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.

I hired a private detective to dig into Charles’s life and what I uncovered didn’t surprise me, but it disgusted me all the same. Not only was he having an affair with Sharon, but he also had a wealthy girlfriend several years older than him. One man, two women—plus a full-time job. Charles really was a master of time management.

From what my colleagues said, Charles flaunted his privilege at work. His computer desktop was a family photo with the chairman, as if anyone needed reminding of his connections.

Armed with the pictures of Sharon's underwear and the hotel invoice I had collected, I headed to the hotel where Sharon had stayed during her so-called business trips. With a little digging and by matching the camera angles in the photos, I found a hidden camera in her hotel room.

I confronted the hotel manager with the evidence. At first, he denied everything, but when I threatened to call the police, he cracked. Turns out Sharon and Charles had used that hotel for their secret meetings multiple times. And to think, I had pitied her for all those "work trips," even handwashing her underwear like a fool.

The manager asked how much compensation I wanted. Compensation? I didn’t want their money. I had other plans.

I told him I had one condition: if Sharon and Charles ever came back to the hotel for another private rendezvous, I wanted to know immediately. And not only that, I demanded access to the surveillance system whenever I needed it. The manager, clearly unnerved by the situation, agreed without much resistance.

A perfect setup for the grand finale. Soon, I would catch them red-handed.

***

Not long after I got home, I was surprised to hear a knock at the door. It was Sharon’s parents, looking anxious and out of sorts. Her mother, Rosie, burst into tears as soon as she sat down on the sofa.

“Harvey, you have to save Louis,” she sobbed, her voice cracking under the weight of whatever new disaster had unfolded.

My heart sank. What now?

The last time Sharon's parents had reached out to me was during Louis’s loan shark fiasco and that was only because I bailed him out. Aside from that, they had never been particularly kind to me. I had a sinking feeling that this was going to be a repeat of the same old story.

Rosie’s fragmented explanation only confirmed my worst fears. After I had paid off Louis’s debt from his last gambling binge, he’d been on good behavior for a while. But recently, he’d fallen back into his old habits. While his family wasn’t paying attention, he took all the money he had saved and gambled it away, losing everything and racking up yet another mountain of debt.

Now, with nowhere else to turn, Sharon’s parents had come to me, hoping I’d step in once again and save Louis from his mess.

I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly inside. Just a few months ago, these people were quick to dismiss me as a loser, not good enough for their daughter. Yet here they were, knocking on my door again when they needed something.

What a joke.

Sharon had justified her betrayal and the Gomez Family treated me like an endless source of money. It made me a fool, a doormat and a complainer. Inside, I sneered at how ridiculous it all was, but outwardly, I kept my face concerned and comforting.

"Auntie," I began, pretending to sound genuinely troubled, "I was actually planning to propose to Sharon in a few days. Once we’re married, her family will become my responsibility too and her brother’s problems will be mine."

The message was clear—until marriage, we weren’t really family.

Rosie, her eyes brimming with fresh tears, clutched my hand. "Harvey, I know you’re a good child. Our Louis is in your hands this time."

I put on a difficult expression. "But I don’t have that kind of money right now." I paused, as if calculating. "But don't worry, I just closed a big deal. The bonus and commission will come out to nearly a million, which should be more than enough to cover Louis’s debt."

Rosie’s face lit up for a moment, but just as quickly, worry returned. "But Louis can’t wait that long. They said if we don’t come up with the money in three days, they’ll break his legs!"

Break them, for all I care. A gambler like him didn’t need legs. That’s what I thought, but of course, I couldn’t say it out loud.

"How about this?" I offered, as though I'd just come up with the perfect solution. "You can mortgage your house and get a loan to pay off Louis’s gambling debts. When my bonus comes in, I’ll transfer the money right away. There’ll even be a few hundred thousand left and I can use that as a gift for my engagement to Sharon."

Rosie stopped crying instantly at the mention of my engagement and turned to Mark, Sharon’s father, for advice. He frowned, but eventually nodded in agreement.

"It seems like that’s the only option."

I told them not to mention any of this to Sharon. I didn't want her to feel burdened by it.

Rosie, ever the manipulator, squeezed my hand and praised me for being "so sensible."

And there I was, exhausted from keeping that fake smile plastered on my face the entire time.