While doing laundry for my girlfriend one quiet weekend, I came across something that made my heart drop—a pair of white men’s underwear tucked away in her bag. The fabric was clean but unmistakably marked with a lipstick kiss. It was my girlfriend’s favorite shade, one she always wore for me.

But there was one problem. I didn’t own any white underwear.

The discovery hit me like a punch to the gut. My mind began racing—how long had it been there? Was this some careless mistake, or a sign of something far more sinister? Doubts spiraled and I couldn’t stop replaying our recent moments together, searching for cracks in our relationship that I might have missed.

I could confront her right away, or I could wait, observe and gather more evidence before making a move. Either way, the truth behind this strange discovery could shatter everything we’ve built.

——

My girlfriend, Sharon, had to work overtime again at her company on the weekend, leaving me alone at home. I busied myself with the usual routine—cleaning the house, organizing things and doing the laundry.

Everything seemed normal until my phone buzzed with a notification from the car friends group on Instagram. A guy named Liam had posted a message that caught my attention.

[Does anyone want a high-definition uncensored movie?] the message read.

Following the message was a blurry picture of a young couple, their faces covered. Judging by the setting, it appeared to be taken in a hotel. The man in the image was shirtless, wearing only a pair of white underwear. The woman was in black lace lingerie, her body displayed seductively, though her face was pixelated.

The group chat exploded with comments, guys clamoring to get their hands on the video. I smirked at their excitement. That kind of stuff was for single guys, not someone like me who had a girlfriend as gorgeous as Sharon. After all, she was the hottest girl in college back then—beautiful, with a figure that could turn heads. I had no need for that kind of content.

I was about to dismiss the chat and go about my day when something odd caught my eye. The black lace lingerie the woman was wearing... it looked strangely familiar. I tried to shake off the weird feeling but couldn’t ignore it.

Just a week ago, Sharon had bought a set of black lace underwear online. She hadn’t worn it for me yet and I figured maybe she was saving it for a special occasion—our fifth anniversary was coming up soon, after all. But as I looked closer, something twisted inside me.

Zooming in on the picture, my breath caught in my throat. The woman’s face may have been obscured, but she had a small red mole on her chest. Just like Sharon.

I sat there, stunned, my mind racing. The resemblance was too uncanny to be a coincidence. My heart began pounding in my ears as panic set in. Could this really be her? Was this some sick joke?

Desperate for clarity, I reached for a cigarette, trying to calm the storm brewing inside me. I scrolled through the chat again, found Liam’s profile and added him on Instagram. After a few messages back and forth, I sent him a sizable red envelope, hoping it would loosen his lips about the source of the video.

After some hesitation, Liam finally came clean. He worked in data recovery. While helping a hotel staff member retrieve files from a corrupted memory card, he stumbled upon the video and decided to copy it for some extra cash on the side. He had no idea who the couple in the footage was; it was just a way to make easy money.

I stared at the screen, my hands shaking. Was Sharon cheating on me in some hotel room while telling me she was working overtime? The thought was too much to bear. My mind replayed every moment, every interaction we’d had over the past few weeks. Could this really be happening?

I smoked through more than a dozen cigarettes before I finally mustered the nerve to watch the video in full. It was silent, with no audio to give any context and both the man and woman's faces were blurred beyond recognition. Still, the lower right corner of the screen showed the date when the video was recorded—three days ago.

Where had Sharon been three days ago?

If I remembered correctly, she was supposedly on a business trip in the next city with Charles, a new designer at her company. He had joined the company just three months ago, seemingly out of nowhere, parachuted into the position without any prior experience. Something about him always felt off, but I had brushed it aside, thinking it was just my imagination.

I snuffed out the cigarette and started rummaging through Sharon’s closet, frantically searching for the black lace underwear. If I could find it, maybe—just maybe—it would prove that the woman in the video wasn’t her. That it was all just a horrible misunderstanding.

But no matter how much I turned the place upside down, the lingerie was nowhere to be found. Instead, what I did find stopped me cold—a pair of white men's underwear stuffed into Sharon’s bag, along with a hotel invoice. My heart dropped. I never wore white underwear.

