I am thirty-seven years old.

Yes, I have a few faint lines around my eyes, the kind that appear naturally after years of working long hours and sleeping far too little.

But neglected?

Uninteresting?

That was a new one.

“Richard deserves better,” Alexis continued enthusiastically. “Someone younger. Someone who understands what he really needs.”

She leaned forward slightly.

“Not some tired housewife who probably thinks basic intimacy is adventurous.”

I watched her carefully.

“Perhaps his wife works,” I suggested.

Alexis laughed loudly.

“Oh please,” she said dismissively. “Richard told me she has some tiny job at a company somewhere. Probably a receptionist or something equally meaningless.”

That “tiny job” happened to be running the company I founded eight years ago.

A company with two hundred employees.

A company that paid for this house.

A company that had quietly financed Richard’s medical education and the private clinic he opened three years earlier, which had yet to become profitable.

The Clinic

I walked slowly toward the kitchen counter and rested my hands against the cool marble surface.

“Richard’s clinic must be doing very well,” I said.

Alexis made a dismissive noise.

“Between us,” she replied conspiratorially, “it’s struggling.”

She shrugged casually.

“But that’s because Richard is too nice. He needs someone who pushes him to be ruthless. His wife probably encourages weakness.”

Her voice dropped slightly.

“I bet she’s using her little paycheck to cover the bills while he tries to save his career.”

I reached into my pocket and quietly unlocked my phone.

Then I sent Richard a message.

I told him there was an emergency at the house.