Coming home from a business trip to find the water shut off was the first sign that something was wrong. After a call to building management, a maintenance guy showed up, but he just stared at me, confused. "The shutoff was announced in the residents' chat group yesterday," he said, scratching his head. "You even replied 'Got it.' Did you forget?" A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. My husband and I had never bothered to join the residents' chat. Too much hassle. As soon as the maintenance guy left, I got myself added to the group and started scrolling through the chat history. My eyes landed on a user who called herself "Mrs. of 1206," who had been quite active in the discussions. But I live in 1206. If she was the owner, then who was I? My hand trembled slightly as I called my husband, Julian. He answered without a moment's hesitation. "She probably just typed it wrong, honey. There are so many buildings in the complex, it's an easy mistake. I can message her and ask her to fix it if you want." I forced a smile into my voice. "No, don't bother. It's not a big deal." But the moment I hung up, I switched to a burner account and sent a friend request to the "Mrs. of 1206." 1 It was only eight in the evening, and she accepted my request almost instantly. "Who is this? Do I know you?" she typed. My fingers flew across the screen. "Hey, I live in the apartment right below you. Is everything okay up there? I've been hearing strange noises for a while, sounds like someone might have broken in." Her reply was swift. "I'll go check right now." I put my phone away, keyed in the security code to my own front door, and stepped inside. This apartment was a pied-à-terre, a place we kept near the airport for early flights or late arrivals when the drive back to our main penthouse downtown was too much. Julian was at the penthouse now, which meant this place was empty. It wasn't long before I heard the sharp click-clack of high heels echoing down the hallway. Peeking through the peephole, I saw a young woman stop in front of my door. With a practiced ease that sent a chill down my spine, she entered the security code and pushed the door open. So, it wasn't a typo. My worst fears were true. My phone buzzed with another message from her. "You must have heard wrong. The water is out today, so no one's home. The noise definitely wasn't coming from our place." I tapped out a vague reply and then slipped out through the fire escape, circling back to re-enter my apartment through the front door she had left ajar. "Who are you?" I demanded, my voice sharp and cutting through the silence. "What are you doing in my home?" I decided to strike first, catching her completely off guard. Color flooded her face, turning it a blotchy red. Her lips trembled as she stammered, "You—you must be Julian's wife. I'm Selina. We... we grew up in the same town." She wrung her hands, avoiding my eyes. "He said this place was usually empty, and he was worried about burglars. Since I work nearby, he just asked me to check in once in a while... you know, tidy up a bit." A blatant lie. I had a cleaning service that came twice a week like clockwork. This place was immaculate. There was no need for anyone to "tidy up." But I didn't call her out on it. Instead, I gave her a placid smile and patted her shoulder gently. "Well, that's so thoughtful of you. But it's getting late, and I'm ready to turn in. You should head home." Selina nodded, practically tripping over herself as she scrambled out the door, fleeing as if she'd just seen a ghost. 2 Once she was gone, I collapsed onto the sofa and pulled up her social media feed. Three posts were pinned to the top. The first was a photo of her delicate wrist, adorned with a heavy, masculine watch. The caption read: "He let me play with it." I recognized it instantly. It was the watch I had given Julian for our anniversary. I checked the date of the post. It was from the day I'd been organizing our walk-in closet and noticed it was missing. He’d told me he left it at the office. Instead, he'd been using my gift to charm his little plaything. I scrolled down. The second post was geotagged at a resort out of state. The caption: "The hotel walls are so thin. A girl can't possibly sleep alone here." The date. It was my birthday. Julian and I had been in the middle of a candlelit dinner when he’d suddenly stood up, telling me he was being sent on an urgent business trip, effective immediately. I’d been upset, asking if it couldn't wait until morning. He’d frowned, his voice cold. "This is for my job, Eleanor. Don't be irrational." The third pinned post was a picture of a bouquet so massive she could disappear behind it, made entirely of crisp hundred-dollar bills. If my math was right, that floral arrangement was made of over fifty thousand dollars in cash. And I knew exactly where that money came from. It had been withdrawn from the supplementary credit card I gave him—a card linked directly to my account. He really spared no expense, did he? A fifty-thousand-dollar cash bouquet for his mistress, while I got a dozen roses from a Groupon deal. