Chapter 3 Same Night

Same night Honey & Riley's Apartment Thursday 5th 8:07pm

Honey dragged herself up the last few stairs to her apartment, briefcase in one hand, takeout in the other. The day had been exhausting and her back ached from hunching over spreadsheets for nine hours straight, and her eyes burned from staring at financial projections until the numbers blurred together.

All to prepare Grayson Taylor's Boston presentation. She wasn't one to leave things to the last minute, but they had only sent her the numbers this morning, giving her little time to confirm everything and give her detailed report to Grayson.

"The man couldn't even say, 'thank you,'" she muttered, fumbling with her keys. Not that she'd stuck around long enough to hear if he would. The moment she'd emailed the completed files; she'd bolted from the office before he could find another impossible task for her to complete. She didn't think he would, but she just hadn't taken the chance.

The apartment was silent when she entered...no surprise there. Riley had texted earlier: Partner dinner tonight. Don't wait up. There had been a heap of late nights lately... client dinners and paperwork to complete for the meeting the next day.

Honey kicked off her sensible pumps, letting them fall where they may. The clock on the wall read 8:07 PM. She sighed, knowing she should be grateful for the quiet evening ahead. Just her, some Thai food, and maybe some mindless TV.

She peeled off her work blazer... a drab, oversized one that helped maintain her "Joy Smith" work persona, and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. Next came the glasses she didn't need, followed by the hairpins that kept her high-quality shoulder length brown wig in place. It had been made for her and high quality because her father would kill her if she dyed her natural red hair.

Her reflection in the window caught her eye. The transformation was already beginning, starting with Joy fading, Honey emerging.

She went to the living room in her stockinged feet, set down the bag of takeout, and flopped onto the sofa. Something stuffed at the back of the sofa cushion caught her eye. Maybe because it was hot pink.

"What the-" Honey shifted, digging between the cushions where her fingers caught the lace fabric. She pulled it out, holding it up.

A hot pink thong dangled from her fingertips.

Honey stared at it, her mind refusing to process what she was seeing. The garment was definitely not hers... she hadn't worn anything remotely that color since college. And it certainly wasn't something Riley would wear unless he had taken up crossdressing. So, there was no reason for the tiny piece of clothing to be in their home.

That left only one possibility.

Her stomach lurched. The Thai food forgotten, she dropped the underwear as if it had burned her. For a moment, she sat perfectly still, the apartment's silence suddenly oppressive rather than peaceful.

"That son of a bitch," she whispered. Her husband was cheating on her.

She should have suspected, of course. The late nights and last-minute business trips. Let's not forget the scent of perfume on his clothes. Which he had always explained away, calling her paranoid. The way he barely touched her anymore. Not that she thought that was honestly a big loss.

But suspecting an affair was one thing. Holding physical evidence was another entirely.

Honey picked up the thong again, forcing herself to examine it more carefully. Expensive, by the feel of the fabric. The size was extra small. A laugh bubbled up in her throat.

All those times she'd blamed herself for not being exciting enough, for being too focused on work, for letting herself become the dull, sexless woman Riley claimed she was. And all along, he'd been betraying her.

She should be devastated. She should be crying or screaming. Instead, a strange calm settled over her. Riley's cheating wasn't a surprise-not if she was honest with herself. She just hadn't wanted to face it. To admit she had made a mistake marrying him. Having the proof that something was indeed going on gave her the permission she needed to leave him. She just needed undeniable proof to keep what was hers.

She had been a virgin on her wedding night. So, leaving him wouldn't be easy for her. She had taken vows, and she took those vows very seriously. She wished now in a lot of ways she had taken him for a test drive before their wedding. It might have saved her this.

Honey pulled out her phone, opened the camera app, and took several photos of the thong from different angles, making sure to capture it against the backdrop of their living room. Then she walked to the kitchen and dropped the panties into a zip lock bag before she dropped them into her handbag. Grabbing a wine glass and a bottle of red wine, she headed back into the living room, she uncorked the wine. Well, discovering your husband's infidelity was reason enough to get drunk if nothing else.

She poured herself a generous glass and settled back onto the sofa avoiding the spot where she'd found the thong and finally opened her takeout. As she ate her Pad Thai directly from the container, she scrolled through her phone until she found the contact she was looking for: Ben Walters, the private investigator her father had used for corporate matters in the past.

Honey: Need your services for a personal matter. Discretion essential. Available to meet tomorrow?

She hit send, then set her phone aside. No crying. No desperate calls to friends. No confronting Riley when he eventually stumbled home, lying and denying everything and gaslighting her. He was very good at that. Blaming her. No, she was going to play this smart.

He really was an idiot, or so cocky he had believed he wouldn't get caught.

Her phone buzzed with Ben's response:

Ben: Hi Honey, Available at 11:30 AM. My office or yours?

Honey took another sip of wine.

Honey: Yours. I'll be there. Thank you.

She set down her phone and leaned back against the cushions. For months... no, years, really, she'd been living an unhappy life. And for what? A man who couldn't keep his dick in his pants.

The pink thong wasn't just evidence of Riley's betrayal. It was permission to stop pretending. To get on with her life.

Her phone buzzed again, picking it up, she saw a message from Riley: Dinner running late. Staying at Paul's place tonight. Too much to drink.

A fresh wave of anger surged through her. She knew Paul. His "buddy" from law school who lived in a sleek bachelor pad downtown. The perfect alibi. How many times had Riley used this excuse? How many times had Paul been willing to cover for him? Birds of a feather.

She didn't bother responding to the text he could see she had read it. Instead, she finished her wine and poured another glass.

Three years of marriage. Three years of being miserable, of pretending to be someone she wasn't, of tolerating Riley's increasingly controlling behavior. Three years of no orgasms.

That last thought made her snort into her wine glass. Riley had convinced her she was frigid, that her inability to climax with him was her problem, not his. Yet another lie in a marriage built on them. Because she had become wetter with her fantasies and fingers than Riley had ever made her.

Honey retrieved her laptop from her briefcase and opened a new document. If she was going to do this, hire Ben dad's PI, gather evidence, divorce Riley, she needed to be methodical. That's what she was good at, after all. Seeing patterns in numbers was her thing.

She began typing, creating a timeline of suspicious events over the past months. Late nights. Unexplained expenses on their credit card statements. The teenage housekeeper Riley had insisted on hiring, against Honey's objections.

The housekeeper. Nineteen years old. Perky, blonde, and constantly fluttering around, Honey had dismissed her own discomfort as petty jealousy. Brittany would fit into those panties very easily. But she was no live-in housekeeper, therefore, no reason for them to be here.

"Fucking idiot," she muttered to herself, gulping more wine, before holding her glass up in a toast.

"Thank you, whoever you are," she whispered to the absent owner of the pink thong. "You just set me free."