For a tense, agonizing moment, nobody in the room dared to breathe, the silence stretching out like a tightrope over an abyss. Clara slowly lowered her designer handbag, her gaze shifting back and forth between my furious expression and Marco’s desperate panic. 
“Elena,” Clara whispered, her voice barely audible above the hum of the office ventilation system. “I… I thought you already knew everything about what Marco does for us.”
That single sentence hit me like a physical blow, unraveling every single lie my husband had carefully constructed over three long years of marriage. Before I could demand answers, Marco grabbed my wrist gently, his eyes pooling with tears of pure desperation. “Please, Elena, sit down,” he pleaded softly, turning to face his deepest secret. “I’ll tell you the whole truth right now.”