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. What a blind fool I’d been to fall for a man like Julian Pierce. And he had the audacity to let his lover stay in a property that was in my name, as if I’d never find out. He had seriously underestimated my intelligence. Without another thought, I called my best friend, Sarah. As one of the city's top divorce attorneys, she lived for this kind of drama. "That leech Julian dares to cheat on you?" Sarah's voice was pure venom. "He's got a death wish." "Don't you worry, Eleanor," she purred. "I'll help you make sure he walks away with nothing but the clothes on his back." I smiled. That was exactly what I wanted. I didn't want a man who was tainted goods. But more than that, I wanted to make him pay. I had barely hung up with Sarah when my phone rang again. It was Julian. "Eleanor, honey, why didn't you tell me you were back? I would have picked you up from the airport. I heard the water's out over there, it can't be comfortable for you to stay the night." His voice was slick with false concern. "And you met Selina, right? She's just a sweet kid from back home, her parents know mine. She's all alone in this big city, so I promised her folks I'd look out for her." He was trying to get ahead of the story, to smooth over my suspicions. Little did he know, his pathetic secrets were already blown wide open. "Yes, I met her," I said, keeping my voice light. "Listen, I'm swamped. I have another flight to catch first thing in the morning, so I'll just crash here for the night. You get some sleep." As I spoke, the screen of my tablet showed a live feed from the security cameras in our downtown penthouse. Selina certainly had guts. Fresh from being caught by me, she had run straight to our main home to seek comfort from Julian. He sat on the sofa, pulling her into his lap, his fingers twirling a lock of her hair, the very picture of domestic bliss. Over the phone, Julian let out a visible sigh of relief. "Okay then. Rest up, darling. It's late." "Next time you come home, just tell me," he added, his voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "I'll drive out to get you, no matter how late it is. Nothing is more important than you." If I were still the naive wife from yesterday, those words might have touched me. But watching him caress another woman on my tablet, they were nothing but a sick joke. 3 The moment he hung up, Selina planted a kiss on Julian's cheek. "You scared me to death today, baby! I really thought she'd found us out." Julian pinched her cheek playfully. "What's there to be scared of? I'm here. And so what if she finds out? I'll protect you." He leaned in closer. "There's a big auction in a couple of days. I'll take you, clear your head. You can buy whatever you like." Selina's eyes lit up. "Oh, thank you, baby! You're the best!" I immediately contacted my assistant and had her cancel Julian's supplementary card. Let's see how he planned to buy "whatever she liked" when he couldn't charge a single cent. Sarah was brutally efficient. Before dawn, she sent me a complete timeline of the affair. Julian hadn't been lying about one thing: Selina was indeed from his hometown. They were practically childhood sweethearts. The affair had started the moment she moved to the city a year ago. He had been spoiling her rotten, lavishing her with the finest clothes, jewelry, and accessories. The transaction history alone was a fifty-page PowerPoint presentation. I did a quick mental calculation; the total value ran into the tens of millions. I recognized many of the items. On our last wedding anniversary, Julian had given me a sapphire necklace, claiming he'd won it at a prestigious auction. It was too gaudy for my taste, so I’d kept it locked away. Now I knew why. The one he gave me was a cheap imitation. The real one was draped around Selina's neck in half her social media posts. Page after page of his spending scrolled by, and I started to laugh, a hollow, angry sound. The memory of how touched I'd felt receiving those fake gifts now made my stomach churn. And Selina, the proud owner of all this stolen luxury, had built a career online as a "wealth-flexing" influencer. She'd amassed hundreds of thousands of followers by parading my jewelry, my clothes, and my bags. I clicked on her profile. Her latest video was a tour of my penthouse. Not only that, she had the gall to waltz into my walk-in closet, casually picking up my designer dresses. "I have way too many clothes, guys," she chirped to the camera. "So, I'm going to pick a few lucky followers and send some of these out as gifts!" "Don't worry," she cooed, "I've never even worn most of these. Some still have the tags on! And for those who don't win, don't be sad. I'll