After Discovering His Three-Year Affair, I Became His Boss

My heart hammered against my ribs as the elevator climbed toward Ryan's floor. Eight years of love, of sacrifice, of waiting—all culminating in this moment. I twisted my grandmother's silver bracelet around my wrist, a nervous habit I'd developed since she'd given it to me before she passed. The small velvet box felt heavy in my coat pocket, the diamond ring inside representing not just my savings, but my complete faith in our future together.

I'd rehearsed this moment countless times during my flight from Seattle to Los Angeles. The proposal wasn't traditional—a woman asking a man—but then again, our long-distance relationship had never been conventional. What mattered was that after eight years, I was ready to make it official, to finally close the gap between Seattle and LA.

"You can do this," I whispered to myself as the elevator dinged at the twelfth floor. "He loves you. He's going to say yes."

The hallway seemed longer than I remembered from my previous visits. Each step toward apartment 1207 amplified my nerves, but also my excitement. I'd surprised Ryan before, but never like this. Never with a ring and the promise of forever.

I knocked, clutching the small box now, my palms sweaty despite the cool air conditioning of the building. Footsteps approached from inside, and I straightened my blouse, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

The door swung open, and there stood Ryan, his hair slightly disheveled, wearing only gray sweatpants. His eyes widened in shock.

"Maya? What—what are you doing here?" His voice cracked, and something in his expression made my stomach twist.

"Surprise," I managed, though the word felt hollow as it left my lips. Something was wrong. The way he blocked the doorway with his body, the panic in his eyes—this wasn't the reaction I'd anticipated.

"This isn't a good time," he said quickly, glancing over his shoulder. "You should have called—"

"Ryan?" A female voice called from inside the apartment. "Who is it?"

Time seemed to slow as a woman appeared behind him, wearing nothing but Ryan's oversized blue button-down shirt—the one I'd given him for Christmas last year. Her dark hair was tousled, her makeup slightly smudged. She looked at me with confusion, then at Ryan with growing understanding.

"Is this her?" she asked, her voice tight. "Your 'ex' from Seattle?"

Ex? The word hit me like a physical blow.

Ryan's face drained of color. "Amber, go back inside. Maya, I can explain—"

But I was already pushing past him, my body moving on autopilot while my mind struggled to process what was happening. The apartment I thought I knew revealed its secrets in cruel, stark detail. On the dresser sat framed photos of Ryan with this woman—Amber—smiling, embracing. Her makeup on the bathroom counter. Two toothbrushes in the holder. A closet half-filled with women's clothes.

"How long?" I managed to ask, my voice surprisingly steady despite the earthquake happening inside me.

"Maya, it's not what you think. Amber's just a roommate,