Sugar Baby, Meet Your Number One Whale

On the first day of autumn, marking our third anniversary together, I posted a Snapchat Story: "Craving the season's first pumpkin spice latte." Less than a minute later, my boyfriend screenshot it and sent it straight to my DMs: "You're so materialistic! I can't live with a gold-digger like you anymore!" From that moment on, he paraded that screenshot around, telling everyone I was a shallow leech. The very day after we broke up, he strutted in front of me with a glamorous, heavily made-up girl on his arm. "Nana is way hotter than you. More importantly, she's not obsessed with money. She never asks me for a single thing." The girl beside him sneered at me with utter contempt: "Did you really think dating Oliver made you Cinderella? All you did was use him. Oliver is a real man who looks for pure, unconditional love. You're just a clueless, greedy gold-digger!" I smiled, unlocked my phone, and showed her the screen. "Sweetie, hate to break it to you... but your number-one top gifter? That's me." My post hadn't even been up for sixty seconds before Oliver began spamming my DMs. "I've given you so much! No matter how exhausted I am after work, I still text you every single day!" "I've given you emotional support, and this is how you repay me? By being this shallow?" "A fancy coffee costs seven bucks! Falling for some stupid marketing gimmick—I'm not your personal ATM!" "You're shameless. I can't be with a woman this materialistic." "We're done!" Watching the angry messages flood my screen, I smiled with satisfaction and replied with a mocking meme. Predictably, I got blocked instantly with an exclamation mark. Calmly, I opened Snapchat and deleted the story that I had set to be visible only to him. A few minutes later, my best friend Ann sent me a screenshot of Oliver's Instagram post. It featured receipts from cheap purchases paired with a massive paragraph of self-pity. The caption was a full-blown rant accusing me of being a "greedy gold-digger" while highlighting his own "selfless devotion." The comments beneath were sickening: "Bro, you guys looked so happy together. I had no idea Chloe was like that! Talk about looks being deceiving." "Hang in there, man. Modern girls only care about the bag. Good thing you cut your losses." "Ugh, materialistic girls give me the biggest ick." Scrolling through them, I was reminded once again that birds of a feather flock together. I took a screenshot of Oliver's furious texts and sent it to Ann. "You lost the bet." Ann replied with a facepalm emoji. "You are evil, girl!" A moment later, she sent some cash on PayPal alongside screenshots of a certain private chat log. "Seriously, though. You gave that loser so much, he cheated on you, and all you get at the end is a verbal beatdown? You're really just gonna let him walk away?" I zoomed in on the screenshots, my eyes turning cold. "Not a chance." Yes, I had been cheated on. It all started two months ago when Oliver became glued to his phone. No matter the time of day, even while taking a shower, he wouldn't let the device leave his hand. Then, one night, my laptop crashed. I borrowed his computer to update a quick expense report. I intended to log into my own account and send the file to my phone. Conveniently, Oliver's messaging app was already logged in. I clicked on the chat with my name and hit send. Just as I was about to shut the laptop down, a reply popped up. "Why did you send this to me?" I froze. Why was my account messaging me back? Though confused, I quickly regained my composure. I checked my phone—no incoming messages. Which meant I hadn't sent the file to myself after all. I stared at the contact: pinned to the top, nicknamed "Babe," with a profile picture identical to mine. A sinking feeling hit my gut. Another message pinged. This time, accompanied by a flirty kiss emoji. "Oliver, you there?" "The data in this file looks super confidential... Wow, you really were holding out on me! And here I thought you were just cheap since you're not even my top gifter. Hmph!" "I guess you can't unsend it now, so I'll just delete it on my end, okay?" Sweet, obedient, and cooperative. Anyone with half a brain could tell the documents belonged to high-level corporate finances. No wonder her attitude had completely flipped. I stared at the screen, my fingers moving across the keyboard. "Yeah, sent it by mistake. Thanks." She replied in a heartbeat. "Oliver, why are you being so formal with me? You're gonna make me pout!" Followed by a cute pouty selfie sticker. Instead of answering, I scrolled up through the chat history. "Nana is my absolute favorite. Look how many gifts I've sent you during your streams. When are you finally going to meet me?" "Busy." "Baby, you're so gorgeous and sexy. You're the only girl I've ever wanted to marry. I just want to hold you forever." "We'll see." Hearing the shower water shut off, I knew Oliver would be stepping out any second."Gotta run, busy with work. That file is critical—pretend you never saw it, got it?" "Don't worry, Oliver. I