Husband on Trip, I Called by Adult Store

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.