My wife had been on a business trip for two days. I was cleaning up, and I casually told our smart speaker, “Aura, play some music.” Instead, a male voice, completely unfamiliar, replied. “Alright, my little Moonbeam. And a reminder for Camilla, don’t forget Leo’s birthday surprise tonight~” My entire body froze, the music instantly jarring. My wife’s name is Camilla. Who the hell is Leo? I immediately called my wife. “Did you do something with our smart speaker?” On the other end, her voice paused for a beat, then she laughed, nonchalantly. “Oh, a friend came over a few days ago, maybe they linked their account? Why?” I smiled and said it was nothing. After hanging up, I pulled up the speaker’s login history, then hailed a cab directly to the company listed under that unfamiliar account. The taxi pulled up in front of “Starry Design.” I looked up. Its glass facade shimmered, almost blinding in the sunlight, reflecting its aggressive rise in the industry over the past two years. Our main rival, Dream Weaver Design. The receptionist was highly professional. She didn’t bat an eye despite me being the owner of a rival company, simply making an internal call as a matter of routine. A few minutes later, a young man in a crisp white t-shirt hurried out, looking utterly clean and innocent. Leo Hayes. The moment he saw me, his eyes visibly flickered with panic, but he quickly composed himself, forcing a shy smile. “Hello, may I help you?” “The smart speaker,” I said, getting straight to the point, my gaze calm as I looked at him. “The login history shows your account.” “Oh, *that* speaker!” He feigned realization, then scratched his head awkwardly. “That’s my roommate’s. She used my phone to log in a few days ago, said her premium membership expired and wanted to use mine. Did it cause you any trouble? I’m so sorry!” He delivered his lines perfectly, deflecting any suspicion while appearing completely innocent and naive. If I didn’t know Camilla’s personality, I might have actually believed him. She was arrogant and fiercely private; there was no way she’d let some random intern use a personal account on our home devices. My gaze slowly shifted from his seemingly innocent face to his wrist. On it was a silver bracelet. Two irregular circles intertwined, and on one of them, a tiny letter ‘C’ was engraved. It was a gift I’d designed myself and had a craftsman friend make for Camilla last year for our wedding anniversary. ‘C’ for Camilla. There was only one in the world. Leo noticed my gaze and instinctively tried to hide his hand behind his back. But I smiled, stepping closer, my voice almost gentle. “That bracelet is quite unique. A gift from your girlfriend? She has excellent taste.” His face went ghost-white in an instant, his lips trembling, utterly speechless. That was enough. I didn’t look at him again, turning to leave. As soon as I was in the cab, I called my friend Marcus Bell, the best divorce lawyer in the business. The moment he picked up, his loud voice boomed through. “Well, well, Julian, to what do I owe the pleasure? Did hell freeze over?” “I need your help,” I said, watching the streetlights blur outside the window, my voice unnaturally calm. “I need you to dig into someone: Leo Hayes, an intern at Starry Design. And I want every single financial transaction and hotel booking record for Camilla from the last six months. Don’t miss a thing.” Marcus was silent for two seconds, then dropped his joking tone. “…Are you planning to burn her to the ground?” “Worse than that.” I hung up, the car falling into a dead silence. Not long after, Camilla’s call came through. I stared at the name “Wife” on the screen, feeling an immense irony, and took a deep breath before answering. “Julian, what’s wrong?” Her usual gentle, refined voice came through the phone, laced with just the right amount of concern. “Marcus mentioned you asked him to dig into something. Are you having trouble at work?” See? She’d already planted her little spy. I pushed down the swirling emotions and said in my most normal voice, “Nothing. I just suddenly missed you.” On the other end, she seemed to relax, then chuckled softly. “Silly goose, I miss you too. As soon as I finish this project, I’ll fly right back to be with you, my little Moonbeam.” Those three words, “little Moonbeam,” drilled into my ear, crystal clear. My grip on the phone tightened abruptly. So, I wasn’t her only Moonbeam. Or maybe, I’d never been.
