Chapter 2

"Gotta run, busy with work. That file is critical—pretend you never saw it, got it?"

"Don't worry, Oliver. I know what to do."

Looking at her reply, my heart turned to stone.

I memorized the account handle.

Then, I scrubbed the chat, the file, and all traces of my activity from the computer.

Moments later, Oliver walked out of the bathroom.

Acting casual, I smiled at him.

"Babe, my laptop died. Mind if I use yours for a bit?"

Panic flashed across his face, his smile instantly stiffening.

"Wait! I... I was organizing some work files and haven't finished yet. Let me wrap it up first."

I nodded, watching him hurry over to the desk.

I had already checked; there were no unfinished work files.

Sitting in front of the screen, a flash of pure ecstasy crossed his eyes, an uncontrollable smirk spreading across his face.

I hadn't logged out of that fake chat.

She must have sent him another message.

The exact message he had been begging to receive.

Oliver furiously tapped on his phone, closed the laptop, handed it to me, and rushed into the bedroom without looking back.

Watching his retreating figure, I sank into the couch, exhausted.

Three years together, and I had never doubted him once.

Now, the scales had finally fallen from my eyes.

From that day forward, Oliver's behavior became increasingly bizarre.

He claimed work was piling up and that he had to stay late every night.

Yet, instead of coming home drained, he looked more energized by the day.

I texted Ann.

"Is the office really that swamped lately? Oliver says he's pulling overtime every night."

Ann was the CEO of MY Media, effectively Oliver's boss.

And I was Ann's boss—the primary shareholder and director of MY Media, as well as her best friend.

To spare Oliver's fragile male ego and make his career easier, I had kept my wealth a secret.

In his eyes, I was merely a struggling freelancer with an unpredictable income.

"Not at all," Ann replied. "He's been clocking out right on time every single day."

I thought for a moment, then forwarded the handle I had memorized that night.

"Ann, run a background check on this account."

We had known each other for over a decade. She didn't ask questions; she simply got to work.

Not only did Oliver lie about overtime, but almost every night around two or three in the morning, he would slip out of bed, only crawling back at four, utterly spent.

Whenever I asked, he would turn his back to me, snapping impatiently.

"Stop asking so many questions. You wouldn't understand corporate stress anyway."

As soon as he left for work the next morning, I opened the security app on my phone.