know what to do." Looking at her reply, my heart turned to stone. I memorized the account handle. Then, I scrubbed the chat, the file, and all traces of my activity from the computer. Moments later, Oliver walked out of the bathroom. Acting casual, I smiled at him. "Babe, my laptop died. Mind if I use yours for a bit?" Panic flashed across his face, his smile instantly stiffening. "Wait! I... I was organizing some work files and haven't finished yet. Let me wrap it up first." I nodded, watching him hurry over to the desk. I had already checked; there were no unfinished work files. Sitting in front of the screen, a flash of pure ecstasy crossed his eyes, an uncontrollable smirk spreading across his face. I hadn't logged out of that fake chat. She must have sent him another message. The exact message he had been begging to receive. Oliver furiously tapped on his phone, closed the laptop, handed it to me, and rushed into the bedroom without looking back. Watching his retreating figure, I sank into the couch, exhausted. Three years together, and I had never doubted him once. Now, the scales had finally fallen from my eyes. From that day forward, Oliver's behavior became increasingly bizarre. He claimed work was piling up and that he had to stay late every night. Yet, instead of coming home drained, he looked more energized by the day. I texted Ann. "Is the office really that swamped lately? Oliver says he's pulling overtime every night." Ann was the CEO of MY Media, effectively Oliver's boss. And I was Ann's boss—the primary shareholder and director of MY Media, as well as her best friend. To spare Oliver's fragile male ego and make his career easier, I had kept my wealth a secret. In his eyes, I was merely a struggling freelancer with an unpredictable income. "Not at all," Ann replied. "He's been clocking out right on time every single day." I thought for a moment, then forwarded the handle I had memorized that night. "Ann, run a background check on this account." We had known each other for over a decade. She didn't ask questions; she simply got to work. Not only did Oliver lie about overtime, but almost every night around two or three in the morning, he would slip out of bed, only crawling back at four, utterly spent. Whenever I asked, he would turn his back to me, snapping impatiently. "Stop asking so many questions. You wouldn't understand corporate stress anyway." As soon as he left for work the next morning, I opened the security app on my phone.Right after that night, I had hidden mini cameras in every room. Reviewing the footage, the pattern was clear. Around 2:00 AM, Oliver would creep into the guest room with his phone. Once inside, he stripped naked, whispering filthy, sleazy sweet-nothings into the screen while his hands worked furiously beneath the camera angle. I had never seen him look like that. Vile. Despicable. Repulsive. Fighting the urge to throw up, I zoomed in on the screen. On his phone was a woman dressed in a revealing maid costume, swaying sensually, practically throwing herself at the camera for him. Oliver looked ecstatic in the footage. "You're so much hotter than her. She's so skinny, hugging her is like hugging a bag of bones." "You smell like sweet vanilla. She just smells like grease and takeout." "Looking at her every day makes me want to puke. Don't worry, baby, I'm dumping her soon." "I'd die for you, gorgeous." My hands trembled as I gripped my phone. Every single night was the exact same sickening routine. Ann worked fast. Before long, she sent over the account profile. "Chloe, the handle belongs to Savannah—she goes by Nana online. She's actually one of the top influencers signed under our agency." The familiar face on the screen felt like a slap. "One more thing," Ann added. "I ran the backend numbers. Oliver has been dropping... a ridiculous amount of money tipping her streams." Attached was a ledger breakdown. Looking at the figures, I was stunned. Oliver had poured thousands of dollars into her live streams! It was a decent sum, but knowing influencers of her tier, it wasn't nearly enough to get her to sleep with him. Then I remembered the financial document I had accidentally sent her. She must have assumed Oliver was a secretive, filthy-rich executive. Still, a question nagged at me. Where did Oliver get that much cash to burn on gifts? His family was working-class, and he used to wire half his paycheck back home every month. Even if he had paused sending money home these past two months, his salary wouldn't cover this lifestyle. A thought struck me, and I walked straight into his study. Based on what I had seen on the security cameras, I found it immediately. A leather-bound journal. Ever since we started dating, Oliver had kept a daily journal. There had to be things in here I didn't know about. Whenever I had asked to see it in the past, he would quickly pull it away. "Not yet. When the time is right, this will be my gift to you." I had genuinely believed it was a testament to our love. Opening the journal, I realized what a fool I had been.