be doing giveaways like this all the time." Her comments section was flooded with praise. "You're so beautiful and generous!" someone wrote. Another asked how she could afford such a lavish lifestyle. Selina replied with a sickeningly sweet message: "It's all my husband's money. We grew up together, and he always gives me the very best of everything." Then, she added the kicker: "He's taking me to a major auction in a couple of days. I'll do an unboxing video for you guys when I get back!" I switched to another burner account and commented: "Could you live-stream the auction tomorrow? I'm just a poor girl who's never seen anything like it!" My comment quickly racked up likes, with dozens of her fans echoing the request. Selina's reply came minutes later: "Okay, babes! Tomorrow, you'll all get an immersive experience at a high-end auction with me!" Perfect. Julian wanted to use my money to let her buy whatever she wanted. It wouldn't be right for the actual owner of that money not to be present, would it? 4 On the day of the auction, I arrived early and found an unobtrusive seat in a dimly lit corner. You wouldn't even know I was there unless you were looking for me. Soon enough, Julian and Selina made their grand entrance, arm in arm. True to her promise, Selina was dressed to the nines for her live audience. She was carrying my Hermès Birkin in crocodile skin, wearing a haute couture gown, and was so laden with jewelry on her neck and wrists she looked less like a socialite and more like a disco ball. As frequent patrons, they were personally escorted by the staff to a private VIP suite overlooking the main floor. The auction began. The first few lots were minor pieces, the warm-up acts. Selina started her live stream, and within minutes, thousands of viewers had joined. I was one of them. To project an image of limitless wealth for her followers, Selina bid on nearly every item that came up. And Julian, blissfully unaware, let her, thinking my credit card was footing the bill. From my corner, I watched it all unfold, not with anger, but with a growing sense of excitement. Finally, the auctioneer's tone shifted. It was time for the evening's main event. "And now, for our pièce de résistance," he announced. "A diamond tiara once owned by French nobility over a century ago. The genius of this piece lies in its versatility. Every component is detachable. It can be worn as a full tiara, a necklace, and the diamond florets can be used as hairpins or brooches..." The central diamond was a stunning ten-carat masterpiece. Under the auction house lights, its fire was so brilliant it threatened to blind the entire room. In the live stream, Selina let out a squeal. "Baby, I want that one! It would be perfect for our wedding photos!" Julian grunted in agreement. I let out a slow breath. This was it. She wanted it. And I was going to make sure she never got it. "We'll start the bidding at five hundred and fifty thousand dollars..." The auctioneer had barely finished his sentence when paddles shot up across the room. The price quickly climbed to six hundred thirty thousand. I raised my paddle. The price jumped by another twenty thousand. Selina, in her suite, immediately countered. The moment her bid was registered, I raised mine again, adding another twenty thousand. We went back and forth, my relentless bidding clearly unnerving her. The supplementary card I gave Julian was generous, but a sudden charge of this magnitude would be impossible for him to explain away to me. Selina was getting frantic. "Baby, bid higher! Someone's going to snatch it away!" The chat on her live stream exploded with comments questioning if she could actually afford it. Not wanting to lose face, Julian gritted his teeth and signaled another bid. But it didn't matter how many times he bid. I matched him, and then I raised him. I would not be outbid. "Who the hell is that?" Selina hissed, her voice audible even from my corner. "Sitting in the general seats... Can she even afford that?" The price hit one million dollars. The small increments were getting tedious. This time, I raised my paddle and signaled an increase of one hundred thousand dollars. "That's it," Julian said, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "One point one million could get you a custom-made tiara. We don't need this antique. One last bid, and if she takes it, let her have it." "No, baby! I want this one!" It wasn't her money, so she didn't care. The thought of losing it made her furious. She tried to raise her paddle again, but Julian grabbed her arm, stopping her. "Sold! To the lady in the corner for one million, one hundred thousand dollars!" The auctioneer's gavel cracked, sealing my victory. The room erupted in applause. The only sound from the VIP suite was Selina's enraged shriek. "Who is that hick? How dare she steal my tiara! Can she even pay for it?"
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