing the part of the perfect, guilt-ridden husband, desperately trying to make amends for a near-misunderstanding.
On Thursday afternoon, Chuck’s grandfather called.
The old man first asked about how I was doing, then the conversation took a sharp turn.

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "244685" to read the entire book.