After my husband left for his business trip, I got a call: “Hello, I’m a clerk from a sex toy store. May I speak with Mrs. Miller? Your husband’s payment for the sex toy he bought yesterday afternoon failed. Could you please complete the payment?” I immediately called Alex, my husband, probing: “Weren’t you on a business trip yesterday? Why were you buying a sex toy yesterday afternoon?” He paused for a second, then chuckled lightly: “Oh, I was going to surprise you, but I guess you found out early.” After we got married, Alex had always been so proper in bed, never once buying any sex toys. He hadn’t even given a second glance to the sheer nightgown I bought last week. I hung up, then called the sex toy store again: “Send me your address. I’ll come down and pay now.” When I arrived at the sex toy store, the clerk pulled out the bill and said: “Hello, that’ll be $200.” I didn’t pay immediately. Instead, I said to the clerk: “I’d like to see the security footage first, just to confirm it was my husband who made the purchase.” The clerk looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. “Of course, please wait a moment.” He pulled up the monitor, and a familiar figure quickly appeared on the screen. It was Alex, my husband. Beside him stood a young woman, wearing a tight-fitting bodycon dress that highlighted her sensual curves. Alex and the young woman picked out handcuffs, a whip, candles, and even a nurse’s uniform. The woman gave a shy smile. Alex gently stroked her head. My heart instantly twisted into a knot. On the screen, the woman’s necklace caught my eye. My gaze locked. The pendant on that necklace was the letter “A”. I had designed the sketch myself and had it custom-made. It was one of a kind. It was my wedding anniversary gift to him. I made sure to save the footage. Then I handed the clerk my bank card: “It’s definitely my husband! Take the payment!” Back home, silence hung heavy in the air. I walked into Alex’s study, opened the company’s internal messaging app, and clicked on the list of female employees. One young face after another scrolled by. Finally, my finger stopped on the profile picture of a woman named Chloe Young. It was the same woman from the security footage. I closed the app and made a call. My best friend, Bella King, answered on the other end: “Hey, Rory, what’s up? How come you’re free to call today?” “I need you to look someone up for me, a new intern at our company, Chloe Young.” My voice was eerily calm. “Also, pull up all of Alex’s private account statements, hotel records, and immigration information from the last six months. Don’t miss a single detail.” Bella was quiet for two seconds. “…Did something happen with Alex?” “Worse than that.” After I hung up, Alex’s call came through. “Rory, are you busy?” His usual gentle voice came through. “No, just got off work.” “How was your day? Tired?” “It was fine.” “I’ll be back tomorrow. I brought you a gift, I promise you’ll love it.” He was still using that gentle tone. Listening to him, my stomach churned. The next day, as soon as I arrived at the office, Bella’s encrypted email landed in my inbox. “Everything you asked for. See for yourself.” I opened the attachment. It was Chloe’s social media account. The latest post featured *my* necklace. The caption read: “Boyfriend says I’m his muse. I absolutely adore this necklace.” I scrolled down further. One photo showed her in the background of our living room, holding my cat, grinning innocently. “Cuddling with my boyfriend’s cat at his place. Feeling totally cured.” Another showed her in my car, holding my favorite car diffuser. “Boyfriend’s car smells so good. He says it’s his sanctuary.” Every photo, every word, was a blatant claim of ownership. I closed the photos, my face expressionless, and opened another folder. It was Chloe’s background, dug up by Bella. A regular university, a completely unremarkable resume. Getting an internship at a top-tier design firm like ours was nothing short of a miracle. Her only notable achievement was a first-place prize in a campus competition for a city landscape design report. That report sparked a memory. I scrolled further, and when I saw the last photo, my body stiffened. In the picture, Chloe was holding a printed design sketch, a look of triumphant satisfaction on her face. The title on the blueprint was unmistakably – “South Side Project.” This was the core design proposal I had poured my heart and soul into for three months, for the company’s most important annual bid. It was the most crucial project of my entire career.
