No One Came for Me On That Rainy Night

At two in the morning, I arrived at the base of the collapsed mountain road at Blackwood Pass.

The emergency floodlights washed the freezing rain and fog in a deathly, pale glow. My fingers were stiff from the cold as I texted Robin.

[Honey, I am at the bottom of the mountain. Do not panic. I am bringing you home.]

No reply.

My hands shook as I dialed her driver. George picked up, his voice paper-thin and trembling.

"Sir, did you... did you actually drive up to Blackwood?"

The deafening crack of falling boulders echoed from the peaks above. I was shivering, entirely consumed by panic.

"Which section of the road is she trapped on?!"

A heavy, suffocating silence filled the line.

"Sir, the truth is, the boss never went up the mountain."

Icy rainwater slipped down my collar, sending a violent shudder down my spine.

George lowered his voice to a whisper. "She lied to you about the site inspection."

A video notification popped up on my screen. The timestamp was from tonight.

In the footage, Robin stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror. She was gently fixing a man's bow tie, a devastatingly soft smile playing on her lips.

I recognized him.

It was Silas. The boy her family had fostered.

The same man she had sworn to cut out of her life six months ago, kneeling and weeping beside my fathers hospital bed.

Robin must have forgotten that today was also our wedding anniversary.

My phone buzzed again.

"Sir, over the years, she never actually stopped seeing him." George's voice kept breaking up, swallowed by the howling mountain wind. "Tonight, she rented out the entire Cloud Room at the top of the Zenith Tower. She is throwing a welcome-home party for Mr. Silas."

Rain dripped steadily from my jaw.

I stared at the highway a few hundred yards away, completely buried under thousands of tons of mud and rock. Small stones were still tumbling down the slopes.

"Understood." I heard my own voice reply.

There was no screaming. No hysteria. Even I was surprised by the dead calm in my tone.

I hung up on George, found Robin's contact, and hit dial.

It rang for a long time.

Just as I assumed she would let it go to voicemail, the call connected.

"Khobe?"

Her voice was low and smooth, carrying the slight, lazy annoyance of a woman whose perfect evening had been interrupted. Deep in the background, the rich, velvet notes of a live cello drifted through the speaker.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"I already told you." She let out a soft sigh, using that signature tone she reserved for coaxing a toddler. "There was a massive landslide at Blackwood. I am stuck at a little motel near the base."

"Are you hurt?"

"No. The cell reception is just terrible." She paused. "Why are you still awake? Are you scared of the thunderstorm?"

I looked down at my calf. A jagged rock had sliced it open during my climb, and dark blood was washing away into the mud.

"Yeah, a little scared." A bitter smile tugged at my lips. "Does this roadside motel happen to have a live cellist?"

The line went dead silent for a fraction of a second.

"The motel owner is playing a vinyl record." She let out a light, breathy laugh. "Khobe, did you really stay up half the night just to interrogate me?"

"The cell towers at Blackwood collapsed three hours ago." I stared at the yellow police tape fluttering wildly in front of me. "Your reception is remarkably good."

Robins tone instantly dropped into a chilling register.

"Khobe, I am exhausted today. I am not doing this with you."

She always did this.

She would use the calmest, most patronizing voice imaginable to gaslight me, making me feel like an irrational maniac. She played the role of the devoted, hardworking wife who had to endure her husbands pathetic paranoia perfectly.

"I am not trying to fight," I said.

"Then be a good boy." Her voice softened again, dripping with habitual charity. "I will bring you a praline tart from Maison's when I get back tomorrow. That is your favorite, right?"

Maisons praline tart.

That was Silas's favorite.

Not only did I hate sweets, but I was severely allergic to the hazelnut dust they used on top.

After seven years together, she had completely forgotten.

"Okay," I whispered.

"Get some sleep. I love you."

The call ended.

The exact second my screen went black, a rescue worker in a high-vis jacket frantically waved his flashlight at me.

"Hey buddy! Get back! Another mudslide is coming!"

I did not move. I just stood rooted to the wet asphalt, staring at a new post that had just appeared on my timeline. It was from Silas, set so only I could see it.

It was a photo of a delicate, pale hand fixing his bow tie.

The caption read: [She told me that even with a ring on her finger, I will always come first.]

By the time the rain finally stopped, the sky was bleeding into a pale, bruised dawn.

I dragged my mud-caked boots into the VIP underground garage of the Zenith Tower. The heavy windbreaker I had worn to scale the mountain was soaked through, clinging to my back like sheets of ice.

The security guards tried to stop me twice. I had to hand over my ID and recite the license plate of Robins Maybach before they threw me a skeptical look and let me pass.

The moment the private elevator doors chimed open, I froze.

Robin was standing inside.

She was wearing the custom Milanese silk gown I had personally flown to Italy to design for her. The fabric draped flawlessly around her curves, radiating an effortless, untouchable wealth.

