Yesterday, scrolling through my husband’s iCloud photos, I found the bed shots. Him and some woman. At that exact moment, he was downstairs playing the perfect dad, helping our son Leo with his online class. When the lesson ended, I heard him laying on the virtue thick: "Hey buddy, did you really listen to the teacher? That story was great, wasn't it? It's all about how a man needs to be loyal and dependable." I snapped a picture of that touching scene and posted it online. My friends flooded the comments with praise for "Dad of the Year." Including her. ... Leo had back-to-back online classes. He hates them. If someone isn't watching him like a hawk, he'll either nod off or start tearing into his mystery toy boxes. Seeing Steve glued to Leo's side in the study, I figured I had some free time. Put on a face mask, browsed Amazon a bit. Ding-dong. "DoorDash!" That’s weird, I thought. Our housekeeper, Maria, cooked today. I didn't order anything. Not wanting to disturb the class, I rushed to the door. Took the bag from the delivery guy, mumbled thanks, and quietly shut the door. I ripped open the packaging right there in the hall and almost stormed into the study to start screaming. But seeing Leo actually concentrating stopped me. Staring back at me was a box of Plan B. Steve and I have been together for years, and he's always the one who takes care of protection. Why the hell would he order Plan B and have it sent here? Did hitting the jackpot – marrying into money and finally making his own – go straight to his head? Does this guy, who clawed his way up from nothing, suddenly think he's some kind of king? But wait, that made no sense either. I’m on my period right now. He knows that. Besides, we just talked about this. His company’s finally stable, my family actually respects him now, and I was ready to focus more on home. We decided we wanted to try for a second kid. So why would he buy me Plan B? Wouldn't getting pregnant be a good thing according to our plan? Unless… the pill wasn't meant for me. A cold shiver ran down my spine. Just then, Steve’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. Normally, I wouldn't stoop to checking his phone. It’s pathetic. But instinct screamed at me, right now, you need to look. I typed in Leo’s birthday. The phone unlocked. A new text message glared up at me. Bright and blinding. "Where’s that Plan B you ordered?? Still hasn’t shown up. Guess I’ll just risk my body so you can get off!" My vision blurred. I bit my lip so hard it hurt. My eyes started to sting. Another message popped up. "Even if the pill doesn't come, YOU better." Short texts, but every word stabbed me. I stumbled back, grabbing the coffee table to steady myself. My stomach churned like I’d swallowed acid. So that's it. He messed up the delivery address. Sent it home by mistake. This Plan B was supposed to be for cleaning up his mess tonight. With his mistress. I glanced towards the study, at the father and son focused on the screen. The rage burning inside me was enough to march in there and tear him a new one, humiliate him completely. But I had to weigh the consequences. Blowing up now… what would I gain? What would I lose? After a moment, I marked the texts as unread and tossed the phone back where I found it. 2 For years, people have looked at my life and thought I had it all, like luck just followed me around. But even if you’re lucky enough to be born rich, you still need the brains and guts to hold onto it. If I didn't have my own skills, I’d just be another spoiled brat who blew through her inheritance. I wouldn’t have the life I have today. Staying calm under pressure – that’s rule number one for success. I took the box of Plan B upstairs, quietly. After hiding it under the bed, I logged into Steve’s iCloud account. He never really used it. I set it up for him ages ago when I forgot my own password and needed to save some files I bought on Amazon. I remembered clicking "auto-backup photos" back then. Once I logged in, tucked away in the backed-up photos, were pictures and videos you’d usually have to pay to see. Steve, oh Steve. I supported you all the way, helped you climb the ladder, turn your life around, and this is how you repay me? By making your own private porn collection? Honestly, the girl had a killer body. Flawless skin, curves in all the right places. Everything a guy could want. Even as a woman, I had to admire her dedication to fitness. But she had no damn business sprawling that meticulously maintained body all over my husband. When Leo finished his classes, Steve practically sprinted upstairs. He planted a quick kiss on my forehead, fidgeting. "Honey, honey, I'm so sorry He planted a quick kiss on my forehead, fidgeting. "Honey, honey, I'm so sorry, a client just called, a major client. Gotta run, emergency meeting." I watched him throw on his most expensive suit, slicking his hair back with gel. Right then, he just seemed utterly disgusting. A greasy middle-aged man, losing his mind the second some young girl beckons. A typical scumbag who starts thinking with his dick the moment he gets a little money. How could I have shared a bed with this person for seven years? I flashed back to when that girl interviewed for a job at my company. I was leading the interview panel that day. Steve popped in for a minute while she was there, just to discuss some business stuff with me. She must have