Get to the kitchen now!” the husband snapped at his wife. Little did he know how this would end.

“Get back to the kitchen!” the man barked at his wife. Little did he know how this would end.

“Katie, have you seen my blue tie?” came the voice from the bedroom, where James was getting ready for work.

Katherine stood by the stove, stirring porridge. Seven years of marriage, and every morning was the same. He rushed off to the office chasing money and success, while she moved between the stove, saucepans, and the washing machine.

“Check the second shelf in the wardrobe!” she called back.

“Its not there! Katie, are you sure?”

She sighed, wiped her hands, and walked toward the bedroom. In the pocket of his jacket from yesterday, her fingers brushed against something metala key. An ordinary flat key, but not one she recognized.

“James, wheres this from?” She held it out to him.

For a moment, surprise flickered across his face, but he quickly composed himself and snapped, “Get back to the kitchen! Stop digging through my pocketsits a work key, for the archive.”

He had no idea what was coming.

Over breakfast, James was typing furiously on his phone, smiling, even chuckling once or twice.

“Whos messaging you?” Katie asked carefully.

“Colleagues. Discussing a project,” he muttered without looking up.

But she caught a glimpseheart emojis and smiley faces, not documents or spreadsheets.

“Ill be late tonight. Presentation, then dinner with partners. Dont wait up.”

“Dinner on a Saturday?”

“Business doesnt take weekends, love.”

He kissed her cheek and left, the scent of expensive cologne lingering behind.

Katie cleared the table, sat with a cup of now-cold coffee. Seven years ago, shed graduated with honors in economics, worked at a bank, built a career. But after the wedding

“Why bother with work?” James had insisted. “Ill provide. Focus on the home. Well have children soon”

Years passedno children. Instead, Katie knew every supermarket cashier by face and every soap opera plot by heart.

But that morning, something inside her shifted. The unfamiliar key, the flirty texts, new cologne, “work meetings” on weekends

She opened her laptop and typed: “Cleaning jobs, Horizon Business Centre.” Thats where James workedon the seventh floor, at Progress Ltd.

A few searches latershe found it. “Clean Office Ltd” was hiring evening cleaners for Horizon.

Her pulse quickened. Perfectstaff would be gone, cleaners would arrive. But some stayed late

She dialed the number.

“Hello, Im calling about the cleaning position at Horizon”

The next day, she sat across from the supervisor, Margaret.

“Any experience?”

“Seven years worthat home.”

“Why Horizon? Weve got sites closer.”

“The hours suit me. And Im divorcing. Evenings, my husbands with the kids. I need the extra income.”

Margaret gave her a sympathetic look. “Understood. Youre in. What name shall I put down?”

“Valerie Peterson,” Katie answered without hesitation.

Three days later, Katherine Wilson became Valerie Peterson, the new cleaner at Horizon. She got her uniform, supplies, and brief instructions:

“Stay invisible. No talking, no lingering. Fast, quiet, thorough. Your floorseventh. IT firm, Progress Ltd. One office in particularJ.A.Wilson on the door.”

“Could I take the seventh floor?” Katie asked lightly. “They say its quietgood for learning.”

“Fine. The last girl quittoo much hassle. If you can handle it, its yours.”

That evening, Katie stood outside Jamess office, mop in hand. Dark outside, past eight. Work hours were over, but voices carried from inside.

Her plan had begun.

Two weeks as a cleaner in her husbands workplace opened her eyes. His “late nights” had nothing to do with work. He wasnt staying for projectsbut for Emily Carter, the young marketer from his team.

The key in his pocket didnt open an archiveit unlocked Emilys flat in a new development.

“James, Im tired of hiding,” Emily said, just as Katie mopped the neighboring office. “When will we be together properly?”

“Soon, love,” he murmured. “Lawyers say we must do this right. Rush it, and I lose half the flat.”

Katie clenched her teeth. Not just cheatinghe planned to leave her with nothing.

Worse came days earlier. Her mop knocked over a stack of papers. Gathering them, she noticed odd margin notesnot reports, but confidential financial data.

A work phone lay on the desk. A message flashed from “Sarah H.”

The office was empty. Katie opened the chat.

“James, need the Northern reports. Usual payment.”

“Price changed. Full package£50K.”

“Fine. Fast. Presentations Tuesday.”

Her hands went cold. Sarah Harperdeputy director at Vector, their top competitor. And her husband was selling company secrets

She photographed the messages and documents. At home, reviewing them, the damage was clearhundreds of thousands lost.

“How was work?” she asked that evening, serving dinner.

“Busy. Big new projectvery promising,” he muttered, eyes on his phone.

“Promising”the one youve already sold, she thought.

At first, she planned to hand everything to management and file for divorce. Then she reconsideredhe deserved a public fall.

Progress Ltds quarterly party was approaching. James prepared for daysnew suit, speech, rehearsed smiles.

“James, what will you say about me?” Emily asked the night before.

“Nothing. Soon well be togetherno more secrets,” he laughed.

“What if your wife shows up?”

“She wont. These events arent her scene.”

Katie smiled. He had no idea his “shy” wife had been there all alongwatching.

On the day, she arrived as usual. But her bag held a sleek black dress, not a uniform. And a folder of proof.

At seven, as glasses clinked in the conference room, she changed in the staff toilet. Touched up her makeup, smoothed her hair.

Through the glass, she saw James in his new suit, laughing with Emily. The director, Paul Richards, held a microphone.

Perfect timing.

“Excuse memay I have a moment?” Katie stepped inside.

Conversations died. James spun around, eyes wide.

“Im Katherine Wilson. Wife of your employee,” she addressed the room. “For two weeks, Ive worked here as cleaner Valerie Peterson.”

“What the hell are you doing?!” James hissed, striding toward her.

“Gathering evidence, darling. Of your infidelity and more,” she said calmly.

The room held its breath.

“Paul,” she turned to the director, “your employee is leaking confidential data to Vector. Heres his correspondence with Sarah Harper.”

She handed over the printouts.

“Lies! Shes bitter over our affair!” James blurted.

“Bank transfers, photos of classified documentsall documented,” Katie added, voice steady.

The directors face darkened as he scanned the pages.

“One more thing.” She produced another file. “Security footage. His office wasnt just for work.”

When the screen showed Emily kissing James, she gasped and fled.

“James Wilson, youre fired,” Paul said coldly. “And youll face legal action. Security!”

As guards led James out, silence fell. Paul approached Katie.

“Thank you. Weve hunted this leak for six months.”

“I just wanted to know who my husband had become. I found more than expected.”

“Economics degree?”

“Yes. But I havent used it in years.”

He studied her. “Weve an opening in security analytics. Need someone who sees what others miss. Interested?”

She almost smiled. “Very.”

A month later, her life had changed. She was Progress Ltds new security analyst, earning triple Jamess old salary.

He vanished from her world. After the scandal, no agency would touch him.

In court, Katie stood composed. James, crumpled and silent, sat in a wrinkled shirt. Emily had left him days after the humiliation.

“Per the settlement,” the judge declared, “the property splits equally. Marriage dissolved.”

Two months on, Katie celebrated her new flata cozy two-bedroom in a nice area.

Work thrilled her. She designed a cyber-security system that thwarted industrial espionage.

Six months later, the new IT director arrivedAndrew Walker. Divorced, raising a school-aged son. They worked closely, respect growing.

“Katie, any good schools near here?” he asked once.

“Ill show you after work.”

Friendship bloomedhonest, unforced. Both knew pain, and the value of support.

A year passed. One evening, she spotted James near the Tube. He was washing carsthin, slumped, in faded clothes.

“Katie How are you?” he mumbled.

“Well.