My Cheating Husband Begs, But I'm The Secret CEO's Now

The phone was warm. That was the first thing I noticed — warm like it had just been held, just been used, just been set down seconds before Declan rolled over and started snoring.

I hadn't meant to look. I'd gotten up for water, and the screen was glowing on his nightstand, bright enough to cut through the dark bedroom like a blade. The browser was still open. He hadn't even bothered to close it.

Coomeet.

One-on-one video chat. Live. Random women. The interface was unmistakable — a split screen, a stranger's face on one side, a chat log running down the other.

My thumb moved before my brain caught up. I scrolled.

There were dozens of sessions. Dozens. Timestamps running back weeks, stacked on top of each other like evidence in a case I never knew I was building. My chest went tight. The air in the room changed — thicker, heavier, like the walls had shifted inward.

I sank to the floor. The hardwood was freezing against my bare legs, but I barely registered it. I kept scrolling.

February 7th. 11:47 p.m. A twenty-three-minute session with someone called *SweetNova*.

February 7th. That was a Tuesday. I remembered because I'd texted him at eleven asking when he'd be home, and he'd replied: *Still at the office. Don't wait up.*

February 12th. 1:15 a.m. Forty minutes. A different name. *Kira_online*.

February 12th was the night he told me the partners kept him late for a contract review.

I pressed my knuckle against my mouth. My stomach folded in on itself.

Then I found the billing page.

Virtual gifts. Real money. Roses, diamonds, little animated crowns — all purchased with the credit card linked to our joint account. Hundreds of dollars scattered across the month like confetti at a party I was never invited to.

Every late night. Every "don't wait up." Every tired sigh when he crawled into bed smelling like toothpaste and silence.

All of it — a lie.

The bedroom door swung open.

Declan stood in the hallway light, hair mussed, a glass of water in his hand. His eyes found me on the floor, then dropped to the phone in my grip. The water glass stilled halfway to his mouth.

"Give me that."

He crossed the room in two strides, reaching down.

I pulled the phone against my chest. "Don't touch me."

"Clara, it's the middle of the night. You're sitting on the floor holding my phone like a —"

"Like a what?" I looked up at him. "Like a wife who just found out her husband's been video-chatting strangers at one in the morning?"

His jaw shifted. I watched the calculation happen behind his eyes — the quick scan of what I might have seen, how much damage control he'd need.

"It's not what you think."

"Really." I turned the screen toward him. "SweetNova. Kira_online. Someone called BabyDoll_97. You sent her a hundred-dollar gift pack, Declan. On Valentine's Day."

He set the water glass on the