I spent the entire day preparing for Valentine's Day. Our dining room looked like something from a romantic movie set—candles flickering across the white tablecloth, fresh roses in crystal vases, and Evan's favorite meal perfectly arranged on our best china.

The kitchen still smelled of the beef bourguignon I'd spent hours preparing. I checked my watch again—7:30 PM. Evan was already an hour late.

"He'll be here any minute," I whispered to myself, adjusting the silverware for the third time. "He's probably just stuck in traffic."

My phone buzzed with a text from Evan: "Running late. Don't wait up."

Don't wait up? On Valentine's Day?

I sighed, blowing out the candles one by one. The romantic dinner I'd planned was turning into another solo meal, another disappointment in what had become a long string of them.

When Evan finally arrived at 9:45 PM, he barely noticed the elaborate setup.

"Sorry," he muttered, not meeting my eyes. "The meeting ran late."

I watched him loosen his tie, his attention fixed on his phone as it lit up with notifications. He hadn't even looked at me yet.

"The food's cold," I said quietly.

"I'll just heat something up later." He brushed past me toward the stairs. "I need a shower."

I sat alone at the beautifully set table, staring at the wilting roses. This was our seventh Valentine's Day together, and it felt like we were strangers living in the same house.

After cleaning up the untouched dinner, I curled up on our bed with my tablet. Might as well harvest my crops in Cloud Farm—at least the virtual plants didn't ignore me.

I opened the app and smiled despite myself. My little digital farm was thriving. I tapped to collect my daily rewards and noticed something odd.

"Your pet chick has been poked 99 times by SabrinaO_Design!"

I froze, my finger hovering over the screen. Ninety-nine times? That was... deliberate.

My mind raced back to the game manual I'd read when Evan first got me into playing this app. There was a special achievement in co-op mode called the "Soulmate Badge"—unlocked when one player interacted with another's pet exactly ninety-nine times.

It was a romantic milestone in the game. A secret code between partners.

But Sabrina O'Brien? My college classmate? The woman who'd been working as Evan's assistant for the past year?

I heard the shower stop. Evan would be coming up soon.

"Sabrina poked my chick ninety-nine times," I said as Evan emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist.

He stopped, his expression flickering before settling into casual dismissal. "And?"

"Ninety-nine is the exact number for the Soulmate Badge."

A laugh escaped him—short and sharp. "You're not seriously jealous of a game notification?"

"It's not random, Evan. It's deliberate. You know what ninety-nine means in Cloud Farm."

His face hardened as he grabbed his phone from the nightstand. "For God's sake, Sophia. Are you listening to yourself? You're being paranoid. It's probably just an algorithm glitch."

"Then why did Sabrina—"

"Enough!" He cut me off, his voice rising. "I can't believe you're doing this again. Every time a woman talks to me, you get like this."

"It's not every woman. It's Sabrina."

"And what about Sabrina?" His tone was mocking now. "She's my assistant. We work together. Maybe she's just being friendly."

"By poking my virtual pet exactly ninety-nine times?"

He rolled his eyes, grabbing his pillow from the bed. "I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight. I can't deal with your hormonal craziness right now."

"Evan—"

"Goodnight, Sophia." He slammed the door behind him.

I stared at the closed door, my heart pounding. Something was wrong. I could feel it.

The next morning, I woke early, my mind still racing with questions. I needed to see Sabrina. Needed to understand what was happening.

I found her in the guest house, sipping coffee at the small kitchen island. She looked up when I entered, her smile too bright.

"Sophia! I was just about to come apologize for Evan last night. He said you were upset about something trivial."

"Trivial?" I echoed, forcing a smile. "Maybe you can help me understand what's going on."

As she turned to refill her coffee cup, something caught the morning light around her neck. A delicate diamond pendant on a platinum chain.

My breath caught. That necklace...

"Your necklace is beautiful," I said carefully.

Sabrina's hand flew to her throat, fingers curling around the diamonds. "Oh, this? It's just a replica. Evan gave it to me as a bonus for the Galaxy project."

The Galaxy project. My design collection.

"It looks very... familiar," I said, stepping closer.

Sabrina's smile tightened. "It's just a good copy. Nothing compared to the real thing."

