Updated Feb 25, 2026 • ~5 min read
POV: Brandon
She knows.
I can see it in her eyes.
The way Gabi’s been looking at me all through dinner.
Quiet. Watching. Analyzing.
Shit.
Did she see the notifications?
The glitch in the iCloud sync I thought I fixed?
Play it cool, Brandon.
“More pad thai?” I ask.
“I’m full.”
She sets down her fork.
Looks at me.
Really looks at me.
“Brandon, can I ask you something?”
Here it comes.
“Of course, baby. Anything.”
She pulls out her phone.
Opens something.
Turns it toward me.
My Tinder profile.
With her photo.
Fuck.
“Why,” she says slowly, “are you on dating apps using MY pictures?”
I need to spin this.
Fast.
I laugh.
Not too much. Just enough to seem surprised.
“Oh my god, THAT’S what this is about?”
“Yes, Brandon. That’s what this is about.”
I reach for her hand.
She pulls away.
Okay. She’s really upset.
Time for the speech I’ve been preparing for months.
Just in case.
“Gabi, I can explain. And I promise, it’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?”
I take a breath.
Look her in the eyes.
Sincere. Honest. Apologetic.
“It’s for the app.”
“What app?”
“The dating app my company is developing. Vale Connect.”
She stares.
“You’re building a dating app.”
“Yes. I told you about it months ago.”
Did I? Maybe. Maybe not.
She’s a photographer. She doesn’t listen when I talk about tech stuff.
“You said you were working on a social platform.”
“Dating IS social, babe.”
She’s not buying it yet.
“Okay, so you’re building an app. That doesn’t explain why you’re USING it. With my photos.”
Here we go.
“Market research. We need real data on user behavior. How people swipe. What makes them match. What makes them respond.”
“So you created fake profiles.”
“Yes.”
“Using my face.”
“Using YOUR face.”
She’s blinking rapidly.
Processing.
“Why my photos? Why not stock photos? Or hire models?”
Good question.
I prepared for this one too.
“Because you’re real, Gabi. You’re beautiful, yes. But you’re also REAL. Real woman. Real smile. Real energy. That’s what we need to test against. Not some airbrushed model.”
I can see her softening slightly.
“Plus,” I add, leaning forward, “I’m proud of you. You’re gorgeous. Why wouldn’t I use your photos?”
Flattery. Works every time.
“Have you been… meeting people?”
“What? No! God, no. Gabi, it’s all fake. I swipe. I match. I collect data on response rates. That’s IT.”
“The messages—”
“Automated. My developer wrote scripts. They’re not even real responses.”
Another lie.
But she doesn’t know that.
“So you’ve never met anyone in person.”
“Never.”
Lie.
“And you’re not cheating on me.”
“Gabi, I would NEVER. You’re my wife. I love you.”
Truth. Sort of.
I do love her.
She’s beautiful. Successful. Makes me look good.
But love and fidelity aren’t the same thing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks quietly.
Gotcha.
She’s believing me.
“I should have. You’re right. I’m sorry. I just… I knew you’d worry. And there’s nothing to worry about.”
I take her hands.
She doesn’t pull away this time.
“It’s business, baby. Just business. I promise.”
She looks at our joined hands.
Then back at me.
“Swear to me. On our marriage. That you’re not cheating.”
Easy.
“I swear on our marriage, Gabi. I’m not cheating. It’s market research. That’s all.”
She exhales.
Nods.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I believe you.”
Relief floods through me.
“Thank you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ll delete the profiles if you want.”
“No. If it’s for work, keep them. Just… no more secrets.”
“No more secrets.”
Lie.
She hugs me.
I hold her.
Feel her relax against me.
Crisis averted.
GABI
I don’t believe him.
Not for a second.
But I smile.
I hug him.
I pretend.
Because I need time.
Time to gather evidence.
Time to plan.
“I’m going to bed,” I say. “Long day tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there in a bit. Just need to finish some work emails.”
Work emails.
Sure.
I kiss him goodnight.
Walk to our bedroom.
Close the door.
And I listen.
Five minutes pass.
Then I hear him.
On the phone.
Voice low.
I crack the door.
“…No, she bought it… Yeah, market research story… She won’t look into it… Just keep everything on schedule… We’re fine. I handled it.”
Pause.
“I know what I’m doing, Tyler. Trust me.”
Tyler.
His business partner.
They’re in on this together.
My stomach drops.
This isn’t market research.
This is something bigger.
Something worse.
I close the door silently.
Pull out my phone.
Google: “Private investigators Seattle”
If Brandon thinks I bought his story, he’s wrong.
I’m done being naive.
Tomorrow I’m hiring someone to find out the truth.
All of it.
END OF CHAPTER 2
Reader Reactions