My Fiancé Called Me Boring in Bed

"It wasn't Elena Kline," I said, my voice steady in the quiet study.

"Then who was it?" Sophie's voice crackled through the phone speaker resting on my desk.

"I pulled up the Apex Solutions company directory," I explained, scrolling down the glossy webpage on my laptop. "Fiona Kline is just a junior marketing manager. The social media account I found yesterday? The one with the watch? It's a private profile. A finsta."

"So who does it belong to?"

"I cross-referenced the username and the background of the photos with the corporate team page." I clicked on an executive profile. "I found her."

"Give me a name, Vera."

"Rachel Wong."

Sophie paused. "Rachel Wong? The Sales Director?"

"Yes."

"Daniel's direct supervisor?"

"Yes."

"Vera, she has to be pushing forty."

"She's exactly eight years older than me," I corrected, staring at the high-resolution image on my monitor. "Her makeup is exquisite. Extremely polished. She looks like she commands every room she walks into."

"She’s his boss," Sophie repeated, the disgust evident in her tone. "He’s sleeping with his boss. That explains his sudden promotion last year."

"It makes sense. The late nights at the office. The sudden 'client entertainment' budgets." I minimized the browser. "Stay on the line. I'm logging into the joint bank account."

"Why? You told me he used his private credit card for the hotel."

"He did. But Daniel is meticulous about his cash flow. He pays off his private card using our joint checking account, claiming it's a temporary float until corporate reimburses him for business expenses."

"Are you telling me you've been funding his affairs?"

"Let's find out."

I typed in my password. The banking dashboard loaded, displaying three months of transaction history.

"Okay, I'm in," I murmured.

"Filter it," Sophie instructed. "Look for bulk transfers."

I adjusted the search parameters. "I see them."

"Read the numbers to me."

"Three separate transfers to a private account ending in 4409. The amounts are nearly identical. Seven hundred and fifty dollars each."

"Check the dates."

I dragged the cursor across the screen. "August 18th. September 10th. October 15th."

"The weekends," Sophie said sharply.

"The exact weekends he told me he had mandatory client entertainment."

"What time did the transfers clear the bank?"

I clicked into the transaction details. "They were all initiated late. Settled between 1:00 AM and 3:00 AM."

"No corporate dinner runs until three in the morning."

"Look at this," I whispered, leaning closer to the glowing monitor. "The October 15th transfer. He didn't scrub the memo line properly. It pulled the merchant data from the original credit card charge."

"What does it say?"

"The Grand Plaza Hotel."

Sophie let out a harsh exhale. "Marcus's ride-hailing log. It's a perfect match."

"It is."

"What are you going to do?"

"Document it."

I pressed the shortcut keys on my keyboard. The screen flashed white for a fraction of a second.

Three bank statements. Captured.

I opened the file Marcus had sent yesterday. The ride-hailing itinerary. Captured.

I brought Rachel Wong's pristine corporate headshot back to the front. Captured.

I transferred all the images to my phone. Opening my hidden photo vault, I dropped them directly into the encrypted album.

"Files secured," I told her.

"Good. Keep digging."

"Not right now. I need to organize this."

I opened the Notes app. Below the previous entries, I typed out my summary.

*Three bills + one itinerary + one name.*

"Vera," Sophie started, her voice losing its edge. "Are you holding up?"

"I'm perfectly fine."

"You don't have to be fine."

"I have to go."

The front door hinges whined in the distance. Heavy, unhurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"Call me tomorrow," Sophie said. The line went dead.

I shoved my phone into my pocket. With a quick swipe of the trackpad, I closed the banking portal and brought up a fresh browser window. I navigated to a luxury travel website, clicking on the first tropical resort that populated the homepage.

The study door swung open, thumping against the wall.

Daniel stood in the frame. He had already discarded his suit jacket. His tie hung loose, the silk fabric crooked against his collar.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" he asked, his voice flat.

"The screen is bright enough," I replied, not turning around.

He dragged his feet across the floorboards, stopping right behind my chair. The heavy scent of garlic and expensive red wine rolled off his clothes, masking whatever perfume he had encountered earlier.

"What are you looking at?" he demanded.

I angled the laptop so he could see the vibrant photos of an oceanfront villa.

"Looking up hotels for next month's trip," I said smoothly. "Our anniversary getaway. Remember?"

Daniel barely glanced at the monitor. His eyes swept over the pristine beaches and five-star amenities without registering a single detail.

"Right. The trip," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Do you have a preference?" I asked, keeping my tone light. "Beachfront or city view?"

"Book whatever you want."

"I need a budget, Daniel."

"Just handle it, Vera. I don't care."

He turned his back to me, his interest completely extinguished.

"Is there any beer left?" he asked, walking toward the door.

"Bottom shelf of the fridge."

"Great."

He walked out, leaving the door ajar. His footsteps faded into the kitchen, followed by the familiar clink of glass bottles.

I sat alone in the dim room.

Reaching forward, I pushed the laptop lid down. It snapped shut with a sharp click.

The screen went black.

In the dark, glossy surface, my own face stared back at me.

My expression held nothing. No sorrow. No rage. Just a cold, calculated stillness.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened the Notes app one last time.

I scrolled past the dates, past the hotel name, past the evidence.

At the very bottom of the list, I typed a single word.

*Enough.*

I saved the note.

Closing the app, I opened my mobile browser. I tapped the search bar. My thumbs moved with absolute certainty.

*Cohabitation property division local applicable clauses.*

The search engine populated instantly. Rows of legal links, asset protection strategies, and financial division guidelines filled the display.

I tapped the first link.

"Assets acquired during the period of cohabitation," I read softly to the empty room, "are subject to equitable division upon separation."

I took a screenshot of the legal text.

I moved the image into the *Receipts* folder.

The padlock icon flashed green, locking the file away.

Tomorrow, I needed a lawyer.