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That was the second thing I’d noticed.

I wrapped my arms around Rupert’s neck and kissed him, making sure it was as soft and loving as I could make it.

‘Jolly good,’ he grunted, patting my back in that brisk, absent way that always felt more like I was being dismissed than adored. I pulled away slowly. They both shifted. Not much – just enough. Penelope suddenly became very interested in the ring light, while Rupert adjusted his cuff like it needed immediate attention. And they avoided eye contact completely.

And yes, that was the third sign that my husband was screwing my personal assistant.

‘How are the ads going, Penélope Cruz?’ Rupert eventually said with a little laugh at his own joke. Penélope Cruz? Please. I mean, the confidence was there, I’d give her that. I watched him move towards her, perched on the breakfast bar stool like this was all completely normal. A soft smile appeared across his face – the one he used when he knew he was being charming – and her entire expression shifted to meet it. Brighter, softer, eager almost.

God.

I often wondered how stupid the pair of them thought I was. Or if they’d decided between themselves that I was the sort of woman who’d smile through anything, regardless.

‘Great, yes, really good,’ Penelope said quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a way that felt . . . practised. ‘We’ve had a few more paid partnerships come through. And obviously, we are well prepped for tomorrow’s meeting. I’ll go over them all tonight—’ She hesitated, glancing between us. ‘That’s if you can still make dinner?’ Penelope glanced up at me, then at Rupert, then cleared her throat, ‘I mean both of you, of course.’

‘We wouldn’t miss it, would we, darling?’ Rupert said, not even looking at me.

I grinned, stepping in and straightening his shirt collar. ‘Of course not.’

‘Great,’ Penelope said, a little too brightly, already reaching back for her phone. ‘Dinner’s at six then. I’ll turn this morning’s live into a reel and upload it to your feed when I’m home. Oh, and Harvey Nicks have already replied to the preview! So, that’s looking really positive for more collabs.’

‘See you soon,’ Rupert said, passing her the jacket she’d left draped over one of the bar stools. I watched his hand brush against hers, only for a brief moment. It was barely even a second, but my entire body instantly tensed.

‘Better wrap up, it’s really chilli con carne out there,’ he said, grinning again at his own joke.

My insides curled at his disgusting patter, but a loud, exaggerated laugh came out of me.

‘Oh, Rupey!’ I giggled, acting as if my clitoris hadn’t instinctively dried up like a raisin. ‘You’re awful.’

Penelope laughed too, of course.

‘My God, Rupert! Chilli con carne!’ she repeated with tears in her eyes.

I couldn’t quite work out what she saw in him. OK, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Dad jokes aside, I guess I knew what she saw. Everyone did.

Rupert always had that effect. Magnetic, polished, the kind of man people expected to succeed without ever quite knowing why. And when he finally noticed me, back in university, I felt like the luckiest girl on earth. I suppose that feeling is what attracted me to him. Well, that and the way he made me feel safe, in a way my life had never quite managed before. Rupert was steady.

I’d always felt like I had to be the perfect girlfriend – then wife – to Rupert. Probably because I knew I’d married well above my station, and I felt like I had to fight to prove I deserved him.

So I did.

I learned everything. Cooking, cleaning, hosting – and presenting. How to look the part, how to sound the part. I softened my Glaswegian accent until it barely showed, swapping out everything that felt too much like where I came from. And it worked.

It worked so well that I managed to build an entire career out of it.

My channel – ‘The Perfect Wife’ – was born from that version of me. The polished one. The one who knew exactly how to set a table, hold a camera angle, make life look effortless.

Five years on, I’ve built The Perfect Wife to over six million subscribers who all want to know what it takes to be precisely that. Who want to watch me be her. It’s funny now, I suppose, given that my husband has taken it upon himself to fuck the PA.

And Penelope, annoyingly, was good at her job. Too good, perhaps. She stayed on top of everything, anticipated issues before they became problems, and handled my emails, deals and scheduling. My entire life basically. She made everything run smoothly. And despite her facial redness issue, she was a pretty girl. Younger than me, but I guess that’s stereotypically what cheating husbands go for.

She worked closely with Rupert now, of course. That had been his idea. Since quitting his job, he’d taken on more of the business side of my brand. Managing deals, brand relationships, and I guess Penelope slotted neatly in beside him. It didn’t take long before the two of them were ‘looping in’ and ‘circling back’ on things I apparently didn’t need to worry about.

I should have put a stop to it back then, when I first sensed I was being pushed aside. But Penelope was always so nice. Relentlessly nice and kind to me. Until her compliments began to feel a little too pointed. She began to add a weird bite at the end of them. Like how she’d tell me she loved a certain dress, but then follow it up by saying she’d had something similar a few years back, and how mine would be seen as vintage. And then her smile eventually began to linger a second too long. She was always helpful, always available, always just there. Everywhere I fucking looked.

I first became suspicious about a year ago. Not in a dramatic way, no lipstick on collars or earrings under the pillow. Just small things. Like glances that lasted too long. Conversations that stopped when I walked in. The kind of subtle shift you feel before you can prove anything’s actually changed.

Still, I knew.