I Found His Mistress in His Virtual Fitting Room

On our fifth anniversary, I find another woman's body measurements saved in my boyfriend's virtual fitting room. Ethan Shaw hands me his phone while keeping half an eye on his work. "Buy whatever you want today," he says. "It's on me." I smile and take the phone. There's a coat I've been looking at for months. I open the virtual fitting room to enter my measurements, but a saved model pops up instead. Five-eight. Size two. Twenty-four-inch waist. Long legs. Narrow shoulders. Nothing like me. I'm five-three, plus-size, and a size sixteen. Then I open the saved outfits and find dozens of them, each with a different style tag underneath. Elegant. Soft girl. Office siren. The delivery address is Lena Adams's apartment. Lena is his intern. I suddenly remember asking Ethan a few days ago what size coat I should buy. He hadn't even looked up from his laptop when he'd answered. "Just get the oversized one. Those always look comfortable on you." I understand now. He doesn't hate picking out clothes. He just hates doing it for me. Ethan comes out of the kitchen with a glass of water and sets it beside me. Then he stands behind the couch and massages the tight spot between my neck and shoulder. "Did you choose something?" he asks. "Why isn't anything in the cart?" I lock the screen and hand the phone back to him. "I'm done." I order a thirty-inch black suitcase, big enough to hold everything I have left in his apartment. Ethan takes the phone without checking what I bought, then walks away. The suitcase arrives the next day. The black shell stands in the entryway, almost reaching my waist. I drag it into the bedroom, open the closet, and stare at Ethan's custom navy suit hanging in the center. Beside it is a camel trench coat, the kind that wouldn't even close around my hips. Inside the collar, a tiny hand-stitched monogram reads: LA. My clothes are shoved into the far corner, with my work shirts and dresses pressed so tightly together that the fabric is deeply wrinkled. But Lena's trench hangs beside Ethan's suit, neat and untouched. They look like a pair. A dry-cleaning receipt is clipped to the hanger. The name on it is Ethan Shaw, and the note says: Delicate fabric. Hand wash only. He tells me to throw my coats in the washing machine. My phone lights up with a video call. Ethan appears on-screen, sitting in his office with his tie loosened. "Why aren't you wearing your glasses?" he asks. "Headache again?" His face tightens with concern. "Your medicine is in the second drawer of the nightstand. Take it and sleep for a while. I'll pick you up tonight." Before I can answer, a bank notification appears across the top of my screen. Transfer from Ethan Shaw: $7,000. "There's a company celebration dinner tonight," he says gently. "Pick some nice jewelry. But don't wear anything too flashy. Keep it simple." I hold the dry-cleaning receipt between my fingers and say nothing. Ethan smiles. "A few new interns will be there today. Lena is fresh out of college. She's shy." "You walk into a room and people notice. If you dress too much, she'll feel like she can't even lift her head." His voice remains soft. "Be good. Let her have her moment." From somewhere off camera, Lena's voice floats in. "Ethan, the dress is here, but the waist is a little big." Ethan turns his head. "Don't take the tags off yet," he says patiently. "I'll have the brand send one size down. Try both." Then he looks back at me. "Good girl. Wait for me tonight." I don't want to speak, so I just nod. His expression relaxes. "That's what I love most about you," he says. "You understand me. You don't make things hard." The call ends. I send the $7,000 back. The transfer offer from the Atlanta headquarters is still sitting in my inbox. Two years ago, they invited me for the first time. Ethan said his company was just getting started and he needed me to stay and help him. Last year, they asked again. He held me in bed and promised that after the wedding, he would transfer with me. This time, I click Accept without hesitation. The reply comes almost immediately. Director Reed, welcome to the Atlanta headquarters. Please report in five days. Five days from now is our engagement party. I turn off the screen. Then I reach into the closet and take down my wrinkled clothes one by one.

