Carys Renton.
My husband’s new project manager.
The woman whose apartment Gethin Whitlow had been inside, at three in the morning, when he collapsed.
I knew who she was, of course.
I had known for weeks — the name that came up too easily in Gethin’s conversation, the face in the company photo, the woman in the matching hoodie.
I had not confronted him about it, and people will judge me for that, but I had my reasons, and standing in that corridor at three in the morning I understood them fully for the first time.