clocked him then, targeted him right from the start. Yes. I knew who the girl was. 3 About a year ago, our company was hiring livestream hosts. She applied. She made quite an impression, mostly because everything she wore was a knockoff, right down to the sliver of sock peeking out – a high-end fake of some luxury brand. My guess was, back then, she hadn't landed a sugar daddy yet, someone dumb enough to buy her the real deal. Anyone decked out head-to-toe in fakes is obsessed with appearances, desperate to look richer than they are. During the interview, I asked her what her dream was. She was surprisingly honest. Without missing a beat, she said it was having guys – "whales," she called them – shower her with virtual gifts, like rockets, during her streams. Then I asked her what the key to successful livestream selling was. Her answer? Get users to fall for her face and body first. Turn them into fans, get them hooked, and then they'll blindly buy whatever she pushes. Needless to say, she didn't get the job. I wouldn't let someone with that kind of toxic mindset into my company. Later, she added me on social media, asking about the interview status. I politely turned her down. My friends list was huge, I hadn't cleaned it up in ages, so she was still lurking there. After Leo was asleep, I curled up in bed and scrolled through her profile, post by post. She'd been very active this past year. Photos of thousand-dollar Kobe beef dinners, ten-thousand-dollar-a-night presidential suites, hundred-thousand-dollar limited-edition handbags – she had it all. And in every single one of these "look how rich I am" photos, there was her posing beautifully... and a man's hand. Others might not recognize that hand, but I knew it instantly. It was the same hand that held mine as we walked down the aisle. Now, that hand was busy exploring another woman's body, groping and grabbing. So, the Plan B got sent to the wrong address. But maybe showing up without protection was even better for his little plan? Memories flooded back. Me, screaming in agony in the delivery room. Him, kneeling on the floor for what felt like hours, praying. "God, please, keep my wife and child safe. I'll go vegan, I'll do good deeds for the rest of my life, just please..." Us, caught in a downpour while picking up inventory. Him, taking off his jacket to cover me, grabbing everything heavy, shouldering the whole load. Family gatherings. Him, constantly saying how lucky he was, how marrying me changed his life, how he owed everything to his wonderful wife. All those moments made me believe he was a good man, someone I could trust my life with. I never, ever imagined my husband would betray our family, betray me. Well, fine. If he had the balls to do it, I had the brains to make them both pay. Neither of them was getting off easy. 4 The next day, Steve dragged himself home, looking exhausted. Must have been quite the workout last night. A 40-year-old man trying to keep up with a girl barely out of her teens. No wonder he looked drained. He must have figured out the Plan B mix-up. He started beating around the bush, avoiding my eyes. "Honey, Maria's dinner last night wasn't great, was it? Maybe we should have just ordered takeout." I wasn't in the mood for games. I cut straight to what he really wanted to know. "Maria's food was fine. Didn't order anything yesterday, but some Plan B showed up. Must have been a wrong address. I told the delivery guy to take it back." A flicker of awkwardness crossed Steve's face, but he recovered quickly. Years in business had made him a master of damage control. He put on an exaggerated look of disgust. "Ugh, Plan B? Seriously? Some guys are so irresponsible. Just use protection, you know? That stuff is terrible for a woman's body." I changed the subject. "I'm taking Leo to his piano lesson soon, then meeting a friend. You look wiped out from that 'client meeting.' Why don't you go upstairs and rest?" Without waiting for a reply, I went to change, grabbed Leo, and walked out the door. I really was meeting a friend. The only one who could help me with this. 5 My friend, Sarah, is a headhunter. I told her I needed to hire a new female livestream host – drop-dead gorgeous, amazing body. I mentioned I was willing to pay 50% above the going rate. Sarah dropped everything to meet me. Obviously. A higher salary meant a bigger commission for her. We spent the whole morning interviewing over a dozen candidates. They were pretty, sure, but they all looked the same. Same skinny frame, same sharp nose, same big eyes with heavy makeup. And the moment they opened their mouths, the shallowness poured out. I kept shaking my head, making little 'tsk' sounds. Sarah finally sighed. "Okay, boss lady, you gotta give me more specifics. What exactly are you looking for?" I snapped my fingers as if an idea just hit me. "Right! You know, that one girl you sent over before... uh... what was her name... Ashley? Yeah, Ashley. She might work. Can you try to get her back in here?" The whole point of the morning's charade was to make Sarah believe I was genuinely recruiting, not targeting someone specific. Sarah's sharp as a tack. If I'd just asked for Ashley outright, she'd smell a rat and start digging. And I couldn't just call Ashley directly. The trap had to be set perfectly, following all the proper channels.
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