But I knew. The real thing was missing from my jewelry box.

As our eyes met, Sabrina's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. In that moment, I knew my marriage was built on lies.

I waited until Evan's car pulled out of the driveway before moving. My hands trembled slightly as I sat at my desk, but my mind was surprisingly clear. The woman who had spent last night crying over wilted roses was gone. In her place sat someone harder, someone who needed answers.

"Let's see how deep this goes," I whispered to myself, opening my laptop.

I logged into our family cloud account—the one Evan thought I never checked. The password was still our anniversary date, as if he didn't think I'd ever question him. The irony wasn't lost on me.

First, I pulled up Evan's Uber history. He'd been careless enough to sync it with our shared account "for tax purposes," he'd once explained. Now, it would be his undoing.

I scrolled through months of rides, noting patterns. Every Tuesday and Thursday, rides to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. Wednesday afternoons to Perch, the restaurant where we'd had our first date. Friday evenings to a private residence in Malibu—Sabrina's apartment.

"Client meetings," my ass.

I cross-referenced these times with Sabrina's "work hours"—the schedule she'd posted on the company intranet. Perfect alignment. Not once did they overlap with actual client meetings or company events.

My printer hummed as I sent page after page of evidence to be printed. Each document felt like another nail in the coffin of my marriage.

"What are you doing?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Sabrina stood in my doorway, her expression carefully neutral.

"Just organizing some files," I said, gesturing vaguely at my screen. "Evan mentioned you needed some design documents for the Galaxy project?"

Something flickered across her face—annoyance? Fear? She recovered quickly.

"Yes, I'm working on the final sketches. Evan wants to fast-track the collection."

"I'm sure he does," I replied, my voice steady despite the rage building inside me.

After she left, I continued my investigation, my demeanor shifting from heartbroken wife to clinical detective. Each piece of evidence was another step away from the woman who had trusted blindly and toward someone stronger—someone who would fight back.

---

Later that afternoon, I tried to access the company's operating account to pay a vendor. My password was rejected.

"Your access has been revoked," the screen read.

Revoked? I was still the majority shareholder of Lawrence Designs. Evan couldn't just—

But he had.

I picked up my phone and dialed the bank's customer service number.

"Lawrence Designs, this is Sophia," I said when the representative answered. "I'm trying to make a payment, but my access seems to be blocked."

"I'm showing your authorization was removed last month, Mrs. Lawrence."

"By whom?"

"The request came from Mr. Lawrence himself."

My grip tightened on the phone. "I see. Could you help me understand some recent transactions? There seems to be a discrepancy in our consulting fees."

The rep hesitated. "I'd need verification of your identity."

I rattled off Evan's security answers—his mother's maiden name, his first car, his childhood pet. Answers he'd shared with me years ago, never imagining I'd use them against him.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lawrence. Let me pull up those records."

As she spoke, my pen moved across my notepad, recording every damning detail. Large Venmo transfers to an account linked to Sabrina O'Brien. Withdrawals labeled "Consulting Fees" that never appeared on our company books.

The total made my stomach drop: nearly half a million dollars over two years.

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?" the rep asked.

"No," I said, my voice hollow. "Thank you for your help."

I hung up and stared at my notes. This wasn't just an affair. This was systematic theft.

---

Panic surged through me as I rushed to my home studio. The Galaxy collection was my life's work—designs I'd been perfecting for years. If they were planning to steal my work...

I reached the hidden safe behind my inspiration board and entered the combination with shaking fingers. Empty.

"No, no, no," I whispered, rifling through the shelves where I kept my physical portfolios.

Nothing.

I turned to my computer, praying the digital backups would be intact. I'd been so careful, backing up every sketch, every pattern in multiple locations.

But when I opened the folders, my heart sank. Some files were corrupted beyond repair. Others had been deleted entirely.

"Looking for something?"

I whirled around to find Sabrina leaning against the doorframe, my diamond necklace glinting at her throat.

"This isn't just about Evan, is it?" I said slowly.

Sabrina's smile widened. "Oh, Sophia. It never was."

In that moment, I realized this wasn't just about a cheating husband. This was a calculated coup to steal my work, my company—my entire life.

And they'd almost gotten away with it.