I held the garment in my hands, resisting the urge to vomit. There was a red mark on the front, unmistakably a kiss mark from lipstick. The shape, the placement—it all clicked into place. The man in the video had been wearing this exact pair of underwear.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall as I finished the rest of the cigarette pack. My mind was numb, unable to process the weight of what I’d just discovered. I took out my phone and snapped a photo of the underwear and the hotel receipt, then tossed them both into the trash.

Sharon had cheated.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. She had been sleeping with another man behind my back and here I was, playing the role of the devoted boyfriend—cleaning the house, doing her laundry like a fool. The whole thing was absurd.

At 11:30 that night, Sharon finally returned home. She had told me she’d been working overtime, but her mood was unusually bright—almost too cheerful for someone who had spent hours at the office. It didn’t sit right with me.

Something was off.

I tried to sound casual, probing with a hoarse voice, “Sharon, maybe we should think about switching companies. This constant overtime can’t be good for you.”

“No!” she snapped unexpectedly, rolling her eyes in irritation. “Pearson Group is one of the top 500 companies, Harvey. You think it’s that easy to find another job? You’re not exactly a business elite either, just wasting time like always.”

Her reaction was jarring. Normally, after weekend overtime, she’d be cursing out her bosses, ranting about wanting to quit and complaining about how the company was sucking the life out of her. But tonight, it was different—defensive, almost hostile.

Sharon must have noticed my lack of response because she softened a bit and came closer, her lips, freshly coated in lipstick, hovering near my face. She was trying to be affectionate, but I leaned back slightly, avoiding her without making it obvious.

A few days ago, I would have kissed her back. I would have been eager for her touch. But now, all I could think about was that kiss mark on the pair of men’s underwear. My stomach churned.

The lipstick she was wearing now—damn it—I had bought that for her just two days ago.

After a while, Sharon flopped onto the bed, facing away from me, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. Every few minutes, she’d grin sweetly at the screen, completely oblivious to my silence and the tension hanging in the room. She had no clue that I knew.

Eventually, she dozed off, still holding her phone. My heart was racing, my mind spinning, but I had to know for sure. I gently slid the phone from her grip, unlocked it using my fingerprint and started scrolling through her messages.

And there it was.

Her chat history with Charles Pearson—her new designer colleague—unfolded before me, confirming every suspicion. Their Instagram conversations were shameless, overflowing with flirtation and intimacy that made my blood boil.

[Charles, when are you going to make our relationship public?] Sharon had written, her impatience clear.

[Why, so eager?] he teased in response.

[Hate it… Harvey’s thinking about proposing to me. If you don’t do something soon, I’ll be snatched away,] she joked.

[He’s worthy of snatching you from me?] Charles retorted, his arrogance bleeding through the screen. [Why don’t you take a good look at yourself? You’re with him out of pity.]

[I don’t care anymore. I’ve had enough. I can’t wait to break up with him.]

[Don’t rush. It’s nice to have a free babysitter at home.]

[Yeah... if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s been licking my boots for so many years, I would’ve kicked him out long ago.]

I sat there, reading and rereading those messages, trembling with rage under the covers. The woman I had loved, supported and cared for, was mocking me behind my back with the man she was cheating on me with. And to her, I was nothing but a convenience.

A damn fool.

Sharon had never spoken to me in such a condescending tone before. But now, hearing her contempt for me in those texts, I laughed bitterly to myself. If she was so determined to kick me out of her life and climb to something better, I would help her do just that.

But she should remember—there was a saying: the higher you climb, the harder you fall.

I turned off her phone and placed it back exactly where it had been. Closing my eyes, I tried to push the flood of emotions back, but it was impossible. Sharon had been my first love, the girl I had pursued relentlessly, sacrificing everything to be with her. My mind wandered back to the beginning of it all.

I came from a broken home—my parents divorced early and I grew up with my father, who had been bedridden since a car accident. He lived in a nursing home and I had to earn my own way through college by working part-time jobs, struggling just to make ends meet.

I always knew that I came from a humble background and that I couldn’t offer much compared to others. So, when Sharon came into my life, I did everything in my power to make her happy. I gave her the best of what I had, even when it meant sacrificing my own needs.

