The Price Of His Double Life

dding. I' d just been laid off from my architecture firm, but he promi

's hand with a bandage exactly like the one Elias had, holding the h

ated my firing, calling it "budget cuts," so his mistress could take my place.

escaping from. For six months, he had been living a double life,

he abandoned me mid-celebration for his

ed every single screenshot of his betrayal on the bal

pte

se

roll, a picture of a distinctive han

phrase felt hollow, ringing with a vague dismissiveness I couldn't quite place. I'd been trying to find new openings online, scrolling through endless job boards, the dull glow

nd perfect angles. I usually scrolled past her, but this post had an unusual caption. It detailed how she' d just received a new designer bag, a "little treat from Daddy" after a very succe

ad asked, "Girl, what's your se

aughing emojis. "Just found myself a sugar daddy w

elf to keep scrolling. This wasn't my business. Th

Spill! Is he hot? Ric

nd honestly, he' s totally hot. Super attentive too. Sends flowers to my offi

He always remembered my favorite coffee order. He was old money. He was d

omeone else chimed in. "He must

boring life. His words, not mine! He's got a fiancée, apparently, some plain Jane architect he' s be

. Elias. This couldn't be happening. My vision blurred for a second. My

cée for you?" A user asked,

boasted. "Said it was a 'company emergency.' He' s so good at playing the p

startup, a crisis only he could handle. I'd cried because he was working so hard. He' d even grazed his finger cu

he nails neatly trimmed. And there, on the right index finger, was a small, white bandag

e. He was my rock, my future. We were getting married next month. He had picked out the venue, the caterers, even helped me design my eng

eathe. Deep breaths.

t was a chaotic mix of envious praise and disgusted condemnation. But PeachyKeen herself se

fired from her job so I could take her place. She thought it w

he one I loved, the one I had poured seven years of my life into. The firm that had

easly ten grand a month. Like that' s enough to keep her comfor

nted a picture of me finally having time to relax, to pursue my hobbies, to be his kept woman. I had scoffed, telling him I wasn't some trophy wife to be put on

ords felt like a freezin

a trip to the Hamptons, a new sports car, designer clothes. And in almost every picture, a partia

ed down, past the lavish dinners, the private

vitation. It was identical to ours. Elias had told me he'd spent hours custom-designing them, pouring his heart into every detail. "It's a sym

s with his fiancée, and he still chose to spen

him a gift I' d saved for months to afford. He had canceled last minute, claiming

y first post featuring him, a blurred selfie taken in what looked like the lobby of Elias's tech f

fe. Six months since he had started planning to get me fi

ipped the porcelain, my knuckles white, tears streaming down my face, snot running into my mouth. I look

s trip." Every time he'd said he was "too stressed" for intimacy. Ever

ting our future. He h

n't just a job; it was my passion, my identity. A

ne, and began taking screenshots. Every single post. Every incriminating photo. Every arrogant caption

t let him get