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Blake snores.

It’s not loud enough to be intolerable. It’s a soft sound, somewhere between heavy breathing and an outright snore. Occasionally, it’s annoying, but mostly I think it’s sort of cute. You know that you like a guy when you’re into his snoring.

But the important thing is that if he’s snoring, that means he is asleep.

I creep around the side of the bed, watching his face to make sure he doesn’t wake up. When I get to his nightstand, I pick up his phone where it’s charging. Blake has been talking about getting a new phone for a while, but he hasn’t gotten around to it because he’s been working nonstop. And now I’m glad, because his old phone still has fingerprint recognition.

As gently as I can, I take Blake’s thumb and press it into the pad of the phone. Right away, he notices something has disturbed him. He lets out a groan, then flips over in bed, mumbling something in his sleep. I hold my breath, expecting his eyes to fly open.

But they don’t. He’s still asleep. And a second later, he starts snoring again.

Blake’s phone is now unlocked. Which means I have access to his emails, his photographs, and his text messages. I can look at whatever I want.

Some people would say this is a violation of privacy. But if the two of us are going to be married, if we’re starting a whole new life together, there should be no secrets between us. What is mine is his and what’s his is mine. And since this phone is his, then it is actually mine. And I have every right to look at it.

I think it’s extremely unlikely that there are any incriminating emails or photographs, so I go straight for his text messages. It’s the expected mix of texts from his work colleagues and way too many from his boss. For the most part, it’s reassuringly uninteresting. There’s only one name that stands out to me.

Stacie.

Stacie is Blake’s boss’s assistant, and it’s my understanding that she also often serves as the assistant to the entire office. I met her at the Christmas party last year, and she was outright stunning in a low-cut dress that left very little to the imagination. Yet not the slightest bit out of Blake’s league.

He wouldn’t.

Would he?

I open up their text conversation. Most of it is benign office stuff, but the last text from Stacie was sent at one thirty in the morning, which is a very suspicious time to be sending a message. And what is even worse is the contents of the message:

I had a great time tonight. If you ever change your mind about doing it again, you know where to find me.

Well, that’s that.

Of course, I can’t stop myself from scrolling through the rest of their text messages, although I’m sorry after I’ve done it. Some of it is business, but much of it is flirting. Granted, she’s flirting with him more than he reciprocates, but he’s plenty guilty too. I scroll through the messages leading up to tonight.

Are you still here, Porter?

Ugh, yeah. Late night. What are you still doing here?

Forgot my purse. Just came to grab it, then I’m out of here.

Lucky you.

You should take a little break. Want some company?

Sure.

That’s the last communication they had before her message about having fun and how they should do it again. And then he stumbles home at one in the morning wearing her perfume, his shirt buttoned incorrectly. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that one.

That bastard. He told me he loved me. He told me he wanted to marry me. He gave me a ring. He pretended to be a good guy. And all along, he’s been cheating on me. Lying to me.

I replace Blake’s phone on the nightstand. He is still sound asleep, blowing air from between his lips. He has that dark shadow on his jaw that he always has until he shaves in the morning. He’s sexy. I know exactly what she sees in him.

I imagine what would happen if I went downstairs to the kitchen and boiled some water, then brought it up here and threw it in his face. That would change his life forever. The burns he would sustain would be permanent—his face would be scarred for the rest of his life. He might lose his vision.

He’d never cheat on me again, that’s for sure.

I consider it. I strongly consider it. But ultimately, I decide against it. First of all, the consequences of deliberately burning someone would be considerable. I might go to jail. And if I got arrested, the police would surely figure out that I am Whitney Cross, and then I would really be in trouble.

I thought Blake was the one. I loved him.

Why did he have to be a cheating bastard like all the others?