“Get to the kitchen, now!” the man barked at his wife. Little did he know how this would end.
“Katie, have you seen my blue tie?” floated a voice from the bedroom, where Dominic was getting ready for work.
Katherine stood by the stove, stirring porridge. Seven years of marriage, and every morning bled into the next. He rushed off to the office chasing money and status; she orbited between the cooker, saucepans, and 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 marched toward the bedroom. In the pocket of yesterdays blazer, her fingers brushed something colda key. Ordinary, flat, but not one of theirs.
“Dominic, wheres this from?” She held it out to him.
For a split second, surprise flickered across his face. Then he steeled himself and snapped, “Back to the kitchen! Stop rummaging through my things. Its a work keyfor the archives.”
He had no idea what was coming.
Over breakfast, Dominic tapped at his phone, grinning, even chuckling under his breath.
“Whos messaging you?” Katherine ventured.
“Colleagues. Discussing a project,” he muttered, eyes glued to the screen.
But shed glimpsed the displayno spreadsheets, just hearts and emojis.
“Ill be late tonight. A presentation, then dinner with clients. Dont wait up.”
“Dinner on a Saturday?”
“Business doesnt clock off, love.”
He pecked her cheek and left, trailing expensive cologne.
Katherine cleared the table, cradling a cooling coffee. Seven years ago, shed graduated top of her class in economics, worked at a bank, built a career. Then marriage happened.
“Why bother with a job?” Dominic had insisted. “Ill provide. Focus on the house. Well have children soon”
But years passed, and no children came. Instead, she memorised every supermarket cashiers face and every soap opera plot.
Yet this morning, something inside her twisted. A strangers key. Flirty texts. New cologne. “Work meetings” on weekends.
She opened her laptop and typed: “Cleaning vacancies, Horizon Tower.” The very building where Dominic worked, seventh floor, Progress Ltd.
A few clicks laterthere. “Pristine Office Services” needed evening cleaners for Horizon Tower. Perfect. Staff left; cleaners arrived. But some stayed late
She dialled the number.
“Hello, Im calling about the cleaner position at Horizon Tower”
The next day, Katherine sat across from shift supervisor Margaret Hayes.
“Any experience?”
“Seven years worth. At home.”
“Why Horizon? Weve got sites closer.”
“The hours suit. And Im divorcing. Evenings, my husbands with the kids. I need the extra cash.”
Margaret gave a sympathetic nod. “Understood. Youre hired. What name shall I put down?”
“Valerie Peterson,” Katherine answered without hesitation.
Three days later, Katherine Lowell became Valerie Petersonthe new cleaner at Horizon Tower. She got her uniform, supplies, and a brisk briefing:
“Stay invisible. No chatter, no lingering. Quick, quiet, thorough. Your floors the seventhProgress Ltd. Special note: the office with D.A. Lowell on the door.”
“Could I take the seventh? Heard its light. Still learning the ropes.”
“Fine. One girl quitsaid it was tough. Manage it? Its yours.”
Katherine stood outside her husbands office, mop in hand. Dark had long since fallen; it was past eight. Work hours were over, but voices hummed inside.
Her plan was working.
Two weeks as a cleaner in Dominics office peeled back the lies. His “late nights” had nothing to do with diligence. The seventh floors pull was Amelia Cartera young marketing exec.
The key in his pocket? Not for archives. For Amelias flat in a new-build.
“Dom, Im sick of hiding,” Amelia sighed, just as Katherine scrubbed the adjacent office floor. “When do we go public?”
“Soon, love,” he murmured. “Lawyers say we must time it right. Rush, and she gets half the flat.”
Katherines jaw clenched. Not just cheatinghe was scheming to leave her destitute.
But worse came days earlier. Her mop knocked over a stack of files, scattering papers. As she gathered them, odd margin notes caught her eye. Her old training kicked inthese werent reports. They were internal financial leaks.
A work phone lay on the desk. A message glowed: “Sophie W.”
The office was empty. She opened the chat.
“Dom, need Northern figures. Usual dealpayment sent.”
“Price is up. Full package: £50k.”
“Fine. Fast. Presentations Tuesday.”
Katherines hands went cold. Sophie Whitakerdeputy head of Vector, their biggest rival. And her husband was selling secrets
She photographed everything. At home, the evidence was undeniablethe damage ran into hundreds of thousands.
“How was work?” she asked that evening, serving dinner.
“Steady. New projects promising,” Dominic mumbled, eyes on his phone.
“Promising”the one youve already sold, she thought.
At first, she planned to hand it all to management and file for divorce. Then she reconsideredhe deserved spectacle.
Progress Ltds quarterly party loomed. Dominic prepped for weeksnew suit, rehearsed toast, practised charm.
“Dom, whatll you say about me?” Amelia asked the day before.
“Nothing. Soon were done with secrets,” he laughed.
“What if your wife shows?”
“She wont. These things embarrass her. Not her scene.”
Katherine smiled. Hed no idea his “shy” wife had been there all alongwatching.
On the night, 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 loo. Touched up her makeup, shook out her hair.
Through the glass, she saw Dominic, dapper, joking with Amelia. CEO Paul Richardson held a microphone.
Perfect timing.
“Excuse mea quick word?” Katherine stepped inside.
Conversations died. Dominic spun, eyes wide.
“Im Katherine Lowell. His wife,” she announced. “For two weeks, Ive worked here as cleaner Valerie Peterson.”
“What the hell?” he hissed, lunging toward her.
“Gathering evidence, darling. Of your cheating and more.” Her voice stayed calm, clear.
The room tensed.
“Paul,” she addressed the CEO, “your employees leaking to Vector. Heres his correspondence with Sophie Whitaker.”
She handed over printouts.
“Slander! Shes bitter over our affair!” Dominic blustered.
“Bank transfers. Photos of confidential files. All documented,” Katherine added evenly.
Pauls face darkened as he scanned the pages.
“One more thing.” She produced another folder. “CCTV. His office wasnt just for work.”
When footage of Dominic and Amelia kissing flashed up, Amelia fled.
“Dominic Lowell, youre fired,” Paul stated. “And liable legally. Security!”
As guards escorted him out, silence smothered the room. Paul approached Katherine.
“Thank you. Wed traced leaks for months.”
“I just wanted to know who my husband was. Got more than I bargained for.”
“Economics background?”
“Yes. But not used it in years.”
Paul studied her. “Weve an opening in security analytics. Need someone who sees what others miss. Interested?”
A faint smile. “Gladly.”
A month later, her life had transformed. She was Progress Ltds new data security specialist, earning triple Dominics old salary.
He vanished. Post-scandal, agencies blacklisted him.
In court, Katherine stood composed. Dominic, crumpled and silent, slouched in a creased shirt. Amelia had bolted after the humiliation.
“Per settlement,” the judge read, “the property splits equally. Marriage dissolved.”
Two months on, Katherine celebrated her new flata cosy two-bed, bought after selling her half.
Work thrilled her. Her cybersecurity system thwarted multiple espionage attempts.
Six months in, new IT director Andrew Wolfe joinedrelocated from London, divorced, raising a school-aged son. They collaborated often. He treated her with respect.
“Katie, any decent schools nearby?” he asked once.
“Of course. Ill show you after workwell walk.”
Friendship bloomedopen, easy, no games. Both knew pain. Both valued honesty.
A year passed. One evening, Katherine spotted Dominic near the tube. He was washing cars. Gaunt, slumped, in faded clothes.
“Katie How are you?” he mumbled.
“Good. You?”
“Struggling. Everythings Maybe
