“Are you Evelyn? Slater’s wife?”
“Yes… And who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is why I’m here. Pack your things and get out of this flat. Slater and I are in love, and he’s moving in with me. It’s his decision!”
Evelyn stared blankly at the woman who had appeared on her doorstep this Saturday morning. The striking brunette, no older than thirty, radiated aggressive confidence. Her manicure was flawless, her makeup dramatic, her leather jacket studded—every detail screamed an attempt to impress.
“Excuse me, what?”
“Don’t play dumb!” The stranger stepped forward. “Slater’s tired of your controlling ways. He tells me every day how you don’t understand him, how you smother his business ideas. He’s made up his mind already.”
She kept talking, but Evelyn couldn’t hear her anymore. Her ears were ringing. Slater? The same man who just last night sat at this kitchen table, begged her for money for a new project, and kissed her goodnight, whispering how wonderful she was?
“Come in,” Evelyn said, her own voice sounding distant. “We should talk.” Her world had crumbled and reshaped itself in an instant. It hurt unbearably, but… this was how it had to be.
“My name’s Natasha,” the brunette declared defiantly, stepping inside. “And I didn’t come here to talk. I came to kick you out.”
Evelyn walked silently into the kitchen. For the first time in five years of marriage, her thoughts were painfully clear. *How could I have been so blind?* Or maybe she hadn’t been blind. Maybe she’d just seen everything through rose-tinted glasses—only for those glasses to shatter, the shards cutting deep.
Memories flashed. There she was, a successful estate agent with her own flat. And there he was—Slater, sitting across from her in a café, sipping a cappuccino with that disarming smile. Worn-out briefcase, cheap suit, but grand ambitions: *”Just a temporary rough patch, you’ll see. I’ll make it big!”*
Then came the whirlwind romance: flowers (cheap but daily), long walks, a proposal after just three months. Then, right after the wedding: *”Love, can you lend me five grand? A golden opportunity—this is our chance!”* She gave it. Again and again. All these years, she believed in his *”big plans”* while working herself ragged. And all this time, he’d been making plans with someone else.
The kitchen fell silent.
“Nice layout,” Natasha remarked, inspecting the place like she owned it. “Slater said he picked this flat. He’s got impeccable taste.”
“Wait a moment.” Evelyn slipped into the hall and returned with a leather folder. “There’s something you should see. The purchase deed, the property ownership papers. Check the date—three years before I even met Slater. And the name on them.”
Natasha swallowed, her confidence wavering. “But he said… he had his own estate agency.”
Evelyn opened her laptop and logged into her bank account. “This is *my* income. I’m a senior agent at one of the largest firms in London.” The screen displayed a statement—steady, substantial deposits. Natasha sank into a chair.
“Let me guess. He’s been milking you for money too? Talking about his *’once-in-a-lifetime opportunities’*?”
“I gave him nearly fifty thousand,” Natasha muttered. “He said we’d see returns next month—”
“It’s all coming!” Slater’s voice cut in from the doorway. “The money will double, I promised!”
He strode into the kitchen, clad in a cashmere jumper—a gift from Evelyn.
“Slater?” Natasha shot up. “Weren’t you supposed to be meeting investors?”
“He asked me for money just yesterday,” Evelyn said quietly. “Turns out, I *was* the investor.”
Slater froze, eyes darting between them. Then his face lit up with that practised smile.
“Ladies, let me explain. Tasha, your money’s safe—”
“*Where?*” Natasha snapped. “I sold my car, borrowed from my parents! Where’s my money?”
“I’ve got it all under control!” His voice turned desperate. “Another month—”
“For *who*?” Evelyn stood slowly. “How many women are funding your *’projects’*?”
Slater licked his lips, stammering that Natasha was *”just business.”*
“Business?” Natasha laughed bitterly. “The dates? The *‘I can’t live without you’*? You swore you loved me!”
Cornered, he cracked. “There was this… online thing. A sure win—”
“You *gambled it?*” Natasha clutched her head. “You blew everything on *bets?*”
“Not all of it! There’s still some left! I’ll fix this—I’ve got a system!”
“A system?” Evelyn gave a hollow laugh. “Borrow from your wife to pay your mistress? Or the other way around?”
Natasha grabbed her bag. “Enough. I’m filing a report. With the police.”
The front door slammed. Slater turned helplessly to Evelyn.
“Darling, I’m sorry… I got tangled up. It’s *always* been you!”
“You know what’s worst? Not that you found someone else. That you actually *believe* your own lies.”
“I’ll change! One more chance!”
“You’ll sleep in the living room. Tomorrow, you pack your things and leave.”
“*Where do I go?*”
“That’s not my problem.” She shrugged. “You’ve got a *system*, right? Let’s see if it works.”
Morning came, bright and cold. Slater crept into the kitchen.
“Evelyn… I’ve seen the light. We can start fresh! I’ll get a job, pay everyone back—”
“I’m filing for divorce.”
He froze. “You can’t… Where do I go?”
“Where were you going when you promised to marry Natasha? Pack up, Slater. And get out.”
“But I *can* change! One last chance!”
“No.” Her voice was calm, final. “No more chances. No more lies.”
That evening, Natasha’s doorbell rang. Through the peephole, she saw Slater—two suitcases in tow.
“Tasha, open up! Evelyn threw me out… Now we can be together!” He launched into another spiel about *”just a little more investment.”*
Natasha stepped close to the door.
“Get lost. And don’t you *dare* come back. I’ve already reported you to the police.”
She listened as he lingered, then shuffled toward the lift.
Somewhere below, the building’s front door clicked shut. Slater trudged down the dim street, dragging suitcases filled with things bought with other people’s money. Fragments of another *”brilliant plan”* spun in his head—he just needed someone new to believe.
Meanwhile, in two different flats, two women picked up the pieces of a beautiful lie they’d wanted to believe. Both knew now: the most dangerous deception is the one you choose to see, even when the truth stares you in the face.