After graduation, we both landed jobs at Pearson Group. Sharon worked in the Finance Department and I joined Sales. The company had a strict no-dating policy between employees, so we kept our relationship under wraps, maintaining a secret, underground affair.

Many times, I thought about quitting, just so we could be together openly. I wanted to show the world that Sharon was mine. But every time I brought it up, she rejected the idea. She always told me she liked men with ambition, that I was most handsome and charming when I was working hard.

At the time, I took that as her way of supporting my drive. But now, after everything that’s happened, I realize what she truly meant—she found me appealing when I spent money on her, when I was useful.

Quitting my job meant losing a good salary and if I earned less, I wouldn’t be able to afford her lifestyle. And though the sales job was exhausting, it paid well enough for me to cover everything. Sharon, on the other hand, sent most of her earnings back to her family in the countryside, to support her younger brother. That left all of our shared expenses squarely on my shoulders.

I remembered her family’s reaction when they found out she was dating someone like me—a boy from a single-parent household, struggling financially. Her father had been so furious that he fell seriously ill. I had begged, pleaded with them, promising that I would work hard and make enough money to give Sharon the life she deserved.

Despite my assurances, her family had little faith in me. They even went behind our backs to arrange blind dates for her, hoping she’d leave me for someone wealthier. Now, it was clear I had been nothing but a convenient stepping stone for Sharon.

After working tirelessly for years, I finally saved enough money to buy a house. I had it all planned out—how I would propose to Sharon, give her the life she dreamed of. But before I could act, I received a call from her mother.

Her younger brother, Louis, had gotten himself into deep trouble. He had borrowed high-interest loans from loan sharks and the debt had grown into an astronomical sum due to the compounding interest. The threat wasn’t just legal anymore—these people were going to break one of his legs if he didn’t pay up.

Without a second thought, I used the money I had set aside for the house to pay off Louis’ loans. Every penny I had worked for, gone in an instant and everything I had planned fell apart. I was back to square one, forced to start over, scrapping for every dollar again.

Around that same time, Charles, a rich second-generation kid, parachuted into the company as a designer. He had no real experience, but his connections made up for that. I began to notice a change in Sharon—her eyes sparkled differently around him and she started spending more time with him.

The overtime at work increased and I saw Charles more often. A few times, I even caught him driving her home in one of his luxury cars after she’d been drinking. The jealousy I tried to suppress came out one night when I gently voiced my concerns. I didn’t accuse her of anything—just asked her why she was spending so much time with him. But instead of reassuring me, her slightly drunk face turned cold.

"Harvey, if you were more successful, do you think I’d have to work this hard?" she snapped, her words slurring. "I wasted five years of my youth on you and where has it gotten me? Other women have their own homes and I’m stuck renting with you."

Her voice was harsh, filled with resentment and it cut deep. Maybe she didn’t mean to say it, maybe the alcohol loosened her tongue, but it hurt all the same. I kept my eyes closed, refusing to engage. She didn’t know that I had spent the money for our future on bailing Louis out of his mess. I didn’t want to burden her with that knowledge, but her words made it feel like it was all my fault.

Sharon saw my silence as weakness and sneered. She took another drink, her voice rising. "You’re just my boyfriend, Harvey. You don’t have the right to control who I talk to or be jealous of Charles."

She laughed bitterly, then continued. "People want to move up in life. If you’re not making progress, do you expect me to stay down in the gutter with you?"

I knew Charles was the son of the chairman of Pearson Group. He came from a world I couldn’t compete with. But her ambition, her desire to "move up," had blinded her to the loyalty and sacrifices I had made.

I couldn’t help but think, just because I hadn’t given Sharon everything she wanted didn’t mean she had a right to betray me. Cheating was never excusable. I had been patient, I had been kind and I had sacrificed. But did she see me as nothing more than a doormat, someone she could manipulate and control with her cold-hearted words?

Did she really think I was a fool who would let her trample over me while she played her games? Did she see me as a mindless puppet, only was good for licking her boots while she enjoyed life with someone else?

I knew one thing for sure—this was the end of the line. I wouldn’t be used anymore.