Silas was leaning his entire body weight against her.

He wore an immaculate white tuxedo, looking as polished and fragile as a porcelain doll.

"Robin, my feet are killing me," he whined, his voice sickeningly sweet.

Without a second thought, my elegant, commanding wife sank to a crouch. Her long fingers gently wrapped around his ankle.

"Who told you to wear these stiff oxfords?"

"I wanted to look good for you." Silas reached out, playfully twirling a strand of her hair. "You used to love watching me dance."

"That was ages ago." Robin slipped the leather shoes off his feet and held them in one hand. Her eyes were melting with affection. "If you try dancing on that bad ankle now, I will break your legs myself."

I stood hidden behind a dim concrete pillar, watching my wife worship another man.

A violent wave of nausea ripped through my stomach. It was the physical toll of wandering through freezing rain for four hours, desperately trying to save a woman who did not need saving.

The elevator doors slid shut.

I stepped out from the shadows and pressed the button for the service elevator.

I ran into them again in the main lobby.

Silas was padding across the plush carpet in complimentary hotel slippers. Robin had one arm wrapped firmly around his waist, still carrying his expensive shoes in her free hand.

The hotel manager practically tripped over himself rushing forward to greet them.

"Ms. Vanguard, Mr. Silas, your car is waiting right out front."

"Good," Robin replied, not bothering to look at him.

Silas suddenly stopped walking. His gaze drifted over the managers shoulder and landed squarely on me.

He took in my ruined clothes, my matted hair, my face streaked with dirt, and the blood-soaked sneakers on my feet.

He did not look surprised. Instead, the faintest, most toxic little smirk curled the corners of his mouth.

"Robin." He tugged at her sleeve, projecting his voice just enough to ensure it echoed across the marble lobby. "Look at that guy over there. He looks so pathetic. Just like a homeless beggar."

Robin did not even turn her head.

She could not be bothered to spare a fraction of her attention.

"Do not look at the trash, Silas." She pulled him tighter against her side. "You will ruin your mood."

Trash.

I looked down at my own hands.

Muddy water was steadily dripping from my jeans, blooming into dark, ugly stains on the pristine lobby rug.

I really did look like garbage.

I stayed completely still, watching them walk toward the revolving glass doors.

But Silas clearly felt the knife had not twisted deep enough. He stopped near the exit and raised his voice again, adopting an exaggerated tone of innocent concern.

"But Robin, wasn't yesterday your wedding anniversary with Khobe? If you spent the whole night in a suite with me, will he be mad at you?"

Robins heels stopped clicking.

Her shoulders tensed, and a heavy dose of pure irritation bled into her voice.

"Why are we talking about him?"

"I just do not want him to be jealous. He is always so suffocating with you."

"He just has too much time on his hands." Robin let out a cold, sharp scoff. "What else is he good for besides orbiting around my life?"

She tossed Silass leather shoes to the valet boy, then pulled a wet wipe from her clutch, slowly and meticulously cleaning her fingers.

"I only married him because he is predictable. He is quiet, he follows the rules, and he makes a decent decoration to keep at the house."

"Remember this, Silas."

She dropped the soiled wipe into a nearby brass trash can. Her tone was completely flat, but every syllable felt like a bullet to the chest.

"Marriage is nothing but a business transaction. He is good on paper. But you are the only one I actually care about protecting."

Silas smiled, thoroughly satisfied. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

I stared at that brass trash can.

Lying inside it was the limited-edition silk pocket square I had spent hours picking out for her just yesterday morning.

She had told me the color matched her gown perfectly and promised she would keep it close to her heart all night.

Now, it was rotting in the garbage, buried under a wet wipe she used to clean up after another man.

My hand instinctively hovered over the thick gauze taped to my abdomen.

The stitches underneath were brand new. I had just undergone an emergency appendectomy a week ago, and the surgeon had strictly ordered me to stay on bed rest for half a month.

I had planned to tell her about the surgery at our anniversary dinner. I wanted to ask if she could hold my hand when I went to get the stitches removed.

But then she vanished.

Her driver said she was trapped in a deadly landslide.

I had grabbed my keys like a madman, driving through blinding sheets of rain for three hours, ignoring the police barricades, and scaling a collapsing mountain on foot.

I thought she was freezing in the dark, waiting for me to save her life.

Instead, she was playing Cinderella with her little protg.

I slowly turned around and limped toward the opposite side of the lobby.

There was a massive, velvet-lined display case sitting against the glass. It used to hold an exclusive, million-dollar timepiece called the 'Tears of the Deep'.

Robin had won it at a charity auction three months ago.

She had stood in front of a dozen flashing cameras, her eyes shining with fake devotion, telling the press it was a surprise anniversary gift for her beloved husband.

Right now, that exact watch was strapped to Silass wrist.

The diamonds caught the lobby lights, blinding and utterly repulsive.