The next day, I arrived at the company’s annual key project proposal meeting. I found an inconspicuous corner and sat down, watching Alex lead Chloe to the most central seats in the front row. He was impeccably dressed in a bespoke suit, his hair neatly combed. He leaned over, talking to a client representative beside him, completely at ease. Chloe sat next to him, clad in a white professional suit, her face adorned with exquisite makeup. Gone was her previous innocent look, replaced by the sharp competence of a rising professional. The way she looked at Alex was filled with adoration and worship. The two chatted and laughed, looking every bit like a dazzling duo working in perfect sync. Soon, the presentation began. Chloe, as the lead presenter for the “South Side Project,” walked onto the stage. She took a deep breath and began to articulate the design concept. “The core of our South Side Project lies in its unique ‘ecological sky bridge’ design. It will act like a vibrant, green artery…” These were the exact words I had told Alex on countless late nights, fueled by coffee. I had once believed those conversations were our deepest connection, a true meeting of minds. Now, I realized he was just the most patient thief. Chloe’s presentation was a success. When the final renderings were displayed on the PPT, a collective gasp of admiration rippled through the room. The presentation ended, followed by thunderous applause. The host stepped onto the stage: “Thank you, Ms. Young, for your brilliant presentation! Now, let’s move on to the Q&A session.” In the audience, a distinguished real estate mogul, Mr. Davis from City Development Group, raised his hand. He was known in the industry for his incredibly sharp eye. “Ms. Young, hello,” Mr. Davis began. “Given the importance of this project, isn’t it a bit risky to have a newcomer lead it? I recall Ms. Vance’s previous ‘Riverside Gate’ project was an industry benchmark.” Chloe’s face visibly faltered for a moment, but she quickly composed herself, glancing pleadingly at Alex in the audience. Alex gave her a reassuring smile, then picked up the microphone in front of him. “Mr. Davis, thank you for your question.” He stood up, his gaze sweeping across the room, finally resting on Chloe, full of pride. “Aurora Vance, my wife, is indeed very seasoned in design. But architecture needs new life. Chloe’s proposal, its biggest highlight, is its creativity—something experience alone can’t replicate.” The entire room fell silent. Then, an even more enthusiastic round of applause erupted. My world went silent, save for the dull thudding of my heart in my chest. I never imagined my husband would publicly discredit me. Mr. Davis raised an eyebrow but said no more, taking his seat. The host smiled, taking over: “It seems Mr. Miller has great confidence in Ms. Young! So, are there any other guests who would like to ask a question?” The room remained quiet. After Alex’s full endorsement of Chloe, it seemed no one else had anything to ask. Chloe bowed on stage, her face radiating undisguised triumph and joy. I put away my phone and picked up the microphone on the table. Instantly, all eyes turned to me. The host paused, bewildered: “Ma’am, may I ask who you are?” The smile on Alex’s face froze. Chloe’s gaze, directed at me, also held a hint of wariness.
I didn’t answer the host, walking directly to the podium. My heels clicked crisply and rhythmically on the polished floor. Each step echoed, striking a chord in Alex and Chloe’s hearts. The host on stage looked a little flustered, instinctively trying to stop me. I merely gave him a look, and he pulled his hand back. I took the microphone from him. “Hello, everyone.” My voice, amplified through the speakers, filled the entire room, clear and steady. “First, I’d like to thank Mr. Davis for his excellent question earlier.” I paused, my gaze sweeping past everyone, landing precisely on my husband, Alex. “Secondly, I’d like to add a point to Mr. Miller’s recent statement.” I turned to face Chloe, whose face had already started to pale, and smiled. “Ms. Young, I’m delighted that you have such a deep understanding of the South Side Project. As the original creator of this project, I am truly gratified.” *Boom!* The entire room erupted into a stunned murmur. Countless eyes darted between me, Alex, and Chloe. Alex’s face instantly turned ashen with fury. “Aurora! What are you talking about!” he hissed in a low, furious whisper. Chloe panicked too, hastily explaining: “No, everyone, don’t listen to her nonsense, this proposal is mine…” “Is it yours?” I cut her off. I gestured for my assistant to connect my USB drive to the projector. On the large screen behind me, Chloe’s exquisite renderings vanished. They were replaced by the original files from my computer. Folder after folder, neatly arranged by date. “This is the first conceptual model for the South Side Project, created in October of last year.” I clicked open the earliest folder, revealing rough sketches brimming with raw, original ideas. “This is the first version, and this is the second version.” Each file I opened, Chloe’s face grew a shade paler. Finally, I clicked open the blueprint page for the “ecological sky bridge” core structure design. “As for the ecological sky bridge that Ms. Young so proudly showcased, I have the complete data calculation process. Since you claim this was your inspiration, perhaps you can explain it to everyone?” All eyes in the room shot towards Chloe. She stood there, her lips trembling, her meticulously made-up face flushed crimson, unable to utter a single word. She wouldn’t understand any of it. Alex finally couldn’t sit still. He quickly strode onto the stage. “Enough, Aurora!” he squeezed out, his voice laced with a warning, “Is this a company internal matter you have to cause a scene about here?” He wanted to dismiss it as a marital dispute and an internal company problem. “Internal matter?” I picked up the microphone. “Mr. Miller, have you forgotten how you publicly assessed me just now?” He choked. Immediately, he tried to compose himself and turned to the client representatives in the audience, attempting to smooth things over. “Everyone, my apologies, this is just a private matter between my wife and me.” “Private matter?” I held up the microphone. “Director Miller claimed that he spent the past few days in a neighboring city conducting final on-site inspections for the South Side Project.” I paused, watching his eyes widen in terror. “But I just received news that Director Miller and his intern have been staying in the Presidential Suite at the Ritz-Carlton here in the city for the past few days. I wonder what ‘project’ the two of you were ‘inspecting’ in the hotel?” At the same time, I played the security video from the sex toy store. The sex toys in their hands made the entire room erupt into chaos.
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