I needed help—professional help. Someone who could make sense of the financial mess Evan had created. My law school friend Rachel had mentioned a forensic accountant who specialized in cases like mine. His name was Marcus Chen.

"He's the best," Rachel had said. "And he's discreet."

Discreet was exactly what I needed.

We arranged to meet at a small café in Silver Lake, far from Evan's usual haunts. The place was cozy, with high-backed booths that offered privacy—perfect for our conversation.

I arrived early, choosing a corner booth where I could see the entrance. My hands trembled slightly as I arranged the documents I'd brought—bank statements, Venmo transfers, company records. Each page represented another piece of my life that Evan had stolen.

Marcus Chen arrived precisely on time. He was younger than I expected, maybe early forties, with sharp eyes that missed nothing.

"Mrs. Lawrence?" he asked quietly, sliding into the booth across from me.

"Grant," I corrected him. "I'm using my maiden name now."

He nodded, no judgment in his expression. "Smart."

I pushed the folder across the table. "This is what I've found so far."

Marcus didn't speak as he flipped through the pages, his brow furrowing deeper with each passing minute. Finally, he looked up.

"This isn't amateur work," he said, his voice low. "Whoever set this up knew what they were doing."

"But it's embezzlement, right? It's fraud?" My voice sounded strange to my own ears—too calm for someone whose world was collapsing.

"Yes, but..." Marcus hesitated. "The problem is that financial records can sometimes be explained away as bad business decisions. You need something more concrete."

"Like what?"

"Video evidence. Recordings. Something that shows intent." He tapped the bank logs. "These are a good start, but they're not enough on their own."

I nodded, already knowing what I had to do.

---

Back home, I waited until Evan left for his "late meeting" before moving. He'd been careful about deleting his browser history and clearing his phone records, but he'd forgotten one crucial thing: the home security system.

When we'd installed it three years ago, we'd both been given administrator access to the cloud backup. Evan had never bothered to check if I still had mine.

I logged into the security app on my tablet, heart pounding as I navigated to the cloud storage. Years of footage, organized by date. I started with the most recent.

The living room camera showed nothing unusual at first—empty space, the occasional housekeeper passing through. Then, three days ago...

I froze, my finger hovering over the screen.

There they were.

Evan and Sabrina on my favorite sofa—the one I'd spent weeks choosing, the one that had cost more than most people's monthly rent.

"I can't believe she still hasn't figured it out," Sabrina's voice came through clearly as she straddled Evan. "She's so stupid."

Evan laughed, his hands roaming over her bare skin. "That's what makes this so easy. By the time she realizes what's happening, it'll be too late."

"The Galaxy launch at the Design Gala will be perfect," Sabrina continued, tracing patterns on his chest. "Everyone will think it's my work."

"It is your work now," Evan replied. "Sophia's just the bank account."

I watched, numb, as they continued their conversation—my life, my work, my marriage—all reduced to their entertainment.

---

The next morning, I was reviewing the footage again when the gate intercom buzzed. Security camera showed a man I didn't recognize—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a serious expression.

"Can I help you?" I asked through the intercom.

"I'm looking for Sabrina O'Brien," he replied. "I was told she might be staying here."

Something in his voice—a familiarity with Sabrina's name—made me pause.

"Who is calling?"

"Shane O'Brien. Her brother."

I buzzed him in before I could second-guess myself.

Shane looked even more imposing in person as he stood in my foyer, his eyes taking in the opulent surroundings with noticeable discomfort.

"Is Sabrina here?" he asked again.

"No," I replied. "She's not."

He seemed to relax slightly. "Do you have a minute? There's something you should know."

I led him to the kitchen and poured us both coffee. As we sat across from each other at the island, I studied his face—there was something honest in his eyes that made me trust him despite his connection to Sabrina.

"I've been hearing things from family members," Shane began cautiously. "About Sabrina's rich boyfriend. About how she's been... different lately."

"Different how?"

His eyes met mine, and I saw pain there. "More obsessed than usual. She's always been fixated on Evan since college, but lately it's gotten worse."

"College?" I echoed.

Shane nodded grimly. "She never got over him choosing you instead. And now..." He trailed off, but I understood.

Now she'd found a way to take him back.