Connected Speaker, Disconnected Husband

On day two of Matthew's so-called business trip, I was wiping down the counter when I said, "Auri, play some music."

Instead of music, a syrupy voice chirped,

"Sure thing, my Baby Moon. Oh, and Matthew, don't forget Bibi's birthday surprise tonight."

I froze. The speaker blasted some random playlist, but all I heard was 'Bibi.' Matthew Kein was my husband. So who the hell was Bibi?

I called him. "Did you mess with our smart speaker?"

A beat of silence, then his fake laugh. "Oh, a buddy dropped by. Probably logged his account in. Why?"

I laughed back like I bought it, then hung up. Two taps later, I was scrolling the login history, already hailing a cab to the company tied to that mystery account.

The cab dropped me off in front of Nebula Studio.

Glass façade flashing in the sun, all sharp and showy—pretty much their whole brand. Two years in the game and already trying to outshine Dreamforge Studio.

The receptionist was professional, no shade thrown even though I was Dreamforge's co-founder. She just picked up the phone.

Then out came a girl in a white dress, hair down to her waist, no makeup, playing the sweet-and-pure card.

Abigail Barne.

Her eyes widened for a split second—busted—but she smoothed it over fast with a shy little smile.

"Hi, may I ask who you are?"

"My smart speaker," I shot back, steady. "Login records trace to your account."

"Oh, that speaker!" She smacked her forehead like she just had the dumbest epiphany. "That was my roommate. She borrowed my phone—her membership expired. Did it mess anything up? I'm so sorry!"

Her excuse was airtight, all wide-eyed innocence. Cute. If I didn't know Matthew, maybe I'd buy it. But him? Mr. Proud-and-paranoid? He'd never let some intern link her account to his home devices.

My eyes slid from her angel face to her wrist.

Silver bracelet. Two rings linked together. Tiny engraving: MK.

Last year, I sketched that design myself, had a craftsman friend make it for Matthew.

MK—Matthew Kein. One of one.

Abigail saw me staring and tried to hide her hand behind her back.

I smiled, stepping in close, voice soft. "Cute bracelet. Boyfriend gift? He's got solid taste."

Her face went ghost-white. Lips shaking. Nothing came out.

That was enough.

I didn't spare her another glance. Just turned and walked out.

Back in the cab, I called Donna—my best friend and the fiercest divorce lawyer alive.

The line clicked. "Well, well, our star designer calls? What, pigs flying today?"

"Do me a favor." I watched the streets blur past, my voice ice. "Check someone. Intern at Nebula Studio, Abigail Barne. And grab Matthew's last six months of financials, hotel bookings—everything. Don't miss a detail."

Donna's tone dropped, serious now. "...That's basically a full sweep."

"Worse."

I hung up. The cab sank into silence.

Matthew's name lit up my screen. 'Hubby.'

The word stung like a bad joke. I took a long breath and picked up.