At the company celebration dinner, I wear a plain cream sweater dress, the exact kind of dress Ethan wants me to wear. He gives me a quick once-over, then reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Clean and simple," he says. "You look beautiful." His hand rests warmly against the back of my neck. "After the engagement, I'll take you shopping myself. You can buy whatever you want." Before I can answer, a wave of quiet gasps rises from the entrance. Lena walks in. She's wearing the red satin backless dress from the virtual fitting room, the same one Ethan had selected for her barely thirty minutes before coming home to me. Under the chandelier lights, the dress looks expensive and daring. Her pale back is bare, her waist impossibly tiny, and the slit reveals one long leg with every step. People start teasing her immediately. "Lena, wow. You look amazing tonight." "Mr. Shaw has great taste. He picked that dress for you, didn't he?" Lena blushes and glances quickly at me. "Ethan only gave me a little advice," she says. "Nina, please don't take it the wrong way. I'm terrible at picking clothes." Ethan pulls out the chair beside him and lets me sit. His expression remains calm. "She's young," he says. "It's part of my job to guide her." Lena lifts a glass of wine to toast one of the investors. Ethan doesn't even look up before reaching over and pressing two fingers against the rim of her glass. "You're still on antibiotics. Why are you drinking?" He waves over a server. "Juice for her. No ice. Her stomach can't handle it." Lena lowers her head with a soft laugh. "I forgot myself. How do you even remember when I'm taking medicine?" "I approved your sick leave," Ethan says. "It's not a big deal." He forgets the date of my period half the time, but he remembers the exact schedule of his intern's antibiotics. Halfway through dinner, the air-conditioning gets stronger. Lena curls in on herself and rubs her bare arms. Ethan is talking to an investor about funding, but he still notices the movement out of the corner of his eye. Without missing a beat, he takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. "Don't get cold," he says. Lena pulls the jacket tighter around herself and smiles up at him. "Thank you, Ethan. You're so thoughtful, like an older brother. Nina is really lucky." Only then does Ethan reach for my hand. My fingers are cold. He frowns, takes the coat from the back of my chair, and lays it across my lap before tucking my hands into the pockets. "Lena just had an appendectomy," he says. "She gets cold easily. You're stronger. Let her have the jacket for now. I'll make you ginger tea when we get home." That suit jacket around Lena's shoulders is the one I spent four weekends helping Ethan choose. I slowly pull my hand away. Ethan looks down at me with a smile and taps the bridge of my nose. "Are you seriously jealous like a kid? It's her first time at an event like this. I have to look out for her. Be good. Don't make a scene." When dinner ends, Ethan takes me to the underground garage. Then he stands and opens the front passenger door. For Lena. She slips into the seat, still wrapped in his jacket. Ethan turns back to me and strokes the top of my head. "Lena lives far away," he says. "It's not safe for her to go home alone. I'll drop her off first. Nina, sit in the back. There's more space. You can lean back and sleep." I get into the back seat without saying a word. A new gardenia air freshener hangs from the vent in front of me. Lena loves gardenias.

Two days before our engagement party, the company organizes a trip. But the trip is supposed to celebrate our anniversary. Last month, I stayed up late planning it for our fifth anniversary. I picked the trail, the lookout point, the cabin, and even the hour when the meteor shower was supposed to peak. Ethan barely glanced at the tablet before closing it. "Stargazing takes too much time," he said. "I have investors to meet. Be good. I'll make it up to you when things slow down." Now that Lena says she wants to see shooting stars, he clears two full days himself. Before we leave, admin sends out a form for our outdoor gear. Lena's section is filled out carefully with her height, shoe size, allergies, medication, and even a note saying she's afraid of the dark. Mine has one word under size: Oversized. The admin assistant looks at me. "Do you want us to measure you again, Director Reed?" Ethan answers before I can. "No need. She doesn't care that much about clothes. Loose is more comfortable for her." At midnight, the wind picks up at the top of the mountain, and the temperature drops fast. I only have a thin knit top under my coat, and soon I'm shaking from the cold. Ethan opens the trunk and takes out a fitted windbreaker. The tag is still attached. Size small. Lena stands in the wind with her arms wrapped around herself. Ethan unfolds the jacket and helps her into it, then pulls the zipper all the way up to her chin. "The mountain wind is strong," he says. "Why are you trying to act tough?" Lena looks at him, her lashes trembling. "Ethan, I thought this jacket was for Nina." "She has me." Ethan walks back to me and wraps his arms around me from behind. He opens his coat and pulls me against him, covering me with his warmth as his chin rests on top of my head. "I'm right here," he says. "Isn't a man holding you warmer than some jacket?" The coworkers around us start laughing and teasing. Ethan tightens his arm around my waist and lowers his voice. "Nina, people are watching. Give me a little dignity." His body is warm, but my heart goes cold, inch by inch. Half an hour later, we start down the trail. Lena's strappy heels rub her skin raw. She grabs the railing, her eyes red with pain. Ethan stops immediately. "Don't move." He takes my crossbody bag from my shoulder and opens the inner pocket. Inside is my last box of hydrocolloid blister pads. They're not regular blister pads. Because my ankle bone sits at a strange angle, I once asked a friend overseas to help me order custom curved ones. They're the only kind that actually stay on my skin. Ethan once studied the packaging for a long time. "I'll remember this brand," he told me. "Tell me when you run out." Now he kneels in front of Lena and tears open the last one. His movements are slow and careful as he presses the edges flat with his fingertips and smooths the pad over her heel. "Stand up and try it," he says. "Don't rush." Lena puts a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Ethan." The year I first started working, I wore heels to meet clients until both my heels were bleeding. Ethan knelt on the sidewalk just like this and put bandages on me. That night, he carried my shoes in one hand and carried me on his back for three miles. When Ethan stands up now, I've already looked away. He reaches for my hand. "The stairs ahead are steep. Hold on to me." I step aside. "No. I can walk by myself." His brows draw together. Before he can say anything, Lena sucks in a breath from the pain. Ethan turns to steady her without thinking. I go down the steps alone. After a dozen yards, Ethan catches up and lays a scarf over my shoulders. "Are you throwing a fit again?" he asks. "It's one blister pad. Why are you acting like a child?" "It's something money can buy. Do you really have to make it a problem?" Someone ahead warns Lena that the path is slippery. Ethan's eyes immediately move to her. I walk past him and don't stop until I reach the bottom of the mountain. At the parking lot, Ethan tells the driver to take Lena to urgent care first. Then he puts his own car keys in my hand. "You drive home first," he says. "I'll go with her and come back after the doctor checks her foot." The keys feel cold in my palm.