Marcus was alarmingly efficient. Barely half an hour later, my phone vibrated. A link, accompanied by a message: “Your award-winning master manipulator, brought to you by yours truly. The evidence is so airtight, I almost feel bad charging you full price. Enjoy the show.” I clicked it open. It was Leo’s social media account, set to public. The latest post was a close-up of a wrist, adorned with that all-too-familiar ‘C’ bracelet. The caption read: “My Moonbeam comes for you, Ms. C.” My pet name, “little Moonbeam,” my ‘C’ bracelet—now both trophies for another man. I scrolled down expressionlessly. One photo showed our home library in the background. Leo was holding his face, smiling with a faux innocence, behind him the rare architecture books I’d brought back from Italy. The caption: “Soaking up wisdom in Ms. C’s study. Feeling myself getting smarter already!” Another photo, he was holding a fountain pen, sketching on a drawing. It was a limited-edition collaboration piece I’d given Camilla for her thirtieth birthday. Caption: “Ms. C’s pen is amazing to write with. She said my hands deserve the best.” And one more, at that private restaurant we always frequented, featuring my go-to dishes. Caption: “My secret hideaway with Ms. C. She says I’m the only one who truly makes her relax.” Every photo, every word, was like a precise scalpel, carving into my most vulnerable memories, one incision at a time. Until I scrolled to a post from three days ago. In the photo, Leo was holding a printed design draft, a look of triumph on his face. The caption: “Ms. C stayed up all night helping me refine this design. She said I’m the most inspired designer she’s ever met, and I’ll definitely win the ‘Skyline Center’ project. Go me!” “Skyline Center.” That was the project Dream Weaver had poured our hearts and souls into, preparing for a full six months. It was the most crucial milestone of my career. I shot up from the couch, grabbed my car keys, and stormed out of the house. The office was empty late at night. I unlocked the door with my fingerprint and headed straight to Camilla’s office. Her computer screen saver was still on: our wedding photo. She was smiling, so tender and fond. I felt a wave of nausea. I tapped the keyboard, the screen lit up, showing a password prompt. I tried my birthday—incorrect. Our wedding anniversary—still incorrect. I gave a bitter laugh and typed in Leo’s birthday. “Welcome.” The desktop was clean and tidy, and my eyes immediately landed on an encrypted folder. I clicked it open. Inside was the final proposal for “Skyline Center,” every detail a culmination of months of my team’s and my own hard work. And right beside it, glaringly obvious, lay another folder, named with a single letter – ‘L’. I opened it. The proposal inside was almost identical to ours, only with subtle adjustments to a few critical load-bearing structures and design highlights, cleverly sidestepping our core patents while retaining the essence of the design. The signature at the bottom was in two neat characters: Leo. Not only was she cheating, but she was stealing my hard work, my company’s future, to pave a golden path for her little toyboy. My stomach violently churned. I gripped the cold desk, barely keeping myself from collapsing. So, jealousy and betrayal could truly warp a woman into something unrecognizable.
The bidding conference for the “Skyline Center” project was packed and buzzing. I found an inconspicuous corner and sat down, watching the representative from Starry Design walk onto the stage. It was Leo. Today, he wore a tailored professional suit, looking more like a seasoned executive. He took a deep breath and began to explain his design concept. “My design inspiration comes from ‘The Eye of the City.’ We hope it won’t just be a cold structure, but a living entity that breathes with the city, witnessing its growth…” Every single word of that speech, I had spoken to Camilla countless nights, fueled by coffee, my eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. I once thought that was the most perfect soul connection between us. Now I knew it was just my own solo performance, and she, the most patient thief. Even more ironic, Camilla was sitting in the special guest section of the judging panel. She listened intently, nodding occasionally, her gaze on Leo filled with a brilliance I’d never seen before, a possessive pride that regarded him as a treasure she couldn’t wait to flaunt to the world. She completely ignored me in the corner, as if I were nothing more than an irrelevant backdrop. My phone vibrated in my palm. It was a message from Marcus. “Need me to show up with a baseball bat and crash the party?” I looked at the screen, a slight curve forming on my tightly drawn lips. I texted back two words: “Stand by.” On stage, Leo’s presentation reached its climax, the final rendering—the very one stolen from my computer—displayed on the projector. A low gasp rippled through the audience. The presentation ended, and applause thundered. The host stepped onto the stage. “Thank you, Mr. Hayes, for your brilliant presentation. Next, we invite our special guest judge, a highly respected veteran in our industry, Ms. Camilla Thorne from Dream Weaver Design, to offer her comments on this proposal.” The microphone was handed to Camilla. She cleared her throat, her gaze gently resting on Leo as she began. “Frankly, I’m genuinely surprised.” “Mr. Hayes’s design perfectly balances artistic aesthetics with practical function, especially the subtle adjustments to several critical load-bearing structures. It’s incredibly bold, incredibly inspired.” She used the word “inspired.” The same word she used to describe Leo, to wound me. She paused, her gaze sweeping across the room. “I believe this work is, without a doubt, the best of today.” Applause erupted again, louder than before. In that moment, my world went silent, save for the dull thudding of my heart in my chest. The host smiled, taking the microphone. “Thank you, Ms. Thorne, for your high praise! It seems Starry Design is poised for victory this time! Now, are there any other guests or judges who would like to ask Mr. Hayes a question?” The room fell silent. With Camilla’s “expert” seal of approval, there seemed to be nothing left to ask. Leo bowed on stage, his face alight with barely concealed triumph and joy. I put my phone away and, in the brief lull before everyone prepared to applaud again, stood up. My movement was slight, but it instantly drew everyone’s attention. The host blinked, a little flustered. “Sir, may I ask who you are?” Camilla’s smile froze.
