His Mistress Wore My Louboutins

The red light on my camera blinked three times before going dark. I tapped the side of the device, hoping it was just a minor glitch.

"Hey guys, technical difficulties! Give me one second," I said cheerfully to my invisible audience, though I knew my microphone had probably died along with the camera.

I'd been in the middle of my weekly mukbang stream, showcasing a new Korean barbecue place that had opened downtown. The comments had been flowing, my viewer count climbing steadily. Now, silence.

After five minutes of futile troubleshooting, I sighed and packed up my equipment. The restaurant manager gave me a sympathetic smile as I explained the situation.

"Equipment failure happens to the best of us," he said kindly. "Come back anytime."

Driving home along Sunset Boulevard, I watched the palm trees sway against the fading afternoon light. My mood lifted as I hatched a new plan. Marcus would be home from work soon. Why not surprise him with his favorite—a Double-Double Animal Style from In-N-Out?

I made a quick detour, joining the perpetual line of cars at the drive-thru. The familiar smell of grilled onions and fresh fries filled my car as I balanced the paper bag on my lap. Marcus always said no one could resist In-N-Out, not even my foodie followers. The thought made me smile.

Our apartment building in West Hollywood stood tall against the deepening blue sky. I hummed as I rode the elevator up to the seventh floor, burger bag in one hand, streaming equipment in the other. Maybe the day could be salvaged after all.

As I approached our door, I noticed something out of place. A pair of women's shoes sat neatly beside our welcome mat—red-soled Christian Louboutins with delicate straps. My steps slowed as I stared at them, my brain struggling to process what I was seeing.

I didn't own Louboutins. I'd always wanted a pair, but Marcus had gently suggested they weren't a practical investment for someone my size. "Maybe when you lose some weight, babe," he'd said with that smile that always made me feel both loved and slightly inadequate.

So whose were these?

My hand trembled as I inserted my key into the lock, turning it as quietly as possible. The apartment was silent except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. I set down my equipment and the now-forgotten burgers on the entryway table.

That's when I heard it—a muffled laugh, followed by a deeper sound. Both familiar, yet strange in their current context.

I moved toward our bedroom, my heart pounding so loudly I was certain it would give me away. The door was partially open, just enough for sound to escape. Just enough for me to hear what I never wanted to hear.

Marcus's voice, low and intimate. And responding to him—Rachel. My best friend. The person who had encouraged me to pursue Marcus years ago when I'd been too insecure to believe someone like him could want someone like me.