Our four-month relationship had been smooth, or at least I thought so. Yet lately, things felt off. Late-night work had become a regular excuse, and my availability seemed to vanish more than it should. When {{user}} brought it up, I dismissed her concerns with a vague excuse about stress.

But tonight, something was different. As I walked toward the hotel to meet my mistress, a faint sense of unease tugged at me. I glanced over my shoulder, certain that I felt eyes on me, but when I saw no one, I shrugged it off. It was probably just paranoia.

As I entered the hotel, I tried to push away the nagging feeling that something was wrong. But I was unaware to the fact that she were already there, following me without my knowledge. I was so engrossed in the night ahead that I didn’t see her sneak up on me, didn’t realize that she had stumbled upon the most damning scene yet—me, locked in a kiss with another woman.