Leo’s gaze, too, became wary and scrutinizing. I ignored the host, walking directly to the podium. The host on stage looked flustered, instinctively trying to block me, but one look from me made her retract her hand. I took the microphone from her hand. The cold metal against my palm only sharpened my focus. “Good afternoon, everyone.” My voice, amplified by the sound system, filled the hall, clear and steady. “I am Julian Thorne, founder of Dream Weaver Design.” A small murmur rippled through the audience; my colleagues all recognized me. I paused, my gaze sweeping over everyone, then landed precisely on the woman in the judging panel whose face had already begun to pale. I added the latter half of my sentence. “And also, Ms. Camilla Thorne’s husband.” *Boom!* The entire hall erupted in chaos. Countless eyes darted between Camilla and me, scrutinizing, shocked, gossiping. It was like thousands of tiny needles, puncturing the carefully maintained facade of her composure. I ignored the whispers, turning to plug the USB drive I’d brought into the computer. On the large screen behind me, Leo’s exquisite final rendering instantly vanished, replaced by the raw files from my own computer. Folder after folder, neatly organized by date. “Mr. Hayes’s proposal is indeed very ‘inspired’,” I said, a faint smile in my voice, as I clicked open the earliest folder. Inside were my first sketches, drawn on a digital tablet three months ago—rough, but brimming with my original concepts. “And it’s almost identical to my drafts from three months ago.” On the screen, I opened the file properties: creation date, modification date, timestamps accurate to the second, all displayed clearly on the large screen for everyone to see. Leo’s face went white. I continued clicking, opening one detailed drawing after another, structural analysis diagrams, 3D renderings… With each one I opened, Leo’s face grew whiter. Finally, I revealed a hidden layer. It was an anti-counterfeiting watermark I’d deliberately embedded to prevent commercial leaks—my initials, “JT,” cleverly integrated into the building’s shadows. “As for the core load-bearing structure in Mr. Hayes’s proposal, so highly praised by Director Thorne,” I brought up a mechanical model filled with dense data and formulas. “Here is the complete data calculation process. I wonder if Mr. Hayes could explain the application principle of the fifth parameter to everyone?” All eyes in the room instantly shot to Leo. He stood there, his lips trembling, utterly speechless. He understood none of it. Then, with a sudden wail, he burst into tears, rushing towards the judging panel and grabbing Camilla’s sleeve, sobbing. “Camilla, I didn’t… I don’t know what this is about! He’s bullying me, I didn’t plagiarize…” Camilla finally couldn’t sit still. She quickly stormed onto the stage, glaring fiercely at me, her voice low, a furious whisper only we could hear. “Julian Thorne! Haven’t you made enough of a scene?! Must you humiliate us both here?!” I found myself chuckling. “Humiliate?” I scoffed softly, removing her hand that was pointing at me. I took a step closer, leaning into her ear, speaking in a voice only she could hear. “Camilla, don’t rush. This is just an appetizer.” I stepped back, gripping the microphone again, my gaze sweeping over all the judges and guests. My voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough for the entire hall to hear. “The real humiliation isn’t mine. It belongs to certain people who, while stealing their husband’s hard work, also try to elevate their lover, praising a plagiarized work as a stroke of genius, right in front of the entire industry.” “Director Thorne,” I looked at her, smiling sweetly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
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